Kthaahthikha

Part VII - 1800

The village, when we came to it, was a hamlet situated far back in the hills, beside a small lake. nestled close to the base of the moutnains, it was such a settlement as lends itself to the conjouring of macabre tales. It was not difficult to imagine dark goings-on here, but I refused to allow my imagination to get the better of me.

The driver of the Lightning Waggon was, it appeared, also the owner of the local public house. He and I managed to make ourselves understood to the level that we came to an agreement regarding quarters, and I was shown along with my things to a small room overlooking the lake. By now it was dark, and the moon shimmered softly on the waters. I had gathered - amongst the scant few things that I had gathered - that there was very little traffic into and from the town, and that the majority of the waggoneer's business was done in taking people from hamlets further along the highway up to meet the carriages. I could see little from where I stood save for a few thatched houses, and a small mill that turned its way on the watercourse that ran down into the lake from the direction of the mountains.

My luggage at this time consisted of a valise and a portmanteau - the latter packed with clothing whilst the former held my papers, writing materials and the like. I had left these both at the consulate in the anticipation of failure, but regretfully had failed to pack them with either a great deal of materiel, nor anything of particular quality.

And so I went to bed in my shirt, and prepared to set-out on the following day and attempt to uncover the secrets of this much-vaunted shrine - although I had none of the artifacts in my possession that should supposedly prove the facts. My true reason for being there, by this time, was merely to be freed of the duty of returning to explain my actions in England, and to enjoy the precarious, adventurous life that had been my favoured during youth.

I sleptly soundly that evening. There was not a thing to disturb me and when I awoke it was to a hot breakfast of porridge that I attacked with considerable gusto. There was besides this a glass of warm milk, the presence of which was explained by a faint lowing coming through the wall. The inn was a two-storied building with high glass windows, and evidently one of the more prosperous houses in the hamlet. When I stepped outside it was to be greated with the view of a short lane fringed with cottages and a another pair of two-storied houses, these squating opposite one another at the end of the way.

I was a subject of curiosity from the moment that I stepped out of the inn, for as I have said visitors were not very common to that district, and so I could not help but be something of a sight. After a time a man came up and introduced himself to me, and introduced himself as Serik. I replied that I was Eriksson, an anthropologist, and he politely inquired as to my presence in the village.

I explaine that I was investigating the region for the various tales of ghosts and ghouls, for such stories had of late become very popular in Western Europe, and I was hoping to bring back a number of the customs and traditions of the realm.

At this Serik became quite please, and agreed to help me the best that he could. He asked if I would like to visit at his home, and before I could refuse I had been invited into another of the larger buildings, and was being poured a cup of tea by a woman of middle years that I took to be his wife.

We exchanged pleasantries, and I was once again forced to shed any light on events beyond the forest. The best informed member of the village was, naturally, the inn-keeper, but it seems that it was refreshing to hear news from someone other than he.

I once again did as best as my limited abilities would allow, and then began to inquire amiably into life in the village.

Serik told a story such as any might expect, of the farming, of hunting in the forests, of the severity of the winters and the oppressive heat of the summers. He eplained his history, as a young man who had once gone off to war, and of his returning to marry the beautiful young maiden who I now saw beforeme, considerable diminsihed in youth and, one presumes, maidenhood.

He seemed all around a likeable individual, and when I began to steer conversation to the nature of the shrine he seemed delighted at my interest, although at the same time slightly troubled by the wider thing. When I asked after how I might go about finding it, he offered to show me himself, for at the time there was nothing else to be done and it would be a pleasure to go out amongst the trees. He offered to bring his guns, and perhaps we might even take some pheasant during the course of the morning.

It was now about eleven, when we bid Serik's wife good-day and set-off into the forest. A narrow path led up through the trees, and climbed slowly higher and higher through the mountains. As we walked, Serik told me of his son and his three daughters, and of how the boy had runoff to attempt a life in the city, whilst the girls had all been married away and done quite well in the scheme of it all. He seemed rather bitter about the boy, but did not discuss the issue to greatly.

The shrine was a small stone building that sat in a natural clearing, between three enormous pine trees. The ground about was marked by traces of deer, but when I mentioned as much to my host he shook his head and said that we would not hunt such game. Conceeding, I set to examine the shrine, which was a rather plain little hut with a roof of wooden planks. The door was barely high enough to pass through at a crouch, and within the air was close and dark, the few square yards of space illuminated by little more than the chinks in the masonry and roofing.

Serik entered first, and once incide he called for me to follow. I asked if it was not, perhaps, sacreligious, but he merely asked if I were of the Christian faith.

'Yes,' I replied, not entirely lying.

'Well then enter, for that it good enough,' he said.

I crawled into the shrine and looked about. As my eyes adjusted to the dinge, I noted a small altar above which a wooden crucifix had been hung, a smaller golden cross such as might form a pendant having been tacked to the larger's middle. The altar itself was bereft of any ornamentation, although in a hollow beneath it there stood a small clay figurine of what I took to be a very old man.

'That is Saint Peter,' said Serik. I asked if I might examine it.

'Very well, but be careful,' he said.

I took the idol in hand and turned it about slowly, attempting to make out details in the faint light. I had for the better part consigned this expedition to the dustbin of failure, yet now I began to wonder if, perhaps, I was wrong. Did not all legends have foundation in a grain of fact? And as I turned the icon, I could not help but feel a deep and growing desperation in my heart. I so deeply wanted for the emblem to be there, for Alim ibn Karim Al-Khayri's stories to be confirmed or at the least supported. I turned the icon and stared down at its perfectly-blank base.

Crest-fallen, I departed from the shrine. I could not but fear the reprisals that would be taken by my backers when I returned to London destitute and broken. Serik, senseing my disappointment, began to speak.

'You seem unhappy about the icon,' he said. 'is it that you were expecting something?'

'No, not really,' I said, only half-listening. A levity had begun to suffuse me as I realised the ludicrousness of it all.

'It is not even the same icon,' said Serik. 'The original was stolen many years ago by some foreigner. I do not know why - it is worthless save for the purpose of sanctity. That one was different than this, of coursing, having as it did a sacred emblem upon its base'.

Right, now who didn't see that coming? Good, you people can all go with Mr Schroeder here. And never mind the jackets - they're purely for our own protection.