Tunnel Through The Mind

Tunnel Through The Mind

By Jacob Reid

One



The doctors had fled, leaving the soldier alone in the infirmary with only darkness to protect him. With his armor scrapped in pieces about the stony floor and his sword held limply across his chest, he bled mortally, drowning in his own blood, convulsing in feverish shock, and slowly suffocating from a stench of smoke and burning flesh. Like a nightmare, he could hear the raiders clinking war hammers against the outer gate, slaughtering the few remaining defenders whose screams resounded like rainfall in his drowning heart.

“Where’s my angel? You cowardly God! What merciful God would allow this onslaught? What benevolent God would allow women and children to perish to such beasts!”

A puddle of blood filled his lungs, gurgling his screams. The thin light of his consciousness tunneled slowly towards something dark, distant and cold. He followed it, willingly.

“Wait!” A female voice flashed into his mind, jolting his body into a forceful rolling motion causing his stomach to tingle and twirl. He could hear wheels squeaking ferociously below him, as the dreadful sounds of war began fading into a distant hall, and the air began lessening from a thick charcoal to a lonely dust.

“Where did you think you were going?” She spoke again. Her voice sweet and powerful.

He tried to respond but his mouth was paralyzed, and his eyelids gave no lift as he struggled to see her. A light flickered dimly through the lids of his eyes. He assumed it was a lantern, and he also assumed that this strange lady, who bravely flew him to safety, was nothing less than an angel sent by God.

Once again, his consciousness slipped from his weakened grasp, and the wounded soldier drifted into a dark and terrible sleep.




Two

James awoke to birds singing, lying in a shanty bed of a strange mud brick hut. It was a modest hut, dimly lit by a slow burning hearth. There were two windows both covered by wool curtains; along the wall was one oak table with a blanket and pillow folded neatly atop; beside it, was a single oak chair facing in his direction, as though someone had been watching him during his sleep; and beneath it all, was one braided, multicolored carpet that covered most of the dirt floor. Otherwise, the home was bare and abandoned, although James didn’t feel at all alone.

James glanced down to discover his torso wrapped tightly into a blanket like a cocoon. Feeling claustrophobic, he wiggled to get loose; regretting it instantly. A shock of excruciating pain pulsed through his chest; he moaned in agony. Within moments, the hut door swung open letting in a flood of light.

Squinting his eyes, James saw, silhouetted in the doorway, a female figure, slightly tall with slender curves, fitted with wool and leather garbs. She stepped forward revealing her true beauty. She had deep brown eyes and long brown hair that overlapped each shoulder. Her breasts were athletic and firmly placed, and between them hung a bronze medallion appearing to be in the shape of a zodiac star. Her lips were breathtaking, full and luscious, and as crimson as a rose blossom; her skin as pale as the moon.

“How are you?” She asked, in caring though detached way. Now James was certain it was the same woman who saved him.

“You have a nice hut,” he said, nearly biting his tongue.

“It’s important you don’t move. Your wound is very severe. If you need anything, yell for me. I’ll be outside.” She left closing the door gently behind her.

James wanted to yell “wait!” but he was still reeling from his silly comment a moment ago. He had so many questions, so many important questions, but they can wait, he thought. Then he looked down at his wound, I think they can wait… he thought.




Three

The days passed by with quiet connections. She nurtured him with her vegetable soups and aromatic teas. At nighttime she slept on the rug, refusing to take the bed when James pleaded for her to have it. She spent most of the days outside, doing something that made her fingernails and clothes quite dirty, though she never went to bed until every scrap of dirt was removed and every stain was soaked clean.

Albeit, James was frustrated with her. Despite all of his resourceful attempts, she never once answered any of his questions. It was eating him up to know who she was and why she saved him, and he direly wanted to hear news of the outside world. She always gave the same answer “In time.” “In time.” In time! James thought, what a bucket of bologna. “What if there is no time!” he pleaded, “what if this wound kills me in my sleep!”

