Up strawberry vine, p.36
UP STRAWBERRY VINE, page 36
All brothers were badly burnt with distorted black textiles, in parts shiny, uneven, or hardened as had been with the one we’d just witness partly transform into an elk. One of elfin proportions seemed to waltz to an invisible tune, with an invisible partner atop one of the long dining room tables. Another’s gait was unsteady and unpredictable with small bursts of energy in which he’d zoom forward and then stop, haphazardly swaying from side to side at each break. Floki reached for an arrow and equipped it to his bow, using three fingers to steadily pull the bow’s drawstring back towards his face. The bowstring resonated with a low, taut hum just on the threshold of human hearing. Even so, this was enough to draw attention to us.
In that moment, all disoriented brothers lifted their heads to the sound. And before the sharp, twanging sound of the bow’s string snapping forward could flourish, they began sprinting towards us. The arrow accelerated through the air with a high–pitched whistle, attempting a kill, but to no avail, knocking a tall centerpiece of thick steel coil jammed with blue hydrangeas and nearly black sweet potato vines. The uncoordinated brothers leapt over tables and chairs, their arms flailing erratically, leaving behind a trail of destruction and disarray. The meticulously arranged cutlery went flying across the room with crystal goblets shattering about the floor and silver gilt plates sent crashing on the walls.
We hectically exited the way we came. Thus, we were forced to scour Neptune for a haven out of sight of the many wild beasts and those on the brink of becoming ones who day by day grew to be more vicious. The bodies of fallen jaguars littered the castle grounds and blood soaked were the once gray halls underground, beyond the Lemon Room. A few brothers we’d seen lying about outside the theater had their heads crushed like a tangerine, with juice and mush becoming of a round burst, expanding outward in all directions like dispersed fireworks. I could only imagine it was a gorilla who effortlessly extracted the juice from its victims’ heads by crushing, pressing, or grinding them against the gray walls.
Leonid had once mentioned that anything less than seven hundred men in Neptune would be bad luck. I can’t imagine how much worse this fraternity’s luck can get. This Pilot furtively moving through Neptune without any fruitful resistance has yet to discriminate in picking prey. His homicidal rampage through use of his creations is either a hefty price for the wrongs of this fraternity as a whole, an act without conscious volition, or a course apropos of nothing.
I knew I had to escape this void of decay and allowing for reflection on days of suspenseful quiet and false security, whether I’d risk so without assistance was starting to sound more compelling. In essence, the likeliness of escape lies only in the strength of my conviction. I will ram through varied obstacles and leave with my sanity intact, ignoring those who may cry out for help. Those Pilot feels just in pronouncing judgement on.
In the days we spent at the theater, we’d gathered comfortable costumes from backstage to put on, befriended three Nihils, and recounted our time in Neptune’s prison. Arnold and I dressed ourselves in loose–fitting black tunics and comfy white sneakers with black laces. Floki had found an oversized, airy mint green tank top, stretchy charcoal gray trousers, and beige suede loafers his size to put on. Both Arnold and Floki decided to freeball, pitching their underwear at some mannequin heads. I, on the other hand, found a substitute for underwear with some black cotton shorts. They could also be used for pajamas if I ever found the desire to sleep again. I’d finally rid myself of David’s tacky Union Flag swim trunks.
Aleko, Boris, and Culbert were found hiding amongst the many mannequins backstage. They were dressed similarly enough to ones whose wardrobe made little sense. Had they not opted to declare their presence, they would’ve gone unnoticed. After a few minutes of us rummaging through more clothes and props for a genuine bag that would replace my shitty construction, they made their introduction when Aleko pushed a mannequin into Floki. The other two gently stepped out from behind the mannequins providing them cover.
They’d clearly been ducking as the three were tall, emanating a powerful presence with their sturdy and athletic appearance. Aleko’s brown eyes were relatively small, creating a captivating contrast to his large hairstyle. His voluminous hair was brown and curly but not nearly as curly as Boris’ whose free–flowing black curls must’ve been prompted by a perm or curl–enhancing shampoo. His abundant tight curls framed his square face almost entirely up to his chin. His sharp facial features gave off an impression of fearlessness and the ability to slice butter.
