Yulen: Return of the Beast – Mystery Suspense Thriller (Yulen - Book 2)

by Luis de Agustin

  They threw their torches ahead. The light illuminated the ground, and they leapt over the crevice to the other side, there sliding and tumbling over the ground. However, crashing into one another midair, Sammy and Russell failed to clear the gash in the ground, and fell in.

  A shower of spear points sparked where the rest of the group scrambled trying to flee ahead of the oncoming animals. Holding onto the edge of the crevice, Sammy struggled to get his waist up to level ground. Below him, Russell’s hand barely gripped Sammy’s dangling calf. It held for only a moment before it released and disappeared into the dark.

  “Hold on, Sammy!” Nathan called, unable to go to him as he animals prepared to jump over the gap, and he instinctively ducked. As the first beasts leapt and their rampaging bodies left the ground, Nathan saw that they did not travel across the crevice. When their forms left the ground, they dissolved into the darkness, or fell into the wide crevice, but certainly disappeared. “Sammy!” Nathan called, Sammy clambering onto flat ground. “And Russell!”

  “Get down!” Shawn yelled, as more of the beasts prepared to jump; but as they did and their footing left the surface, their bodies fell, it seemed, into the ground’s slashed opening.

  As the last of the charging animals neared, the horde of attacking tribesmen drew back their spears. When they sent them flying, the shrilling cries, blowing horns, shooting lances, all ground to a halt as if an old record player turned off. Slowly the din of the cavern warbled to an end. The shaking and glimmering sight quivered before the stranded gang’s eyes, dematerialized, and then completely vanished.

  Floodlights beamed down from the cavern’s ceiling. Other beams activated across the floor.

  “Nathan . . . , Nathan . . . ,” came a voice from the crevice.

  “Russell!” Nathan called, rushing there with the others.

  Russell stood on a ledge, his face flat against the crevice wall. Nathan and Shawn grabbed his extending arms. Together they brought the smallest of the yulen up to the slate floor. Resting there, they looked out at an enormous space lighted by scores of hanging theater lights attached to grids. Confused and exhausted, they heard approaching footsteps echo in the enormous cavern.

  “My God! My God, what were you doing!” Samuel their attendant said. “You could have killed yourselves! Died! And Pierre and I lose our jobs! What were you doing, Mr. Hain?” he demanded of Nathan.

  “This wasn’t . . . real?” Nathan said, stunned.

  “Real? What do you mean real? Real? How, what real? You arranged with us, with Pierre and me, to spend the night in the cave. Why? For what reason? I did not fully understand, but with what you paid, that was enough. You wanted to watch the experience of the cave inside, by yourself and several friends, you said. You thought it would be fun. More interesting and authentic, no? No? Or was there something more? Apparently, there was. You went beyond what you were permitted. You really wanted to participate in the extravaganza. Well, you cannot do that, Mr. Hain! You nearly destroyed the theater! And nearly killed some of your friends!”

  “So . . . this was all not real,” Gus said, still in disbelief.

  “Not real? What not real! The cave is real, formed millions of years ago by a river traveling through it. The paintings, many are real, more than 12,000 years old, made by early humans, but it is not a, a Disneyland! Well, perhaps in some ways it is, you watch it from the gallery. But that is not what you wanted!”

  “Gallery?” Sammy said.

  “The galleries! There!” He pointed to the far side of the cavern where shooting up for about four stories stood a plate-glass wall resembling a covered raceway grandstand, even containing skyboxes along the top. “There is where you, normal people, watch and experience the spectacle of The Bison Cave. This is a complex and highly technical Super HD holographic laser production. Real? Yes, it is real. But only two-dimensional surfaces cast as three-dimensional images of real objects. Maybe you should come to see it sometime, and not act and play like children. Now I will transmit to you the call that is waiting. After you view it, you will please to change and leave your current attire, and then please meet outside, thank you.” He turned and left for the metallic exit door.

  “You okay, Russell?” Nathan asked.

  “Yeah. Yeah Ace. I’m okay,” he said wearily and not looking good.

  “What’s supposed to happen now?” Sammy said, and as he did the lights dimmed slightly, and a beam projected an image in the space ahead as if onto a small movie screen.

  “Hello,” said a man seated in an armchair facing them, a book spread open on his lap. Behind him, set to one side, stood a full-size oil painting of a standing fair young woman wearing a white gown and a flower garland in her braided blond hair. “I’m Conrad Hain. I trust you had a pleasant experience.”

  “Is that some kind of joke?” Shawn said. “You almost got some of us killed.”

  “Oh, you mean no one was killed? What a pity. No, I’m only joking. There’s so much more ahead that I want you to enjoy. Hello there, Gus. My, you’re aging well.”

  “Hello, Conrad.”

  “You have a whole contingent this time. Do you think it will be different?”

  “I plan to go to the end, Mr. Hain.”

