And He Never Heard From Her Again

by Emily Eckhardt, Junior

January 9, 2017

I’ve had to have walked down this muddy, beaten path thousands of times before. I know where my foot will fall even before I pick it up. I know when to move ever so slightly to the left so as to avoid a tree branch, or when to shorten my step so that I don’t trip over a rock. I don’t need to watch where I’m walking, I just know.

Instead, during my short, morning journey towards the Sept huts, I look out at my surroundings and use that time to reflect on my life and all the other life around me. I consider every single bead of moisture clinging to the dense greenery encircling me, each leaf and every blade of grass, and the way the tall, evergreen trees stand at attention far above my head. I think about some of the first times I traipsed this path, grasping on to my father’s finger in such a way that it resembled a lifeline. I was tripping and slipping all the way down, but still, I had a smile brightening up my face and a laugh escaping my lips. I dream of those days, when time stood still and nothing was quite so complicated. I miss those days.

Now, I mostly just contemplate my future, with all of its looming uncertainty. In the Sept, or tribe, we hold certain traditions and beliefs that make living a normal life intangible, something I have struggled a lot with lately.

Back when my ancestors left civilization and founded our Sept, times were very different. It was the roaring twenties, and everyone was in on it, everyone except for my third great-grandfather. He didn't appreciate his peers’ defiant behaviors, and he simply needed a break from it all.

So, he found himself a small clearing in the woods and settled down. He used the natural resources from all around him to build shelter, collect food, and make an honest living. Soon, curious onlookers wandered into his area and joined him, and as time moved along, so did the successful nature of the tribe.

The outside world was moving too, however, it had taken a different path. The same onlookers that were once invited with open arms were now exiled, and all access to the Sept was closed off. The only route out became a single, lonely train track leading out of the city. The track was heavily guarded to ward off enemies, and after a few, distasteful clashes, my people were left alone to thrive.

And we did, at least, for a bit. Then, one night, my third great-grandfather went out for a walk, and found himself face-to-face with a gargantuan snake. This massive serpent went on for hundreds of feet, with fangs longer than my grandfather was tall.

The snake injected him with a small amount of its venom and then slithered away, leaving him to die. But it wasn’t that easy. My grandfather dragged himself back towards the huts, and finally, as soon as he had arrived, screamed out in excruciating pain, “Help!”. The shaman immediately came to him and began the healing rituals. He sat for weeks in the infirmary bed, almost with no change, until suddenly, everything changed. A shock rippled through his body. He envisioned the power of the serpentes family and watched as it began to course through his veins as well. The snake hadn’t intended to kill him, he had given him powers beyond compare.

He rushed out of the hospital only to find the sept nearly empty. His fellow members had gone out to hunt what had nearly killed him. Putting his powers to the test, he zoomed forward to meet up with them. Slithering was far faster than walking, and far quieter, as they almost didn’t hear him behind them. He then stood up to address the hunters.

“My fellow people, do not be afraid. These animals are not here to hurt us, but, on the contrary, they are here to bless us with uncertain powers. Please do not try to harm them, but bask in their awe and glory.”

His grand soliloquy was hushed by someone nearby, and just as his mouth was shut, a long, hairy leg touched down beside them. The fangs of the giant spider loomed above their head, and then touched down on one of the members. He immediately collapsed, like grandfather had done, and they took him back to the infirmary. About a week later, the man emerged, with powers from the araneae pulsating through his body.

With their newfound knowledge of these magnificent creatures, the Sept decided to make them the holy structures of their institution. They worshiped the animals, and in turn, the two species continued to bless them with power.

Ever since then, my tribe has held the day of receiving these powers as a right of passage. And, as a seventeen year old, it has now become my turn to step forth and claim my birthright. Arachnean, Serphidion. Arachnean, Serphidion. Two choices, each holding their own sets of infinite potential. So which one am I?