She was stubborn though, she would just smile in acknowledgment and go about her day. Turning the James volume on and off whenever she saw fit.

After about five days of healing, James was finally able to stand up, although wobbly at first. With tender effort he crept over to the window that shone the most light, peeled back the wool cover, and peered outside for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. The sky was a brilliant blue with speckles of clouds diffused in random patches. He could see a thin mountain range sweeping across the distant horizon, and a few like-sized huts scattered throughout this seemingly fertile valley that he was in.

And then he saw her. That strange lady, tending her garden. Grapevines dwarfed each side of her, a plot of winding peas held high with stakes was in front of her. James also saw what appeared to be beautiful watermelon squash and young tomato plants. But before he could return to the true beauty of the garden, she had already turned towards him. James recoiled. Her gaze was as striking and confident as a lioness in the wild. He shut the curtain hastily, turning his back against the wall.

Having little time to compose himself, she barged into the hut.

“This is good,” she said. “Very good. Now that you can walk, tomorrow I need to take you somewhere.”

“Where?” James asked.

“To a wise woman not far from here. We call her Amahline. I should note that she is the reason I was able to find you. She helped to save your life.”

James was dumbfounded.

“By the way,” she smirked and flicked her hair back, “my name is Joy. And it’s been nice meeting you, James.”




Four

As usual, she was awake before James. She had already boiled tea, taken a sponge bath, and prepared breakfast, brunch and lunch before James could even yawn and take his morning pee. Albeit, despite their attempts to leave early, they didn’t successfully exit the hut until the sun had reached its zenith. James had never been a morning person, and he had the feeling that Joy wasn’t the most punctual person herself.

They traveled east, along a dirt path well worn by cattle and horses. Joy was patient with his waddling steps, and even fashioned him a walking stick from a dying alder branch. Repeatedly, she apologized for not letting him heal longer but insisted the trip was necessary. Although James could hardly be bothered by the aches and discomfort, his attention was all-consumed by the sweet smells and rhythmic sounds of nature. He could hear toads burping in a nearby pond and ravens bellowing in a distant grove. The musky smell of pine and moss, the cold bite of the wind, and the crabgrass brushing against his hand, was all so wonderful. Not once in his life had he felt so present, so in tune with nature.

“Why do you wear a witch’s medallion?” James asked, breaking a long silence.

She smirked in a way that made him feel like he asked a stupid question.

“Why do you call it that? What do you consider a witch?” she asked.

“A user of dark arts,” he said, “sorcery, magic, making unnatural from the natural. It just seems strange for an angel to wear a relic condemned by God.”

“Are you calling me a witch or an angel?”

“I don’t know…” he said, honestly.

“Well, for now I’ll just answer: the world is not as simple as you’ve been led to believe.”

“What do mean?”

“In time.” she said, once again.

“Figures!” a sharp rebuttal came to his mind, but he held his tongue.




Five

When they arrived at the outskirts of Amahline’s manor, James measured the time to be about four-fingers to sunset. They had been walking off and on for about a half a day, breaking frequently, drinking ample water and eating a dry lunch of carrots and peas by a meadow next to a stream.

After crossing a wooden bridge, they traversed along a smooth trail carved through an orchard of unblossomed apple and plumb trees, until eventually they came upon the unguarded entrance of Amahline’s manor. It was awing. Before them stood a giant barred gate standing fifteen feet tall, exuding a weird mix of both hospitality and hostility, though dwarfing the gate even, stood an extravagant three-story edifice with purple walls and a yellow roof that spiraled upwards to a gothic pinnacle. Born from poverty, James was stricken by the nobility of this mansion. If faeries existed, James thought, they certainly would have inhabited something similar to this.

“Where’s all the people?” James asked, observing a long line of haltered and unsaddled horses.