Culbert’s hair was blond and close to the scalp. His warm smile wasn’t enough to distract someone from the irregular bumps and contours on his outer ears, as well as his slightly misshapen nose with a noticeable deviation from its natural alignment, possibly from a combat sport such as boxing. All three seemed to have garnered pieces of the costumes at hand to concoct their own ensemble of artistic expression. Aleko wore a white t-shirt with short sleeves that just barely covered his shoulders, layered with a slanted lavender spaghetti strap tank top. His caramel brown shorts had the grid–like pattern of a waffle cone and his white sneakers bore the chaotic illusion of blue paint splatters.
Boris’ short sleeved black and white checkered shirt was open down the middle. Its pattern of squares had a slight wave to them. His holographic shorts had a crocodile skin print, and his cotton candy shoes had a nebula tie dye design. The most eye–catching piece was Culbert’s hot pink sequined jacket whose numerous small, reflective discs added a touch of magic in playing with the light. The rest of his outfit lacked inspiration, consisting of a plain white t–shirt, sandy–hued shorts, beige running shoes, and hot orange calf socks.
Proceeding the initial surprise of them lurking backstage, Arnold coolly approached Boris. “What kind of shirt is that?”
“No idea.” Boris studied his shirt, considering what was so special about it.
“If that’s an off–brand, that’s my shit.” Arnold playfully guided Boris to turn so he could glance at the tag on the back of his checkered shirt. Intrigue was written over his face though the brand name was unspoken. “I’m right there with you man,” he muttered, spinning Boris back around.
The ABC squad met one another the same day I arrived in Neptune. The day all Nihils arrived in Neptune. What a day it was that I missed out on, disconnected from my own and thinking I was isolated in my fish out of water experience. Arnold had chosen not to consort with the newbies that day having already been through Neptune’s long and dull introduction once before. All who entered Neptune for the first time were funneled in through the front entrance, greeted by a fucking mascot of all things, by the name of ‘Dapper Paws.’
Aleko described it as a walking stuffed animal, featuring a plush, black fur coat with a glossy sheen, mimicking the coat of a real jaguar. The costume’s cartoonish jaguar head was fit with a mini white top hat. Its piercing yellow eyes were programmed to emit a soft, glowing illumination thanks to some embedded lights. Complete with a hidden mechanism that triggered an automated growling sound from the jaguar’s mouth every time it’d raise both paws. Up until then, I believed the way I came into this castle was its main entrance.
This was no minor detail. I was purposefully kept from everyone else because of my erratic behavior on the cliff and Tommy’s watchful eye over me. Every other Nihil got to enjoy their last meal together in that dining hall with wild colors and copious plants on the ceiling. Miraculously, each was served their choice of food from an infinite menu. About two hundred meals had been prepped for their arrival.
These newcomers were herded from across the world and unlike I, they came here intentionally. They were each approached at an opportune time in the day when they’d be alone. Most times, the men who’d been slated to become their herald would be who they’d meet. The men from Mercury offered these seemingly average males the chance to partake in a game of gripping adventure which if successfully completed, would grant them entrance to an exclusive brotherhood out of this world. They were lured with the angst of never getting an opportunity like this again; one whose reward was said to bottle the secret to immortal life.
One day was given to decide. Should they choose to play the game, all that was required was crushing an old, rusted copper coin engraved with the image of a mermaid on one side and strange writing, unlike any known language, on the other. These coins were provided by the heralds to potential players during their first meeting. With the coin crushed, its enchantment is activated, setting in motion a sequence of events that guide the person towards the coin’s place of origin—Neptune. Anyone avoiding the act of physically destroying the coin would find that within a day the coin had vanished, back into the hands of the herald who’d offered it.
“I don’t think anyone knows what makes those rusted coins work,” Floki admitted in a concealed whisper. “It’s true. Once you’ve been to Neptune, anyone who takes a coin with them to the otherworld will find that if the coin is lost or given to someone who fails to crush it within a day, the coin will always return to the one who took it from Neptune in the first place.”