  “Splendid. Nobody likes a quitter. And with your years, Gus, you’ve known your share of disappointments. I wish you luck. By the way, I can’t help but notice that you’re all quite at ease among yourselves, Gus. No flasks of firewater to dull your scent glands?”

  “That problem, Mr. Hain, has been solved.”

  “By Nathan,” Russell called. “Medically.”

  “Nathan?” Hain said.

  Nathan raised his hand.

  “Aha, an enterprising yulen—or a brash one—irreverent, rebellious, unhappy with the laws of nature. A younger you, Gus?”

  “Hardly, Mr. Hain. Much bolder,” Gus said.

  “Then it’s one less mystery that you’ll need from The Book of Yulen.”

  “That was in there?” Russell asked.

  “Oh yes. Perhaps not as efficacious as whatever modern medical treatment you discovered, but yes, an old fashion solution. So many goodies waiting for you at my home when you get here and take possession of your book, which you paid handsomely for, thank you, but for which you need to prove worthy.”

  “And we will,” Gus said.

  “Mr. Hain,” said Nathan. “A way to defend ourselves, fight back against men, is that in the book?”

  “Oh yes. Defend and, and Nathan, aggress.”

  “We’re not interested in that, in aggression,” Gus said, failing to see Russell’s eyes light.

  “Good, Gus. Making war on men would be unfortunate, and it’s one reason I can’t easily part with this book.”

  “But we will have it,” Gus pressed.

  “Gus, you sound like an anxious youngster. Frankly, I would have thought you had enough fun with me for a lifetime. But then, yulen life is long.”

  “We pay for that longevity.”

  “Gus, I wonder, do you get diseases of age? There are so many potions and cures catalogued in your little bible. Arthritis, gout, fading vision?”

  “No.”

  “Must be your diet,” Hain smirked.

  “We just don’t live as long as in the time The Book was written.”

  “And we don’t want to wait around until we do get arthritis, Mr. Hain,” Sammy said to the image, “so how about giving us your address now so that we can pick up our book.”

  “Pick up your book?” Hain laughed. “Gus, didn’t you tell them you have to undergo a trial?”

  “And we just did,” Sammy said. “The test, we just finished it.”

  “Sir,” said Hain. “This was one test, one. You passed the first test of the trial is all. My congratulations, but there is more before you make it to my home.”

  “We’re not finished?” Sammy said.

  “Oh no . . . but you will, I’m sure. Remain spirited like your friend, Gustav. And to encourage you and
show you my good faith, let me give you a freebie as contained in The Book of Yulen. You know that awful odor that you give off late in your late season that repels people? Here’s how to rid your bodies of it and make it so much easier to achieve your end cycle’s taking.” From the thick book spread open across his lap, gilt-edged pages facing them, Hain lowered his head and read:

  “With tubers of turmeric from India and berry of redcurrant, the offal of late season is consumed. Solvent petals, stems, fruit, all, alkaloids raw, press to ladle times ten. Chew the night chew. At morning sun let smell you them. They will not run.”

  “So there you have it boys,” Hain smiled. “A little turmeric little redcurrant, well actually a lot, ten ladles full, chew for a night, and in the morning you’ll smell fresh as a daisy and won’t revolt your prey with that rotting organs smell. That little secret alone, I’d estimate is worth the price of admission.”

  “Thank you, Conrad,” Gus said. “That was generous of you.

  “And with that, gentle-ones, I must go,” Hain said. “See the attendants on the way out. And oh, going forward, you are not to use your car. No vehicles, trains, planes, motor scooters. Leave your car in the parking area. From there you must continue by foot. Goodbye. Good luck.” The call ended, the screen space went black.

  After the former cave dwellers changed out of their prehistoric people’s attire, Samuel showed them out the exit they entered. “Here is the GPS you ordered, Mr. Hain,” he said, handing Nathan a hand sized Global Positioning System with phone. “It’s charged.”

  “Thank you. The parking area?”

  “The parking. Drive down, around, and up the mountain, always staying right. At the top, you will come to the main entrance. The parking is there. Bon voyage.” Samuel locked the gate and pushed the large wooden door shut.

  Traveling up the mountainside and to the top of the mountain as Samuel instructed, the Range Rover slowed, then stopped abruptly. Its passengers looked ahead as if spotting a snowman on fire. Hundreds of tourists ambled from car-packed parking fields, or congregated at entrance gates.

  The Range Rover pulled into a parking spot, and all got out of the car. At the front of the lot an immense digital sign framed by giant flint tools, spearheads, and prehistoric wall paintings advertised in several languages, The Bison Cave of the Lost Tribe of Paleotek.

  “I don’t know what I can possibly say to that,” Sammy said.

  “I survived the lost tribe of Paleotek?” Leeda said.

  “Good enough.”

  “Gus, what does the GPS say?” Nathan asked.