“I’m sure they are inside,” Joy replied, “ probably enjoying the Hour of Festivity. We’ll go inside, but first we need to wash over at the bathhouse. ”

He followed her around a graveled bend and into a shack built inconspicuously along the wall of the manor. She rolled up her sleeves, grabbed a cloth from the countertop, dipped it in a bucket of bubbly water, and began washing her face and arms. Erotic, James thought, watching her, admiring her graceful and determined swipes. Eventually she noticed his goggling eyes and said “Well, aren’t you going to wash?”

James noticed an itsy-bitsy grin on her blushing face.

“Umm, yes, yeah!” He said looking at line on the wall, “Yeah, I’m going to wash!”





Six

As amazing as the manor was from the outside, the interior was twice as breathtaking. In the foyer, the main décor was of cherry wood with bronze plated trims. The stairways, walls and ceiling all glistened with a rosy brown. Along the upper wall hung five paintings of eminent looking fellows. Old men, young men, but no women. The men were all dressed in strange garbs of brown and green, very foreign to James. Then he noticed something awry, not a single one of them looked at all like Englishmen. Their postures were tall and bulky, some even had blonde and reddish facial hair. Then, like a chariot charging in the night, the repressed memories of the horned battleaxe wielding monsters returned to his mind. His stomach cringed.

The day before Joy saved him, he had found his brother’s head planted barbarically onto a spike. His brother’s green eyes were overfilled with blood, and his once strong face was petrified with his last expression of fear and rage. James found his nieces, nephew and sister-in-law all mangled outside the cindered remains of their home. The wife and daughters’ dresses were shredded as though they were raped before being stabbed repeatedly, and the boy, only ten years old, laid facedown in a puddle of blood with his throat slit. Furiously, James hunted the horned fiends by horseback, catching them just as they were raiding the Yorkshire castle. Fueled by revenge he charged them, unaided, swinging his blade wildly… Joy touched his shoulder.

“Are you ok?” His posture fell limply. “Here, let me get this.” She lifted the traveling pack off his shoulders and laid it by the doorway. Then, after allowing him to rest a moment, she grabbed his hand and led him tentatively up a few steps to the greeting hall, which smelled of freshly burnt lavender.

A male voice called from across the hall.

“Oh my God, Joy! Fabulous, I‘m so excited! It’s so great to see you!”

A short man, thinner than a twig, rushed towards them. He wore a green feathered beret, green leotards, and a green overcoat. If his ears were long and pointy, James would have sworn this petite man was a real elf.

“Paulito!” Joy answered with a smile. “Are you performing tonight?”

“You bet, silly! Amahline asked me to do my fiddle routine for the guests.” He burst into a wild dance, kicking high, and playing a pretend fiddle.

James didn’t know if he was supposed to, but he laughed anyway.

“Hi James!” Paulito said, still dancing joyfully.

“Wait, how did you know my…? Ugh, never mind.”

“Is Amahline occupied?” Joy asked.

Paulito stopped dancing, leaned forward and cupped his mouth for a whisper: “She’s having a private session with the Foreigners!” His blue eyes widened like his words were hard to believe. “But don’t worry! The pod is already in the parlor, preparing for the Hour of Festivity!”

He cradled their underarms softly. “Come, come! I’ll take you.”





Seven

In the brief walk, Paulito named off all the guests who were attending. Linda, Anna, Budski, and… that’s all James could remember. Joy seemed to recognize all of them.

The parlor turned out to be more modest than James had grown to expect. The room was painted a solid yellow. There were only ten people lounging on wooden chairs that were embroidered with red cushions. A cherry-wood table stretched across the center of the room, where the seven women and three men sat, chatting and drinking from goblets. Most of the guests were older with grey hair, some were young, but none were as young as James. When the group noticed the three’s arrival, they stood up in unison, greeting them cheerfully with hugs, smiles, and even kisses. Eventually the crowd centered around James, making him feel especially awkward when the three large men gave him a big bear hug.

“So you’re the James we’ve been hearing about!” said a large man with bushy grey beard and a plump figure. He smiled jovially like he hadn’t a lick of resentment in his body. James hadn’t even spoken a word, yet he never felt more accepted anywhere in his life.