What united us all in being chosen, Floki revealed, was our remarkable disregard for human suffering. At this point, I’d flipped through the pages of my life and bared in mind the sad reality of my depravity. I’ve seen women battered, children abused, and rioters pummeling an innocent man to death, and I didn’t do anything. We were chosen due to our lack of action throughout our lives when confronted by what we knew to be wrong. With year eighteen being the cutoff for when we can be approached to make a decision.
This, Floki explained, is due to the jaguars’ belief we can’t be shaped to the extent we need to be for their use as adults for once we’ve reached adulthood our worldview, personality, goals, values, and motivations are typically set in stone. The jaguars still have the opportunity to dig their claws into us, to help in defining our authentic selves while we’re still kites in the wind, easily guided any which way the wind is stronger. In our adolescence, we’ve less autonomy than we realize due to our inexperience in life’s failures and successes.
How the Immortal Jaguars know of our inaction in the face of injustice is through a relic of Mercury. The brothers of this class have various responsibilities. Along with guiding those who accept the proposal to play in the Gauntlet, a part of their recruiting duties is to identify candidates by capturing their essence. We are given one last chance to back out from the Gauntlet after accepting the first proposal, which comes when the Caesar himself personally offers each candidate a mochi leaf as a final bid.
By then, the Caesar himself has seen each candidate’s profile which consists of a synopsis on where that individual is presently in their life and a photograph. This photograph doesn’t necessarily have to capture the entire subject. Just enough to distinguish their face as in a passport photo. More importantly, the photograph reveals that person’s nature to do good when no one is watching or encouraging them to.
The photograph is instantly developed from a supernatural camera. This, the aforementioned relic. A multi–colored aura will appear behind the subject with the predominant colors typically consisting of either lilac or burgundy. If the subject has no lilac in their aura, they are a perfect match for the Immortal Jaguars regardless of what other colors comprise the aura. If the subject has over a quarter of lilac in their aura, they’re not a match. Lilac represents our goodwill while burgundy could be anything from evil to a lack of emotion, cleanliness, or vitality. Someone whose aura is exclusively burgundy is typically associated with being a sociopath.
When Culbert expressed his desire to see his photograph, Floki explicitly stated such a thing is strictly forbidden and punishable by death. Specifically, getting flayed alive. Whoever wrote into this fraternity’s laws the extreme punishment for something so inconsequential must be shrouded in burgundy. If the Immortal Jaguars primarily seek the imperfect, the untruth of me being a rapist shouldn’t come as much of a shock to them.
While Floki agrees the lot of Nihils here are the scum of the earth, the Gauntlet is meant to absolve us of our sins, and we’re meant to leave better men than we arrived. Then again, not everyone survives the Gauntlet or is fortunate enough to leave Neptune alive. Floki confesses, it makes it easier when Nihils die in one of the four rounds knowing they weren’t the gentlest of souls.
The prospect of death is not one unveiled until the Gauntlet is already in progression. At which point, a Nihil has already relinquished their right to back out. A devious trickery not done on a whim. It’s necessitated to meet the manning requirements set in place by the Censor class. Impressively, the Immortal Jaguars have approximately five hundred thousand within their ranks throughout the otherworld. With the Gauntlet taking place once about every one thousand years and about two hundred participants each go–around, I don’t see how their population has grown to be so large and managed to maintain its numbers. The math doesn’t add up.
It also begs the question, how is this Arnold’s second run through the Gauntlet? Arnold dismisses my question, claiming it’s not as complex an answer as I may think it is, but it’s an answer I’ll have to discover on my own. Or with our new friends if I so choose.
As everyone got better acquainted, I walked the stage and peeked out the burgundy stage curtains. There was a gorilla striding gracefully at the theater’s front entrance with a remarkable blend of power and finesse. Its coarse, silver–tipped fur glistened under the soft glow of fire at the tip of the thin black candlesticks that stood in the tall golden candelabras’ many nozzles. Each powerful muscle moved with purpose as it confidently advanced on its knuckles towards the back row of red velvet padded seats. A muted thud could be heard as each knuckle pressed into the soft earth. I warned the group of its presence, but Floki strongly advised against approaching the sole beast with deep regard for its unpredictable nature. Arnold joined me to see what I was seeing. He gulped, then found a quiet corner to relax with deep breathing exercises.
