The Box Has Twelve Sides: Thirteen Curious Tales to Delight and Disturb

RITUAL

THE NORTH WIND BLEW

On its way down through

The god-forsaken Valley of the Dead.

And the icy, brittle rain

Battered, but didn't stain,

And spattered on what used to be a head.

The dark clouds gazed,

And the icy rain glazed

The skull peering skyward with sightless eyes.

All its other bones

Were scattered in the stones

With teardrops where its lover still cries.

Lightning split the sky

And something catches the eye

Of the young Indian warrior with his horse.

He utters a command,

Stills the stallion with his hand,

And strides to iv'ry sticks in his course.

Thunder rumbled 'round

And shook the rocky ground

As if it knew what was happening this night.

The Indian sniffs the air,

Looks through his matted hair,

Pushing his senses beyond his sight.

Warily he proceeds;

This last of fateful deeds:

It's time this boy became a man.

In the dark the chain gleams,

He's seen it in his dreams,

'Tis time to conclude the elder's plans.

He kneels down low,

His motions too slow,

And looks into empty eyes of doom.

He handles the old skull

And tries an ancient lull,

Wishing for the safety of a womb.

With hands like a vise

And fingers cold as ice

He pries open the grinning jaws of death.

Probing deep inside

He feels a sense of pride.

He draws out a disc and holds his breath.

The golden doubloon,

Like a yellow moon,

He holds in his strong but quaking hands.

It was pierced upon a chain,

He sees in his brain,

By a man who was killed where he stands.

It's told in ancient tales,

As the wind around him wails,

'Bout a soldier sent from far-off lands of old

To maim and kill the people

And desecrate the steeple,

In search of a worthlessness called gold.

And this, the final test,

"Fetch Cortez' coin by the crest,

Return to the native village and alive."

Preceded by the four,

None had succeeded before,

And he was the curse'd number five.

He tucks the disc away

For the light of the next day

And strides back to his escort, his horse.

He climbs on board,

Says a prayer to his Lord,

And prods the steed back onto its course.

Sightless sockets stared,

As they were prepared

For what happens next in this great scheme.

The broken jaws did grin

At the innocence of the sin;

It was all like a horrible crazed dream.

The rain stopped cold,

And the Indian was bold

To gaze at the thunderclouds above.

Silence stung like death,

The horse, it held its breath

As if it knew what these signs were thereof.

Lightning splits the sky

And the Indian screams a cry

That echoes in the timeless walls of doom.

His body writhes around

As the lightning strikes him down.

The coin hits the ground where life had grown.

Thunder rolled around

And made a deathly sound

As if it knew what its mighty deed had done.

The rain spattered pain

And the wind blew again.

For Nature reigned; it had won.

The horse which was spared

Stood silently and stared

At the rocks where its master's prize did lay.

It slowly turned around,

And the sky, it looked down

On the lifeless body's staring eyes of clay.

The Brave would not return.

In his village they would burn

In effigy, his soul, a warrior hero.

The elders would send another,

Possibly a brother.

To his doom, number six would soon go.

And midst the damned wet dirt

Where the disc lay unhurt,

Gleams an inner golden light from a seed.

The golden doubloon,

Sent from a yellow moon,

Awaiting a young lad to do his deed.

*******

To be continued in "Into The Purple Sky"

*******

Kind Readers,

Thank you for reading the next chapter of my book, The Box Has Twelve Sides. If you liked this story, please consider giving it a vote and recommending the book to similarly-minded readers.

Please return here as I will be updating this story every few days or so.

Let me know what you think in a comment below!

MKBagwell