Blood Spilled Covenant

Somewhere in the middle of an African jungle, behind an active volcano, a cave opening looked over a small beach. Waves clashed with the rocky wall, and the seawater spit up high; it barely reached the two adventurers inside that cave. The two men were exhausted, both still catching their breath from running. Whatever Hell they’ve been through and back became part of them now; their outlines are singed and burnt at the corners. Their skin tanned by the laboring sun and hair stiff and dry. Adventurers at the end of their road.

But for some reason, their breaths are not in sync.

The one on the ground with his head on the ground, Nicholas, hunched over, curled like a brown ball. His leather jacket bore several slashed cuts and tears. Under this battle-torn jacket was his wrinkled beige shirt. They both stunk of sweat. The labored breathing led him to cough and hack up dust that was trapped at the bottom of his lungs. More dust, black obsidian dust. It still smelled like a million burnt matches, just like the depths of the cave. His wheezy coughs lightened up as the air of outdoors finally reached the two of them.

The other adventurer, Isaac Johan, stood still with his back straight, but head hung over his collar. He was tall and wore a yellow dress shirt with the sleeves either rolled up or involuntarily ripped off. What used to be a tie—and whatever misadventure it endured—became but a tinsel of wiry fabric around his neck. All he was doing was hanging his head over his collar. Pensively, he looked over his hands.

A bloodied knife was upon his palms. A peculiar shape for the Western adventurer to bear, but it was never his to begin with. The dagger had a smiling malice on its face shaped by the hilt of a curved blade. His eyes suspended by a steady quiver, refusing to break into tears. He was uncertain of himself, unsure to get upset or if he didn't deserve the right to cry. But something overcame his senses, as he suddenly reactivated into motion—dropping the knife. His hands and arms parted as if dodging the existence of a used weapon. The metallic jingling upon impact interrupts his best friend’s coughing.

Nicholas skipped a beat of breath, and the side of one eye animated angrily at the blade. Brows curled furiously, as his eyes clearly settled into a glare as sharp as the point of the bloodied knife. He knew what he saw.

Blood trickled off the blade and down the sand, carving a line between them. Nicholas followed this line with his eye, and slowly rose up from his lowered state. As soon as he got one knee up, something golden and shimmery dropped from his possession, slipping out as if all the care for it had immediately vanished. An artifact that was already forgotten once, now slammed into the sand with a dull luster. His tired fingers turned into fists real quick as he faced his friend Isaac. Two dried up tear streams ran down his cheeks, now filled with moist dirt. Bloodshot eyes stabbed his face.

Isaac was much taller, slender, and had a lean outline compared to Nicholas. The lines on his face were rough but were not of poor aging, but of tumultuous stress. He’s ignorant of his friend’s mean mugging, and stares back, oblivious. Both of their silence is violated by the nearby jungle ambiance, those echoey squeaks and squeals of the fauna. The waves crashed against the rocky wall again, and sprinkled mist on the two of them. But their awkwardness could only bear so much time, as Nicholas was boiling from the inside. His rolled up fist was shaking and pinching the inside of his palm.

“What?” said Isaac Johan. That tone of accidental apathy triggered an already lit fuse, causing Nicholas’ entire body to convulse.

With a biting lip he spits out violently, “Why? Why her?!”

His eyes betrayed him. He realized right then through the lingering echo of the last word, losing control of his expression; lost control of himself, really. His mouth puttered without a sound as if the words delayed on their way there.

“I… she… told me she wanted this.”

“Isaac.”

“She told me and I listened.”

“Isaac Johan!”

“She… did it for me.”

“You killed her!”

“I—”

They’re interrupted by the distant rumbling of the active volcano. The smell of burning is returning to their senses. Isaac had a moment to reset his thoughts there, and observed his surroundings during the delay. He patted his head, looking for his iconic hat, even searching around his feet. But by accident, he eyed the bloodied knife again and the memories occupied his train of thought. Nicholas is waiting.

“I didn’t kill her,” Isaac said pensively.

“No! No, don’t tell me that!” his friend screamed, slamming his fists onto his thighs repeatedly. He squeezed the air from his lungs, all that pent-up frustration, and it came from deep within as if there was a chip on his shoulder for some time now. Around his wrists were bruises. Rope markings from when he was trapped and tied up. The undead residents of that forgotten and forsaken temple captured Nicholas. Adventure, or misadventure. He was helpless, watching back there at the climax of this adventure. Those same bruises awakened an idea he already had and gave motion to it, and like a knee-jerk reaction, he dashed. He attempted to run back into the depths of the cave with his mind on autopilot. Brows shifted up and eyes filled with salty tears. He ran with no gesture, no form, limbs thrown ahead towards his intended direction. Returning to that place they can never enter again. That was his only goal in mind, and Isaac knew it the moment he slipped away.

