A Cloud Of Madness

A Cloud of Madness

Bob Lock

Copyright 2012 by Bob Lock

Cover graphics by Jan Mullins

Smashwords Edition

Bob Lock asserts the moral rights to be identified as the author of this work

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

For Juliana

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1 – Calling Cave

Chapter 2 – Sigmund’s Comet

Chapter 3 – The Return Of The Prodigals

Chapter 4 – Hidden Canyon

Chapter 5 – Tidy

Chapter 6 – Strange Thoughts

Chapter 7 – The Totem’s Secret

Chapter 8 – The Hunt

Chapter 9 – Enlightenment

Chapter 10 – Conclusion

More from the author.

Chapter 1 - Calling Cave

Myriad dust motes danced frantically in and out of the shaft of sunlight that lanced through the cool darkness of the vast cavern. It was the cave’s only source of light and shone down through a narrow fissure located high in the ceiling. It struck the dust-covered floor like a splash of yellow, molten gold only inches away from the feet of young Jay Greenstone. It gave the wiry young Indian just enough illumination to paint by, and the painting was almost finished. Jay picked up the small earthenware bowl, which contained the red ochre dye – put it to his lips and prepared to give his creation the final touch – the signature of the artist. Next, he filled his mouth with the thick liquid and put his right hand on the wall close to the painting; then spreading his fingers he forcefully blew the dye over both his hand and rough stone. It left a perfect silhouette of his hand. Finally he stood back and cast a critical eye over the finished product. It was a caricature of a man. A man with a large hooked nose – and a very improbable penis. It was forked, forked like the tongue of a snake. The artist smiled to himself.

Yes, he thought, it is a good likeness of Gaagii or Hawk as the whites called him. The nose might be slightly exaggerated but the other organ is… well, this is an evil-eye on my arch-rival within the tribe, my enemy, and not a portrait to praise his virtues.

Now all that was needed was the incantation and the presentation of a fetish. Sitting cross-legged in front of the painting he began singing the old song taught to him by his grandfather, who in turn had heard it sung by his own grandfather all those years ago. He called to the spirits with the certainty that they would hear and come. His voice, deep for a youth of his age, resonated around the cave as, with great ceremony, he opened the leather pouch that hung from a cord around his bronzed neck. With revered care he emptied the contents onto the dusty floor in front of him. The whistle, painstakingly carved from an eagle bone, the rattle made from the tail of a deadly snake, and finally the small clay effigy of a man. The latter he placed in a small hole he had prepared in the floor. With the incantation completed he placed the whistle between his lips then, holding the rattle in his left hand, he slowly rose to his feet. Jay faced each cardinal point of the compass in turn with unnerving accuracy, blew the whistle, rattled the snake’s tail and held out his right hand with the palm upwards. His grandfather’s words burned brightly in his mind.

‘East, the direction of the dawn the direction of thought. When the sun comes up, it is to the east. Navajos look eastwards to think and welcome Him in his fiery glory.

‘South. The planning direction.’

‘West, for the Navajo life and where we do our living. Here, Jay is where we act out our plans and thoughts and follow the directions of our lives. Where the sun returns to rest.’

‘And finally North, where the Navajo way of life is evaluated. This is where we search for satisfaction and thought on the outcome of what was first started in the East. Here is where we determine to change things. To make things better or to see whether we are truly on the right path and should continue the cycle.’

As the ritual had been for untold generations before him, so it still was. He called to the spirits and held out his hand. He was expecting and receiving an invisible gift; the spirits would bless him with the final curse. He closed his hand, turned towards the painting and flung the curse by spreading his brown fingers wide. It was done. Once the effigy was properly covered within its shallow grave he placed his precious artefacts in his leather pouch and stood. He stretched his long arms towards the ceiling, feeling the stiff muscles in his body gradually unwind; it had been a long morning’s work in the coldness of Calling Cave. To the rest of the tribe this place was taboo, except for himself, grandfather and Henry Stiffleg, the tribe’s medicine-man and general seer of the future. On rare occasions, Jay's grandfather would visit the sacred place but primarily it was only frequented by Henry and his student, Jay.  However, it was only taboo because generations that had gone before had chosen to make it so out of a primeval fear of its contents. He looked around. This place held no fear for him; since he was a small child it had been a sanctuary in which to hide from fear and not a place to find it. As he gazed around, his eyes once more took in the many paintings that adorned the walls and some of the lower parts of the ceiling. Some were very, very old, left as a record of the long-dead past. Others were recent, drawn by Stiffleg or Jay who had probably been commissioned by a tribe member too afraid to carry out a calling of his own.

