Chapter 23. A Request.

  A warm smell of dirt lingered. It was a fresh earthy scent, no encountering’s of dry tree barks or the lush grass and foliage, just the warm sensation of dirt. No, …wait, there was another sense that accompany that smell. It was the sense of taste. The taste of mushroom? There was fleshy notes that trail through the air. There was also a slight whiff of spring water. Not just spring water though. It had a salty mildew taste, or maybe it was a sulfuric scent, like a hot spring. Perhaps deep underground was a pocket of heated waters rushing to a spring elsewhere. Nonetheless these senses detect the pungencies to that of a cave of sorts.

  Eyes open slowly, sleepy hooded eyes that is. Blinking with a repeat until the taste become visible. A split tongue flick rigorously while the den grow open in sight. Then there was a yawn, following was several pops and cracks while a stretch was made. The tongue flick with a steady beat before the vision of the den became full. It was cozy burrow but, not one of recognition. Actually, there really was not much to recognize, it was empty. Just a warm and cozy den that had the earthy aroma of spring water and mushroom.

  Coming to a casual upright stand. No actually there was nothing casual about it. It was an odd stand that didn’t require any assistance of the arms. Just a flex of the lower torso, was all that could be felt during the rise. Legs were not in the equation, not a single one. No knees to push against, no hands making a reach. Not that there was anything to grab onto, the den was empty. Just a flex of the stomach with several muscles along the back. That’s actually how it felt right now. It was a tight flexing in the lower back, and abdomen.

  Unwillingly, a routine was put into motion, it was a routine that didn’t need direction either. Like waking up, putting on the boots and playing that damn role in society. Just like it had happened the day before, and probably tomorrow too. There were no boots, but there was a roll to play.

  Sounds of damp sand being pulled over a weathered cobblestone whisper from below. It was a smooth graceful movement that navigate through the burrowing. It was a steady dragging, much like the sounds of pulling a limp leg through the dirt; if there was no pause for a step. It was a lulling drag with a rhythmic side-to-side pull, all while keeping that glide of grace.

  Pastel green eyes follow the smooth earthy walls of the burrow, before sliding into a new opening. A split tongue flick with a manic tone, tasting the new area before a mental visual was detected. Eyes examine the clusters of standing clusters of mushroom caps. Hundreds of caps flourish in this damp dark earth pocket. This burrowing was for mushrooms, and they sprout from every spot, with every color. Well, they sprout from every spot except one interesting smooth coil of dirt. Perhaps this coiled path allows full area usage without the fret of damaging the fungi’s. Either way this cavity of toadstool was an amazing sight.

  Whoever started this little habitat must have had some big shiny stars in mycology. The placement of just the glow-caps alone had been so precise. Each cap produce a merited amount of light for the surrounding clusters to grow. Not only that but the Drooping-Drippers from above secrete a perfect amount of oily substance. That smooth oil would fall perfectly onto the Devil-Star below.

  The warmth of that orange Devil-Star will eventually soak that oily dew. Once that dew is absorbed a gas is released, nothing nauseous or toxic. It was just part of the blooming process. That Devil-Star will open up with a soft hiss. It was an odd mushroom that bloomed like a flower, the long narrow cap opening like a dull orange star.

  As it bloomed with a hiss, a steam is released. While that steam rises, it creates a small fog, or cloud. That cloud provides moisture for the pocket. After time to absorb the Drooping-Drippers begin to sweat.

  The cycle continues if there is no disturbance to the caps of precise placement. One could assume the habitat is practically self-sustained. All those marvelous caps playing a special role helping the next spore.

  Beautiful caps spore and thrive all throughout the dank little burrowing. Well, all except for that one family right there. No I suppose even that taunting toadstool had a beauty of its own. Regardless, it was those flat wide caps with milky yellow centers; that one would need to be carful for. Some of the older caps start to grow with a browning green center. Some of its crowded creamy gills will grow tangy with a soft pink. It is that family of mushroom too be very weary about.

  A pale yellow arm with dense pebbly skin. Skin like a cantaloupe melon, or maybe an avocado. It was an abrasive texture with small indentation. Like tiny inward scales.

  That pale arm reach for a fine cap of lace. Fingers examining the frilly veil of the cap, it was not her day. Those pale-yellow hands examine cap after cap, fingers slipping in and out of the fine fungal lace. These lacy caps were a delicious snack; it was an odd little shroom with a sickly-sweet fleshy flavor. They paired delightfully with goats milk.

  The graceful slide coiled with the path examining each cap individually. Some had been harvested while others remain until the time is right. That’s the thing with mushrooms, and these families required a delicately unique time frame. A miniscule window of time, somewhere between a nap under an oak tree, and the glowing tip of a nightshade.