Isaac hooked his arms around Nicholas, and pulled him back. They struggled in place, as Nicholas could not remove Isaac’s arm like a rabid dog behind a fence. Isaac was much taller and stronger than Nicholas, as he kept repeating a name; a name that was a crucial part of this team. They were once a trio set out for fortune and glory, where the one thing they had in common was their love for artifacts from a bygone era. Ancient ruins and extinct civilizations, and everything else in between, was their game. But Nicholas kept calling out to this missing piece of their triangle. Her name was: Carolina.

Isaac heard her name and it crushed his insides. However, as much as it pains him, he couldn’t let Nicholas back over there. “Stop! It’s too dangerous!” He almost lost his grip on Nicholas, and retaliated by throwing him down.

“Let me go!”

“Forget it! There’s nothing back there!” Isaac pinned him down by his arms.

“Let go of me, you—you—you murderer!” He stammered.

“Stop calling me that!”

Nicholas, with his back on the ground, kicked Isaac’s shins, causing the great adventurer to collapse. As Nicholas rises up, he shoves him in the face, causing a sharp disorienting pain. He stood over him as contempt grew like mold in a pit. The pit that was carved out the moment they escaped those ruins.

“This is all your fault! This was your idea! You said one last treasure hunt to keep us good. Retirement money, remember? You said that! Now we’re out here in the middle of fucking nowhere, and for what? Was it the cancer?” Nicholas paced back and forth in front of Isaac as he rubbed his headache.

“You just couldn’t go without one last trip. One last trip for the books before you fucking croak and leave your wife with all your riches!” Nicholas appeared blockier and broader as he let out his flurry. His words came out like the machine guns of their rival treasure hunters. The ones who tormented them throughout this search for the golden artifact. Which remained there, claimed but unearned. Isaac eyes it as it glimmered in the setting sun.

“Oh, and where is your wife? Back home comfortably in goddamn Wyoming! While my beloved sister is dead! You killed her! You murderer!”

Isaac had heard enough. His hand slipped off his face. He lunged at Nicholas ferociously from the ground like a big cat. Their bodies collided and crashed to the ground. They tussled around in the dirt, picking up dust, and spitting out swears. Eventually, Isaac’s hands wrapped around his friend’s neck and he got on top. Isaac looked like a different person there for a second. Fury took over his entire persona. The sanctified personhood stripped of any sensibility. Fingers tightened.

“I said stop calling me that!” His breath was muffled.

Nicholas’ eyes rolled back, snapping him back to consciousness. He resisted any notion that he would allow Isaac to get away with two murders. The murder he witnessed from afar. It was a long set of stone steps that led up to the altar. One last puzzle before they could get their hands on that golden sphere that rivaled Mansa Musa’s. It was encased in some intricate, and honestly impressive, contraption, surrounded by undead warriors guarding for centuries. And Isaac and Carolina fell for this trap, as it became their ultimatum.

But for Isaac, he knew that his side was incomplete. He couldn't place all this unexpected frustration onto him. It would be wrong to claim to be victimless in the death of a mutual friend. But even then, Isaac knew Nicholas had less than half of their story. He couldn't hold on to the neck much longer and released his grip.

Nicholas rolled away and coughed up a lot of nothing.

“Are you gonna kill me, too?”

They both tried to catch their breath. Isaac realized how much Carolina looked like her brother. Even the shape of their eyes and nose was almost identical, only Carolina was softer and always happy. Flashbacks of their last kiss before the fall sparked for an instant in his memory. It distracted him as he gazed at the remaining sibling. If he tried to remember her voice, he would only hear the last words reminding him how pointless it was. She knew that it was never meant to be, and made her mind up way before they reached that accursed temple. He didn’t want to remember, the ring on his finger was good enough.

“I saw you.” Nicholas coughed up. “You never let go of that dagger, and you stabbed her.”

Isaac gazed at the veins in his wrist, looking for the perpetrator of this misunderstanding. His arteries are unusually protruding and he could feel his pulse throughout.

“I can never forgive you.”

There was a pause, as if pondering. Isaac was at a loss for words. It was his words against his, even if he used her words as proof. He could never convince him with their nightly confessions on the boat rides crossing the Atlantic. Or how he reconsidered the purpose of this trip—but that was a lie to himself as the moment she sighed her last breath, it revitalized his determination. No, that same redetermination reactivated as he rose from the ground like his friend, only his posture remained strong and facing Nicholas, with his chest passing his height. However, the shadows of his brow hid the burning burden of bearing the truth from his best friend. Almost three decades of friendship might have to be put in suspension, and yet he couldn’t bear to look at him.

He forced himself to look at the golden artifact and gave a low but earnest “I’m sorry.” And he walked toward the dead prize. Nicholas was shocked and stuck staring at the space where Isaac was. “She pulled me to her. The knife was in the middle. It was an accident.” Isaac added as his heavy words dragged the air around.

He picked up the treasure. “Let’s go.”

Nicholas dropped to his knee with defeated swiftness. “Why should I believe you?”