Paulito took over, “Yes, Budski, this is James! Remember his name! As quick as he came! As swift as the rain! A knight, a light, a plight to proclaim!”

At the front of the room was a small stage, one tier high, well lit and painted orange. Paulito skipped to it, snatching his fiddle and bow along the way.

“Tonight!” announced Paulito, swiping three tones, “your eyes will be awed, your heart will be moved, and your groins boiled!

“Tonight, these lovely actors and actresses will present the greatest epic ever told! A warrior, compelled by honor, heart tested by deceit! Dragons, sea monsters, and even demons thrust against his will! This story, passed down through the legends of the old, is known simply as, ‘Beowulf!’”

All the lanterns in the parlor except the stage lights were blackened, highlighting Paulito as he took a deep and long bow.

“All take a stand. I welcome to our presence, mistress Amahline and her royal guests!”

James could see four people slip into the parlor, though he was unable to make out more than their bulky outlines shuffling.

Behind him, a slow drum beat elevated into a rapid, heart-pounding percussion; to his right, a triangle dinged in cycles of ones and threes; to his left, a large barrel was tipped, raining countless roaring beads; on all sides, people smacked their hands rhythmically against the table; and finally, at a hall-shaking climax, Paulito snapped into riveting fiddle solo, river-dancing at a fleeting pace. James grew exhausted just watching.

Eventually the tune dwindled to a somber melody, as two men James recognized entered the stage, wearing thin fabricated armor, and wielding wooden swords.

The thinner man, also wearing a flimsy crown, rose his sword and said, “I am Hrethel, the Geatish king!”

And the other actor, who James recognized as Budski, due to his grey beard and bulging belly, bowed his head and humbly said, “I am Beowulf. Son of Ecgtheow.”






Eight

The play continued on brilliantly. All of the original ten eventually played roles, using absurd props of burlap, wood and paint. And although the characters were exaggerated and some dialogue was fumbled and forgot, James was completely confounded. His imagination riveted with the ideas of a gold-hoarding dragon, a noble king, a magical sword and a seductive demon. His heart was awed by Beowulf’s valor, and his everlasting bravery despite overwhelming odds. The whole story resonated with him to a point that when it came to a close, his head buzzed with revelations and his heart stung with hidden passions.

Paulito, who had been narrating elegantly the entire time, took center stage for the finale.

“And so the great and noble king was laid onto the pyre, horsemen circling his remains! And, at the king’s request, his corpse was sent burning into the celestial sea where the spirits would escort him to the great Longhouse of the stars.”

All the actors and actresses still dressed in costumes returned to stage and performed a final, united bow.

As James stood for the small ovation, all the lanterns in the parlor were once again set ablaze. And for the first time, the shadowy figures became completely visible.

Because her appearance dimmed everything else in the parlor, James noticed Amahline first. She wore a blue and purple dress that flared and draped brilliantly as a male peacock. Her lips were the darkest red James had ever seen. Her skin was ghostly pale and her milky hair fell many inches down to the center of her back. She smiled and applauded the performance, apparently not noticing James looking at her.

The other three were still seated in a row, clashing goblets and chatting amongst each other. The two sitting on the wings wore brown and black, leathery uniforms. The largest one in the center wore a silky green, long-sleeved shirt. Their beards were all the same color, red, though they varied in kempt. They all were about fifty pounds larger than James, of muscle and bone.

He recoiled. These men were certainly not Englishmen, and their postures were similar to the barbarians he had battled only a week ago. James was convinced that if they weren’t directly connected with the death of his brother, they knew who was…

He fell into his seat, quiet and shaken.

Amahline rose her hand, bringing the room to a breathless silence.

“Thank you, students,” her accent was startling, “Your performance was delightful,” she smiled and turned her attention to the onlookers, eventually looking at James directly. “This concludes the Hour of Festivities. For those of you who haven’t started, now is time to drink your fill of wine. My chefs have prepared a most prized feast for all of you!”