  I know that doesn’t sound miniscule, but then again, I suppose it’s all perspective isn’t it. I’m sure from one’s cozy sitting that’s hard to perceive, but to those with patience and absence of time; growth is merely that of repetition.

  After collecting a strong breakfast amount of lacy caps and a couple stems, the routine continued. The graceful pull turned following the coiled path, before sliding back into the opening.

  Quickly sliding into another opening, that split tongue flick dashingly. Pastel green eyes fall over a nesting mound of dirt. Steady flicks of the split, observe the eggs cradled in the cozy pushing’s of earth. Precious hatchlings to be. That light green stare admire the eggs, but to another they may be bizarre.

  Curious eggs indeed, two of which were an iridescent purple. Not a clear translucent iridescent. Those shifting colors prevented the reveal, until hatching. Lovely purple eggs they were though, and when the warmth of the day caught sight of these eggs. The scales layered over the egg, will flash with warm pinks before shifting to a vibrant purple.

  The third egg was of a polished blue. The kind of blue that steel would reflect when it sustains an incredible amount of heat. Those layered scales protecting the egg just the same as that of the purple eggs. That blue one though, it gleam with a buffed sheen, even down here in the dark of the burrow. The teeny veins that run around the scales pulsed with that soft blue color.

  All three eggs shimmer with wondrous radiance. A steady pulse showing strong healthy growth of what was inside. A single and soft yellow hand reached out. Fingers caressing the crevice of the ovoid shape. There was a parental passion that radiate from those gentle fingertips. Showing compassion to each of those grand hatchlings to be. Words were spoken in between tongue flicks, but nothing sensible.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The words were faint and muffled, like trailing echoes in the water. The sound lingered though. They weren’t threatening tones, it was soft. There was a particular warmth that trailed with the words, like a lullaby. Those eggs would pulse brightly in synchronicity to the rhythm. The muffle continue to sing until one of those lovely purple scales lifted just slightly.

  It was a subtle lift before it rest. Curious pastel eyes watch that scale lift with a subtle repeated motion. The muffled lullaby never stopped. Again, that scale pushed out, it was a bit more this time. The scale lift just the same as to that of a steady chest breathing. Those pale-yellow fingers wanted to assist the hatching but resisted. The shell was strong, durable and filled with the potential nutrients the lifeforce inside would require. As that fetus grows within it will absorb the fluids, before eating those scales.

  In a single flick of that split a new scent was tasted. Not new as in unregistered, new as in a presence had entered the burrow. Pale green eyes followed the scent, waiting for visual recognition. The dirt pulled softly, while the body twisted with a coiling rotation. The lovely scent grew stronger, before the swaying pull of dirt could be heard. That pull of dirt gracefully echo through the tunnels. It was such a relaxing sound, and the taste, …oh it was just wonderful. It was a motherly scent, not only motherly but there was also passion. The kind of passion that two lost souls would emit when finding one another. That lovely scent drew closer, and that split tongue anticipated an arrival. Those light green eyes watch the tunneling before that soft drag found its way into the egg den.

  The entire den pulsed with ancient enigma upon seeing the naga. It was a female naga. A soft metallic blue sparkled across her pebbly skinned body as the pulse shocked along the walls of the den. She had slight woman features from the waist up. Or well her standing posture had those woman’s features. Her body was that of a snake, so who knows where the waist would be. She had long silky silver hair. Not aged with silver but radiant and sheen. Narrow face, with high cheeks, and a long chin, much like that of the naga. The face was slightly human but was overpowered with reptilian traits. Bright silver eyes with tall pupils, making that silver hair just that much more radiant. Smooth slits where a nose would be, and scaly lips stretching half around that narrow face. Small shoulders and thin arms. Her underbelly had a soft creamy white color, gently blending with the metallic blue. Her breasts were subtle. Nothing like that of the human. There was no jiggle, or nipple. No areola or true shape, just two subtle lumps where you would think they would be. She was a lovely naga. She was the queen.

  Pastel eyes locked with those of bright silver. That soft blue naga slithered with hypnotizing grace while she approached too. She coiled gently around those 3 beautiful eggs, each pulsed upon her wrap. She never slowed; the coil continued to wrap and wrap around those precious eggs. Round and round, faster and faster. The tight coiling had become dizzying to the eyes. Her blue pebbled skin seemed to blend with the pulsing color of the eggs. Those innocent eggs shifted many times, attempting to find comfort in that tight coil.

  Pastel greens curiously watch the constricting. This wasn’t a gaze of wonder; it was now a stare of concern, with knots of confusion. Those eggs could break if she coiled any tighter. A pale-yellow hand reached out to stop the naga from her coiling. As that pebbly hand made the slightest contact with a small shoulder, time stopped.

