Orion stomped heavily as he walked with child-like enthusiasm. He enjoyed the crunch of permafrost and twig under boot. Orion liked the outdoors. He liked it in the same way he liked Buddhism. It was exotic. It held a majesty beyond the ken of his everyday existence. There was trancendental tranquility found within. He was pretty sure he was too accustomed to privilege to last long in either.
There had been a time when he had been quite accustomed to the wooded world, actually. Orion's grandfather's, his baba's, home was surrounded by New England wilderness. He and Orion would go hiking together. The old man had a vigor beyond his age. He showed Orion animal tracks in the snow, native carvings on ancient cliff faces. Once, he and Orion had gone ice fishing. He had dragged a six year younger Orion onto a frozen lake while it was still dark out. Orion remembered not caring for that chronological idiosyncrasy. He also remembered being fascinated by the ice. So thick that even clear as it was he couldn't see the water beneath. Baba told him there were lakes that had been frozen since before man had learned fire. That prehistoric life, unchanged in millennial, remained frozen in those lakes.
There had been a rough wooden shack at the center of the lake. Inside were the arcane accouterments of their activity. An augur, a spud, hammers, fishing poles and line, a wood stove. Baba had brought a hot plate, their fishing box, and a small electric generator. Orion had struggled with the cooler and a small tank of gas. His baba had worked a starter hole in the ice and made Orion start driving the augur into it. Even in those days, Orion had been too tall for his own good. He had spent nearly an hour and a half work the augur three turns into the ice, soaking the inside of his thermal underwear with sweat while baba has gathered firewood. Chuckling at how little progress Orion had made the old man had taken over the augur and finished cutting the hole in minutes. Orion had hated that. But he loved the sound the augur and ice made as it finally pierced the bottom. The grinding chips of ice hissed roughly as they sank into the liquid beneath them, the Augur giving a sucking pop as it's blades cleared the hole. Baba had lifted the Augur and ice plug from the hole, tasking Orion with skimminh out the rest of the slush while he got the fire going. Orion did as his baba asked, as he always did. Orion was never ashamed to admit how much he adored his grandfather.
Orion had finished skimming out all the ice and had lain at the edge for a moment, his face almost in the hole, staring down into the black, motionless water. He couldn't see any fish. He couldn't see anything. The hole in the ice, so perfectly spherical didn't seem to be over water at all. As Orion had stared at it he forgot it was water he was looking at. It felt like he was at the bottom of the world, but there was no magma, no heat, only ice. Orion was at the bottom of the world and as he looked down into the hole they had dug at the bottom of the world he stared into what lay beyond.
There was nothing at all.
*****
Orion was reminded of the fishing shack by the cabin. He didn't know why. They weren't much alike beyond walls made of wood. One was a crude utilitarian thing, fashioned from iron and dead lumber by the hands of men, in stark contrast to it's surroundings. The other nestled in the forests embrace, woven from the very trees that surrounded it. But it reminded him just the same. It was also whispering. The fishing shack hadn't done that.
Orion wandered into the abode with the rest of them, wiping his feet on the lip of the doorway. No one else had done that. Just seemed polite.
He admired the interior, listening absently to the others as they spoke. He listened more intently on the things they didn't say. The way their shadows curled. The electric hum of their hearts. Hadn't a clue what it meant. But it was a sure shod better than listening to the whispers coming out of the walls. Like someone with a throat full of glass trying to croak a dirty limerick in his ear.
He remembered seeing a pop sci article on living houses like this one. Said in a few decades time that's what all houses would look like. Bio-engineered, green, self-maintaining. He was pretty sure they hadn't counted on yokai magic to make that environmental capitalist dream a reality. Or maybe they did, Orion was starting to think all the conspiracy buff was a bit sharper than he'd ever given it credit for.
He perked up at something someone had said, his brain taking a moment to catch up with his surroundings. Daniel was wondering if anyone had thought to check upstairs. He must have been a detective in a former life.
Orion crossed over to the pile of music machines, picking up the guitar by the neck. He turned the acoustic carefully over in his hands.
"Well now, let's see," balancing the guitar affectedly on the table he he held one palm on the top, pressing the long, spidery fingers of his other hand against the strings, low on the body. He was more used to the bass, and only electric at that, but Orion had as decent a grasp on how to play that most ancient of folk icons as he had on the instrument now, curling his hand into a claw without as much flourish as he could manage --a not inconsiderable amound-- and plucked sharply at the strings.
Something not unlike the first few licks of a Tiger Rag sans pitch filled the small cabin. Orion played with his eyes closed, head shaking back and forth like a metronome. He stopped abruptly as he started and listened to the silence that flooded back, looking around at his erstwhile compatriots in breaking and entering.
"Well I don't hear any toe-tapping above us so I'd bet anyone else who is here actually isn't or is actually dead." He inflected his words like he wanted to be the Last DJ. Shrugging Orion dropped down onto one of the pillows, guitar in lap, fidgeting with the tuning until he was sure he'd fucked it all up and started plucking out a meandering little melody. Anything was better than listening to the whispers. Hecklers were the worst.