Momentarily his mind drifted back in time as he imagined how his ancestors might have even sought the same help as he was attempting to evoke now. Many of the scenes dealt with hunting, health or wealth, even fertility; but there were others, more malevolent and dark. These were the evil-eyes, curses similar to the one he had just completed, and just as imaginative. As his mind returned to the present a slow grin spread across his face.

If only Gaagii could see this, he would never uncross his legs again, he thought. However, Jay knew the chances that Gaagii would ever venture into the cave were slim. Perhaps the only other person to do so would probably be Stiffleg’s successor if Jay proved to be unequal to the task when the time came for old Henry to return to the earth. Tradition forbade any person revealing the contents of Calling Cave or even speaking about the secret drawings and paintings. To do so would call down the wrath of the gods upon their irresponsible heads. Yes, he was well pleased as he gathered together his belongings and strode back to the entrance of the cave. Gradually the cavern became lighter. Until at last, when he turned a corner, the entrance blazed its warm and welcoming presence upon his cold skin. His footfalls caused Lupo to lazily open his large brown eyes and watch his master emerge from the dark hole in the side of the cliff-face. The dog yawned, stretched luxuriously, and scratched at a troublesome flea, which obviously thought it was lunch-time. Then with a wagging tail, Lupo trotted over the flat expanse of hot, shimmering rock to where the Indian dropped to his knees to greet the animal. The mid-day sun soon made itself felt through Jay’s worn buckskin as he gently stroked the dog’s head. Lupo nuzzled him and then licked the Indian’s hand that still bore the colours of the dyes he had used on the masterpiece within the cavern. They were colours that echoed the reds and browns that filled the vast canyon which stretched for miles in each direction from where Jay stood. A wide ledge of shimmering rock fronted the cave entrance. Jay walked to the edge and his eyes followed the winding path that seem to snake for miles down to the canyon floor and the sinewy, blue-green water that wound its lazy way downriver. He dragged his eyes away from the abyss. He felt it dangerous to stare too long at that drop. As much as he wanted to launch himself out into the warm air and soar like an eagle, catching the hot wind, and circling high, he knew that any such flight would be short-lived. Lupo snuffled near him again and it broke his reverie. He un-slung his water skin and poured some of the cool liquid into his hand and watched the animal lap it up greedily. When the dog’s thirst was satiated he swung the spout up to his mouth and took a long drink. Jay replaced the stopper and ran a wet hand through his long dark hair, then in unison both he and the dog looked northwards, north, to their home.

‘Yes, my friend, it’s time to go home now,’ he said as the dog cocked its head to one side and wagged its tail again in anticipation. Jay checked the water-skin once more then slung it over his shoulder. He retrieved his bow and quiver of arrows, that Lupo had been guarding, and set off at an easy lope along the cliff-path followed by his canine companion.