James couldn’t figure out why she referred to these adults as “students” or how a woman could exude so much power and respect. Throughout his life women were always treated as second-class citizens; beaten, ignored, and used. As a child, the pastors would rant on about how women opened the Pandora’s box when Eve convinced Adam to eat the apple. “Women are root of all evil, James. They aren’t capable of making their own decision! They are naïve! Satan woos them easily!”

However, James was raised by a single mother after his father died, and knew firsthand that women were just as capable as men. Nonetheless, misogynistic views were still rampant in his era, and it was practically unheard of for a woman, aside from a queen, to have as much wealth and power as Amahline.

The larger and more noble man sitting in center, stood, raising his goblet and swaggering. “Bravo, a good show! It was an hon… hawn… awn…” he sneezed and rubbed his nose vulgarly, “honor, to watch such… a… dazzling display!” His words were slurred and gargled by a thick accent. “Now, where’s that food, huh? I could eat an entire caribou!” His companions collapsed into a drunken chortling.

“Your words are so charming!” Amahline replied. “Come, I’ll escort you to the dining hall!” She looked back at James with a telling gaze, “We have a special feast for all of you.”





Nine

James’ plate was overloaded with outstanding delicacies, boiled beats, stuffed olives, green peppers, beef ribs and pork feet and chicken thighs, but for some reason he could hardly take a bite. Watching the foreigners gobbling pheasant legs and snorting glass of wine after glass of wine, made him quite ill. Albeit, he wasn’t the most mannered fellow himself, but these men were utterly barbaric.

Joy ate soup and mixed the vegetables into an interesting salad, not even touching a piece of meat.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, James, is it?” The gorging man spoke from across table, not taking an eye off his food.

“No,” James replied, “we haven’t. And you are?”

“I am…” he chuckled, “your long lost father, Harold!”

“My father is dead.” James replied.

Paulito gagged.

“Ha ha ha, my name actually is Flanders, you julep!”

“He is the second son of Edmund the Great,” added the younger man.

In other words, James thought, he is the prince of the Danes. The sworn enemy of England.

“Amahline tells me your are one of England’s finest squires. Quite deadly with the pen, eh?”

“Oh!“ Alahmine intervened, “Don’t bother with these things right now. It is time for dessert!” She waved in the chefs who carried a multilayered cake and several deep dished pies.

James wanted to reach across the table and slit the man’s throat with his steak knife.
But instead he said, “she is mistaken…”

“Oh?”

“I dabble in writing,” he looked at Amahline coldly, “but I am far from the finest in England.”

“Yes, ha ha, she is quite the storyteller, isn’t she?” The Dane scooped a mouthful of pie into his mouth.

“Indeed.” James replied.

“Has she told you about the book of Twelve?”

Amahline's expression shrank.

“Ha ha, so she hasn’t!" The prince chugged his wine. "You see, my father is so enthralled by her, he sent a platoon into a Roman city just to snatch it! They killed hundreds and lost a handful of my best men for that book. When usually we burn the lousy things!”

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, Captain. Don’t you remember the king’s orders?”

“What, you worried about these nobodies? I could kill them all in two swings!…” The drunken prince collapsed headfirst into the pie dish, falling dead asleep.

“Forgive us,” the two men lifted his arms over their shoulders hoisting him up. “I believe it is bedtime. It was a fabulous dinner. Thank you, Amahline!” They carried him slowly out of the dining hall, his feet skidding along the wood floor. The rest of the diners watched, silently.

“You’re all invited to sleep in the guest hall.” Amahline said, not looking at anyone. “Now, If you’ll excuse me.” She scooted away from the table and exited with a very somber expression.

“Quite the entertainers!” Paulito snapped, breaking an awkward silence.

Joy touched James’ forearm. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” James replied. “I am quite sleepy.”

Joy smiled, “No, no, no! We have something better prepared for you.”

“I’m too tired for surprises, just tell me what it is!”

“Well, with such a fresh wound, I wouldn’t have had you trek five miles for a food and entertainment. If I must tell you, your pain will be healed completely tonight.”