There had been a time when he had been quite accustomed to the wooded world, actually. Orion's grandfather's, his baba's, home was surrounded by New England wilderness. He and Orion would go hiking together. The old man had a vigor beyond his age. He showed Orion animal tracks in the snow, native carvings on ancient cliff faces. Once, he and Orion had gone ice fishing. He had dragged a six year younger Orion onto a frozen lake while it was still dark out. Orion remembered not caring for that chronological idiosyncrasy. He also remembered being fascinated by the ice. So thick that even clear as it was he couldn't see the water beneath. Baba told him there were lakes that had been frozen since before man had learned fire. That prehistoric life, unchanged in millennial, remained frozen in those lakes.
There had been a rough wooden shack at the center of the lake. Inside were the arcane accouterments of their activity. An augur, a spud, hammers, fishing poles and line, a wood stove. Baba had brought a hot plate, their fishing box, and a small electric generator. Orion had struggled with the cooler and a small tank of gas. His baba had worked a starter hole in the ice and made Orion start driving the augur into it. Even in those days, Orion had been too tall for his own good. He had spent nearly an hour and a half work the augur three turns into the ice, soaking the inside of his thermal underwear with sweat while baba has gathered firewood. Chuckling at how little progress Orion had made the old man had taken over the augur and finished cutting the hole in minutes. Orion had hated that. But he loved the sound the augur and ice made as it finally pierced the bottom. The grinding chips of ice hissed roughly as they sank into the liquid beneath them, the Augur giving a sucking pop as it's blades cleared the hole. Baba had lifted the Augur and ice plug from the hole, tasking Orion with skimminh out the rest of the slush while he got the fire going. Orion did as his baba asked, as he always did. Orion was never ashamed to admit how much he adored his grandfather.
Orion had finished skimming out all the ice and had lain at the edge for a moment, his face almost in the hole, staring down into the black, motionless water. He couldn't see any fish. He couldn't see anything. The hole in the ice, so perfectly spherical didn't seem to be over water at all. As Orion had stared at it he forgot it was water he was looking at. It felt like he was at the bottom of the world, but there was no magma, no heat, only ice. Orion was at the bottom of the world and as he looked down into the hole they had dug at the bottom of the world he stared into what lay beyond.
There was nothing at all.
*****
Orion was reminded of the fishing shack by the cabin. He didn't know why. They weren't much alike beyond walls made of wood. One was a crude utilitarian thing, fashioned from iron and dead lumber by the hands of men, in stark contrast to it's surroundings. The other nestled in the forests embrace, woven from the very trees that surrounded it. But it reminded him just the same. It was also whispering. The fishing shack hadn't done that.
Orion wandered into the abode with the rest of them, wiping his feet on the lip of the doorway. No one else had done that. Just seemed polite.
He admired the interior, listening absently to the others as they spoke. He listened more intently on the things they didn't say. The way their shadows curled. The electric hum of their hearts. Hadn't a clue what it meant. But it was a sure shod better than listening to the whispers coming out of the walls. Like someone with a throat full of glass trying to croak a dirty limerick in his ear.
He remembered seeing a pop sci article on living houses like this one. Said in a few decades time that's what all houses would look like. Bio-engineered, green, self-maintaining. He was pretty sure they hadn't counted on yokai magic to make that environmental capitalist dream a reality. Or maybe they did, Orion was starting to think all the conspiracy buff was a bit sharper than he'd ever given it credit for.
He perked up at something someone had said, his brain taking a moment to catch up with his surroundings. Daniel was wondering if anyone had thought to check upstairs. He must have been a detective in a former life.
Orion crossed over to the pile of music machines, picking up the guitar by the neck. He turned the acoustic carefully over in his hands.
"Well now, let's see," balancing the guitar affectedly on the table he he held one palm on the top, pressing the long, spidery fingers of his other hand against the strings, low on the body. He was more used to the bass, and only electric at that, but Orion had as decent a grasp on how to play that most ancient of folk icons as he had on the instrument now, curling his hand into a claw without as much flourish as he could manage --a not inconsiderable amound-- and plucked sharply at the strings.
Something not unlike the first few licks of a Tiger Rag sans pitch filled the small cabin. Orion played with his eyes closed, head shaking back and forth like a metronome. He stopped abruptly as he started and listened to the silence that flooded back, looking around at his erstwhile compatriots in breaking and entering.
"Well I don't hear any toe-tapping above us so I'd bet anyone else who is here actually isn't or is actually dead." He inflected his words like he wanted to be the Last DJ. Shrugging Orion dropped down onto one of the pillows, guitar in lap, fidgeting with the tuning until he was sure he'd fucked it all up and started plucking out a meandering little melody. Anything was better than listening to the whispers. Hecklers were the worst.