Aleko pulled out a deck of cards, suggesting we quietly play a game to pass the time. He taught us how to play Castle, where the objective is to be the first player to empty their hand by playing cards onto a central tableau, matching the previously played card in rank or suit. Aleko won the first round, the second, the third, and so forth. It was a fast–paced game so each round only lasted about ten minutes as those of us who weren’t familiar with the game quickly got the gist of it. I’d gotten up between rounds to check if the gorilla was still making its rounds.
To make the game more interesting, Aleko ultimately bowed out and set the prize. The winner of the final round would decide the teams of two for the next game of Spades. With Aleko taking himself out of the game, Floki won. He strategically partnered himself with Aleko and stuck me with Culbert. Boris got placed with Arnold. Though, with Arnold uninterested in the game, Boris retired from playing cards and joined him in some meditation. It was in these duos which we’d stay when we unanimously decided it’d be wise to patrol the area and secure this hideout. It was a whole day before the gorilla dipped.
Patrols became a good way to gather weapons and scope out any significant threats. It became apparent from my first patrol with Culbert that there was no longer any order to this fraternity. Not due to perpetual assaults, but rather due to the apparent abandonment of this place, devoid of leadership. The only beings we’d encounter and hide from were the diverse animals and strange burnt men on the brink of becoming ones. We were both confident we weren’t ready to pick a fight with either. Fortunately, such a scenario never materialized. After our second patrol, it seemed as though the majority of animals and burnt men had been summoned to their creator, leaving only a handful to wander the deserted grounds, lost and forsaken.
Between what all of us had collected, we had a discarded grenade without its pin pulled, a few short blades, a golden rifle without ammo, and a light throwing axe. Arnold and Boris had reported my watch was still where we’d left it, strapped to the lit gaming device but Tommy was nowhere to be found. It was too risky to retrieve it with a few elk still roaming nearby. Nevertheless, I appreciated the gesture as it hadn’t yet crossed my mind to go back.
Days later, Floki and Aleko found Tommy’s olive green greatcoat and Sir Isaac Newton wig laid outside David’s locker and brought it back to the theater. They reasoned from Arnold and I’s recollection of that day, the Celers were able to capture him after we’d run. Culbert, on the other hand, put forth the idea Tommy escaped. “What’s to say he didn’t slip from his greatcoat? A Celer could’ve easily been gripping onto the back of it and lost his grip in a subsequent fight. And Tommy could’ve lost his wig as a Celer reached out for anything to detain him and snatched it.” This was certainly a possibility but to quell my nerves, I placed my faith in the first.
On my eighth patrol with Culbert, I’d asked him about his experience in Neptune’s prison. He was uninterested in this line of questioning. Instead, he offered his theories on the brothers of this fraternity turning into animals as a result of something in the air and that perhaps this whole situation was one of the Gauntlet rounds conjured up by the Prefects to test our ability to thrive in the fog of war. He discarded the second theory after I revealed what Arnold and Floki had told me about the rounds always centering on providing an ingredient for the makeup of the drug padda divinorum. Culbert found it funny so much of this fraternity’s focus is in producing this one drug. It couldn’t be what gives them the Immortal part of their name as all it did for me was make me hallucinate. We grew still, anticipating a beast neighboring the edges of the dome. Our watch became silent once more.
Atop the Wolf’s Den, we’d laid on our bellies, our bodies pressed against the rough surface of the concrete rooftop. By then, we’d manage to keep our breaths slow and deliberate, synchronized like a well-rehearsed symphony, anytime we’d sense the subtlest disturbance nearby. The vast expanse of tall blue grass below was a sanctuary for whatever dangers lurked within. Our eyes, sharpened from each patrol, scanned the sea of grass below for the faintest hint of movement.