  The naga felt cold. She was cold blooded, but this was an icy touch. That cool touch formed a haunting chill. A slithering shiver found many paths across that yellow pebbled reach, before the chill rippled over the body. The naga turned her head slowly.

  Her face had been altered. Carved would probably be a more suitable word. Those big, beautiful silver eyes looked to be cut from her head. Sockets had become nothing more than deep dark pits. Her cheeks were now streaked with stains. Stains reaching from those empty pits down to her jawline. Each streak lift like that of a welt.

  A lovely thread of silver twine, or hair slithered around her lips. It wasn’t a fine polished kind of silver; it was worn and stained. That twine wrapped her lips with a tight pull. Soft human-like lips gently curl around that narrow snake-like face. Those soft lips had been stitched, bound by that silver string. Lips pulled while that silver thread tugged. Like a puppet to the marionettist, the lips began to perform small movements.

  “You’ve been sleeping for quite some time now King. The integrity you hold for the land is recognizable and for that your presence has been detected. In one plate of balance, it was a devoted act respecting the name of Lakora, on another plate, it was reckless and thoughtless.”

  Her lips glossed with a wet sheen, all while those threads tugged this way and that. Words gently slipped past as that gloss opened just cracks between each jerk of twine. Her voice was soft, and the layered echo was chilling.

  “The Seven are truly attentive and playing again King. The game has not yet ended, and none of them will be waiting their turn now. It is your destruction that is of concern to the siblings. The rules are fluctuating King; it will hardly be a board of influential desire anymore.”

  The den walls pulsed with each directed pull of the thread. The eggs shimmered in that tight constricting. Beautiful droplets of crimson fell from the naga’s chin, while that dull silver thread conducted another series of yanking. Her soft voice managed to slip through that silver stitching that leaked cerise.

  “Do not fail me again King, my memory cannot hold the echo for another century. You must try and remember before you forget. Remember this King: the warm ember of fury is not the inner wrath of Pandora but is the burden of redemption.”

  Her words swirled around the den. There was an ancient pulse that shimmered throughout that burrowing with each word. It was a beautiful and chilling teal shimmer. The pulse it emit caused a vibrating feeling in the den.

  She continued constricting her wrap around those precious eggs. Around and around and around, squeezing those poor eggs with an eye sickening churn until.

  -Crunch-

  The sound of eggs cracking echoed. It was a peculiar crunch. Those scaley shells clapped and clattered all while crumbling in on one another. The walls pulsed madly while those eggs grind and grind within the coiling. With each shimmering pulse was the chilling echo of the naga’s layered voice.

  “The warm ember of fury is not the inner wrath of Pandora but is the burden of redemption.”

  -Crunch—Crunch-

  Two more loud crunches were heard. Then there was a horrid scream. It was a red in the face kind of scream. The kind of pitch that could curl the ears. It was a scream that only a toddler could perform, or a very fussy newborn. The scream came from the centering of that sickening coil. No, …it wasn’t just a scream now. There were words within those screams.

  Words of mockery. Words of failure. Shame and disrespect. Words of hate. Words of disgrace. Guilt and blame. Words of execration. Words of abomination. Fault and omission. Curses to damnation woven with retribution. All those screams layered over another making it difficult to decipher just one of them. As the same as the last, each word was heavy with disappointment and abhorrence.

  The loathing screams of disgust. The eggs that blend to nothing. Those chilling words that echo with a haunting vibration. Then was that god damned gentle chirp of the bell. A lovely chirp that pulse with a soft reverberation. A bell that made the breath pause with a shudder of anticipation while the skin tightened with a defined ripple.

  Following up just lingering only a heartbeat behind. There it was. The reason for that anticipation. The reason that skin to raise like a prepped goose. The reason to hold one’s breath. It was quick. It was fierce and it was louder than it had ever been before.

  It was a heavy carnivorous snarl. A quick predatory sound that would chill the bowels. The kind of noise that cornered the mind into panic. It was a deep vibration that tremored through the bones. A quick tone rolled with flesh eating decibels. It was a fierce snarl, one could almost see the teeth it was so aggressive.

  Sid kicked awake with a heavy gasp. Well it was like 4 or 5 heavy gasps, but big Sid jumped awake. Dragging that fat missing a finger hand over a damp face. A cool breeze molested Sid’s body. That invading chill touched Sid in spots he should not be feeling a cool breeze. He blinked tiredly wiggling his toes freely. Scratched the bare skin of that big belly, then one of them thick thighs. Sid wasn’t one to sleep in the nude, but he noticed he was naked. Completely butt naked, where were his linens?