“Don’t fool with me. You know it’s impossible for a wound like this to be healed in one night.”

The group looked around at each other, grinning.

“Impossible,” a woman remarked, “where on earth did you learn a word like that?”






Ten

James followed them through a labyrinth of halls. Hanging beads separated each walkway, which they slipped through noisily. Paulito led them, lighting walled lanterns along the way. Finally they came to a large wooden door, painted white.

“You believe in angels don’t you James?” Joy asked.

He nodded, too apprehensive to speak.

“Through this door is the apex of ascension and descension. All things are connected here. Don’t be frightened by the scripts on the wall, they hold the tunnel together.”

Paulito opened the door broadly. The room was pitch black.

First the women entered, followed by the men. Leaving James standing there, frozen as stone.

“Don’t be afraid,” a familiar voice entered his mind. “Fear anchors you. Let it go.”

“This doesn‘t make any sense!” James answered. “I don’t know these people, I don’t know who I am , and I definitely don‘t know why I‘m answering to a voice in my head!” James was tempted to run away. It didn’t matter where, just somewhere far far away from here.

Someone who smelt like blueberries touched his shoulder from behind.

It was Amahline.

“I can sense you are splicing,” she said. “So I brought this for you.” She laid in his hand a dagger encrusted with a blue jewel.

She whispered into his ear, “You know they are sleeping soundly? How easy would it be to slip in their rooms and thrust this into their hearts?” He stared down at the dagger, examining the certainty of its blade.

Yes, he thought, a true justice. His brother died, now they too should die. He saw a vivid image of the dagger penetrating the prince’s chest. His blue eyes opening in shock. A pillow muffling his screams. Blood dripping from the tip of the dagger.

“Revenge is an illusion,” the voice returned. “Bloodshed only serves to replicate itself. Come with us. Break the cycle. Let us heal you.”

“I am not a coward!” James gripped the dagger's handle and began limping towards the Danes’ corridor. Abruptly, though, he hit a solid wall. He furiously felt around all sides and corners trying to find a gap. He knew the wall wasn’t there before, and he grew enraged by its presence.

“Where did this wall from come!” He yelled.

“What wall?” Amahline replied, calmly.

“The wall right here!” he hammered his fists against it, and yelled even louder.
“Don’t fool with me. I know who you are!”

“You think I’m the devil, James?”

“Yes, and I am in hell!”

“I’m sorry your mind is in such a painful prism, but I assure you, you are not in ‘hell.’”

“Then remove this wall! Let me fulfill my destiny!”

“I can’t remove something I didn’t create…”

“What the hell does that mean!” He collapsed to ground weeping, his chest pulsing with pain.

“Your higher self... it doesn’t want you to take that path. You create your own walls in this house.”

James was too weakened to interject. He laid there in agony, thinking of turning the dagger towards her.

Joy emerged from the dark room. She walked towards him slowly, sitting on the floor in front of him, cross-legged.

“Remember when I told you ‘The world is not as simple as you’ve been led to believe‘?”

He didn’t reply but listened intently.

“You are more than just a soldier, more than a writer, more than brother and son. You are more than this life and everything you’ve seen or done or felt. We are not strangers, you and I. We knew each other long before that day I saved you. We knew each other before this life, before England, before the Viking invasion. Right now you are in a timeline, 865 A.D. Very important in human history, granted, but it’s all minute in the greater picture. Before you descended, we made a pact. That I would come for you, if ever this world made you broken. When you cried to God you were broken James, your will was defeated and your soul frayed to its fullest, and now it‘s time for me to honor my pact and your soul to be healed.” She touched his hand sincerely, it felt warm and smooth. “Come with us, there is so much you need to see.”

She stood up tugging his hand, and, partially from confusion, his resistance gave and he stood up as well. She began escorting him to the dark chamber with easing steps, passing Amahline, who said nothing. When they got to the door, Joy stepped inside turning towards him. “Aren’t you curious about the future, James? Don’t you want to know what will come of this world?”