Sol burned down remorselessly as Jay and Lupo travelled along the top of the prodigious canyon that split the land as if Manitou in a fit of rage had thrust his tomahawk blade deep into the rich earth. Suddenly, as they were traversing a number of large, flat slabs of rock strewn like giant stepping-stones pointing the way homeward, the dog growled. Jay turned to see the animal sniff the air. Its hackles rose ominously. Lupo had scented something and it looked very much as if that something was dangerous. Jay’s sun-browned hand fell to the broad-bladed hunting knife sheathed on his belt. Just as his fingers clasped the handle a movement to his left made him turn quickly, but not quick enough. A millisecond before he could raise the knife to defend himself a mountain puma leapt from its hidden ambush position and ploughed into the off-balance man. The big cat raked his left shoulder with razor-like claws, spinning him around with the momentum. Jay fell heavily. The knife flashed as it sailed out of his grasp and skittered over the rocks before disappearing down a wide cleft that seemed to have been waiting patiently to devour it. Lupo rushed past the fallen Indian. The dog was a brown, snarling mass of fur, intent on getting his teeth into the puma. This gave Jay a chance to try and recover his weapon. Frantically he stumbled to the edge of the cleft and pulled himself up short. The drop to the floor below was a good fifteen feet and there was no sign of the knife. An angry, pain-filled yelp made him turn quickly. The puma had slashed open Lupo’s flank and the dog was down. The cat paced towards the stricken animal, fangs bared, ready for the kill. Lupo was a tough hombre, but was no match for a fully-grown and hungry puma.

‘Lupo!’ Jay cried and the dog whimpered softly in answer. Desperately he tore an arrow from his quiver and reached for his bow; only to find to his horror that the slender weapon had broken in the fall. With a cry of rage and despair, he rushed at the cat with the arrow as his sole weapon. He had only taken three steps when the puma, sensing the danger turned and leapt at him.

This time the Indian was prepared. He dropped quickly to one knee and thrust out and upwards with the arrow. The puma bowled into him as the arrow ripped up into its soft under-belly, stopping only when it struck the back-bone. Jay staggered backwards from the impact and weight of the big cat. His hand still gripped the end of the arrow, near its flights. The puma screamed and sunk its teeth into Jay’s left shoulder and for a moment the two stood upright – locked together, held in an embrace of death. Then Jay was forced to step back as the great weight overwhelmed him. His foot felt the edge of the fissure crumble. He fell backwards, and over, into space, the puma still locked in his arms.

Blackness – a sense of suffocating. A thousand angry bees were humming around him, getting into his eyes, ears and mouth. It was unbearable. Jay gasped for air as the blackness flashed with red and then the red turned to white. A blinding white, hurting deep down, down to the very depths of his skull…

Slowly, Jay regained consciousness to find his head both swimming and pounding with pain. There was no sign of the bees and he foggily realised the buzzing was from inside his own head and the suffocation was due to the leg of the big cat covering the lower part of his face. The blood-soaked leg was restricting his breathing. However, the majority of the dead animal lay beneath him. Vaguely he remembered the fight and the fall and the twist in mid-air that had saved his life. The puma had landed beneath him just in time and had cushioned his fall. The blinding light that hurt his eyes so was just Sol, burning down on the dead cat and himself. Jay struggled to shrug off the puma’s limb and winced as a sharp stab of pain ran through his left shoulder and neck. Twisting and stretching his bruised and cut body on the ground, before attempting to stand, he was relieved to find nothing broken. He lay there to catch his breath and once more, his ears caught the sound of the angry bees; he froze.

Are they truly inside my head?  Or do they really exist just out of sight; ready to attack if I move?

Whilst lying there thinking, hardly daring to breathe, he began to realise that the sound seemed to be coming from the ground below him. That was not all; he put his ear to the ground and the noise increased, along with a strange vibration too. Though he was relieved to find the sound was not inside his head or coming from an angry swarm of bees about to engulf him, the discovery that it seemed to be entombed in the hard rock below was in itself both a worry and curiosity for him. Prudently, he decided that this strange place and phenomena were best left alone and should be vacated as soon as possible. Jay cautiously pulled himself to his feet and stood there shaking for a while. His back felt badly bruised and on close inspection, he saw that the wound across his shoulder was slowly weeping blood through the caked buckskin tatters that covered it. Casting his eyes around for his knife he saw a glint of metal some distance away and he walked light-headedly over to where it lay. Grunting with pain and giddiness, Jay bent to retrieve the blade. It was then he noticed the strange-shaped shadow that fell across the ground near him. It was large; smooth sided and seemed to have a rounded top. For a moment he thought it was a rock. But then realised that this was no rock; it was too perfectly formed to be a natural feature. With his knife gripped tightly in his hand he followed the strange shadow to its owner, which had been almost hidden from view behind a group of boulders.

When Jay came upon the