Posted on July 9, 2007

Part 18

The whole ritualistic air of the gathering vanished as soon as the group started making their way through the woods. They became just another bunch of guys, hiking in the mountains, talking among themselves, laughing and chatting. The leader, the one with the hat, would wave his hand to stop them occasionally, then stick his face back in for a minute or so before leading the group off in a corrected direction.

Elliot watched all this from his carefully hidden spot, moving slowly behind them and keeping trees between himself and the robed figures. He was on the edge of being more scared of them than he was of the crazies. They were normal–in the sense that they talked to each other like normal people do–and they didn’t gibber or scream or mumble, but they were also wandering through the woods in robes and staring at rocks in top hats. They had a cult vibe, like satanists or Masons, and that kind of thing didn’t go over in a town like Charlottesville.

Elliot followed them as they climbed through streams, huffed their way over little hills, and jogged across a meadow. He sensed maybe this was a mistake, that he should have stuck to the path and seen where the cart tracks lead, but by the time these doubts occurred to him, the little pack of cultists had taken him far beyond where he could easily backtrack from.

So he held his course, just praying they’d get where they were going soon and, if it wasn’t civilization, turn around and head home. And, he knew, every step he took in these mountains lessened the chance of finding Evajean. He might have been better off just staying by the truck and waiting for her to come back. Too late for that now.

Had Elliot been prescient–were he able to see the future in a top hat–he’d have been both assured by his choice and fearful, for events would soon reunite the traveling companions, yet also bring dangers and revelations Elliot would at many times wish he could have pleasantly avoided. But now he could only follow the men and let curiosity carry him along.

Eventually they did stop. The terrain had grown denser, more rugged, and older, with thick trees bent and weathered, and large rocks smothered with lichen. It was near one of these the man with the hat called a halt, raising his hand to the others, then crouching down next to the rock. He brushed away some moss and branches and revealed a small gap between the stone and the ground. Elliot watched all this from behind his own large rock near the top of one of the small hills that formed the shallow valley in which this peculiar journey had ended.

Looking down now he could see the group fan out around their leader, talking quickly and excitedly to each other. He wished for not the first time that he could make out what they were saying, but his distance from them had, as a precaution, always been too great to hear the conversation. He thought about creeping closer but quickly passed on the idea: better to see this through and not jinx it so close to the end.

The leader climbed down, fussing with his robes, and stuck his head into the hole between stone and ground. Crawling forward, he managed to squeeze in up to the waste and another member of the group took hold of one his legs, perhaps concerned that he’d fall in to whatever was down there. The remaining members shifted nervously, looking at each other and occasionally smiling. They don’t know what’s in that tiny cave, either, Elliot thought. He didn’t think they were as clueless as he was but he had the distinct impression they were trying to cover how much they expected to be disappointed.

And then a cry came from in the cave. It must have been loud to make it past the man’s body and all the way up to Elliot and, when the guy had finally pulled himself out, Elliot could understand why. It took help from three of the cultists to get him free, though, and when he popped out of the tight hole his robes were filthy and his hair was covered with dirt and moss. But clutched tightly in his hands was another box, this one much smaller than what they’d had on the table in the circle. It was too far away for Elliot to make out any details but from the way they handled it, he could tell it was valuable or old, or both. The leader handed it back to one of the men who’d helped him out of the gap and that man handed it to the one next to him after gazing for a few heavy seconds at the box’s lid. This second man sat down on the earth, put the box between his legs, and pulled a large knife from his belt. His back was to Elliot, obscuring most the view, but from the movements he could see, Elliot figured he was using the knife to pry the thing open.

There was a quick cry from all the men when he succeeded and, as he held the now open box above his head in triumph, the light from the torches rippled spectacularly upon the heaped and shiny gold within. Treasure hunters. That’s what they were doing out in the woods, and the one with the hat had somehow been able to point the proper direction, to find with the help of that stone where the chest was buried. If the world hadn’t been so entirely screwed up of late, Elliot would have thought it was all a game or a trick. But now, with what he’d seen and what he’d heard, he found himself readily willing to accept that these perfectly reasonable looking guys–except, of course, for the creepy robes–had scryed the location of hidden treasure in a manner just as bizarre as finding water with a stick.

Elliot, amazed by what he was seeing, failed to hear the noises behind him. He payed no attention to the footsteps and the chattering, gave no thought to the breathing. Elliot only realized they’d found him when the hand came down on his shoulder and the woman in red screamed into his ear.