  He checked it, waited, and answered, “We walk east, Nathan.”

  “Everybody take your stuff.”

  “Nathan, there must be some other way,” Leeda said. “I don’t know how long we’re talking about walking, but a long walk will surely devastate some of us by end season. You have to do something.”

  Nathan looked around thinking. He contemplated the mega sign with cave drawings of bison, wild boar, cave bears, horses. “Maybe there is.”

  >

  In New Orleans, Louisiana seven hours west of northern France, Mason Early waited in a dentist’s waiting room with his sons Joseph and Joseph Henry seated on either side of him. Josiah the eldest, walked out of a room, his fingers rubbing his mouth.

  “Go on Joseph Henry, you’re next,” Mason said.”

  “I just get mine cleaned, right Pa?”

  “Cleaned and washed and de-putrefied and painted white. Now get in there. Joseph’ll be right after you.”

  “And I only get mine washed and de-putrefied too, right Pa? No new teeth screwed in like Josiah,” said Joseph.

  “How can you get new teeth screwed in if they ain’t missin’, boy?” Macon snarled, his own teeth grimy and ramshackle as his church.

  “I don’t understand why I had to get teeth put in, Pa,” Josiah said, smarting from the dentist.

  “’Cause we’s goin’ to France, on a mission. We don’t know what kinds of people we’re gonna run into. We need to look good as representatives of the United States, Louisiana, and your father’s church. Y’all gonna look upright and presentable to all them frogs. Ya hear?”

  “Wouldn’t of needed two new front teeth, Pa, if you hadn’t knocked ‘em out,” Josiah said, continuing to rub his gums.

  “I may of knocked them out but only ‘cause they were loose already from all that sinnin’ methamphetamine you’d let decay your body, or am I wrong, boy? Am I wrong!”

  “No, Pa, you’re right.”

  “We gonna look up family in France, Pa?” Joseph asked.

  “What family in France?”

  “Beauchamps family. On Ma’s side.”

  “How many times I told you boys your mother side’s family—may she rest—wasn’t none from no France.”

  “Beauchamps, Pa,” Joseph said, naturally suggesting Beauchamps was a French surname.

  “Of the Scottish Beauchamps. Scottish. Scottish and English were all our people. Ain’t a frog among ‘em nor a single drop of amphibian blood in your or your brothers’ veins!”

  VIII

  Several boys, each leading two saddled horses by their reins, guided the band of horses out of a countryside stable, Nathan and his group following. The boys brought the reins over the horses’ heads and steadied the animals for their riders to mount. Leeda jumped expertly onto hers smiling to Nathan also apparently familiar with a saddle. Gus mounted stiffly but sat relaxed on his steed, which he patted gently. The others needed help, and the boys provided boosts, and instructions on properly holding the reins.

  Gus, who carried the GPS, glanced at it and turned his horse from the stable to a bridle path.

  “Merci monsieur, merci. Merci monsieur,” the boys said to Nathan for their tip as his legs pressed his horse’s sides to follow Gus, Leeda tsking her mount to join them.

  “Tsk-tsk,” Shawn repeated, and his horse responded walking.

  Russell and Sammy’s horses stayed.

  “Why do we get the dumb ones,” Sammy said, each of his hands holding the reins level with his shoulders as if pulling up a bed sheet to look under.

  “You have to kick ‘em with your feet,” Russell said.

  “Toes or heals?”

  “Heels,” Russell said, his horse finally walking. “See? With your feet. Feet.”

  When Sammy did, his horse walked, and it put a smile to Sammy’s face. “Giddyup horsey, giddyup.”

  “Sure beats walking,” Russell said.

  “Anything beats walking,” Sammy said, bouncing on his horse’s rolling flanks. “Even sitting on a washing machine.”

  >

  The four Earlys, seated along a stiff plastic bench in an airport waiting area, looked ahead watching other travelers pass. “How y’all doin’, honey pie,” Josiah said to a passing woman. “Y’all good?” John Henry said to another, their stern-faced father smoldering with disapproval.

  “I’m hungry, Pa,” young Joseph said, motioning to the big brown paper bag his father held on his lap.”

  “This is for the aero-plane,” Macon said.

  “Y’all good?” Josiah repeated to more women, while in between ogling, he and Joseph Henry scratched under their starched collars and bent the toes of their stiff new shoes.

  “Here, honey pie,” Joseph Henry said.

  “Look at them women . . . ,” the Reverend Macon snarled, staring at them walking by. “Look at them.”

  “We uh . . . you want us to look at them, Pa?” Joseph said confused.

  “You look at your Bible!” Macon said, slapping his held Good Book into Joseph’s gut.

  “Sure Pa, sure,” his son said, taking the book and lowering his eyes to it, but raising them a mite to look ahead.

  >

  Having left the stables behind, Nathan and Gus riding lead, the fresh riders entered a green valley with only several farmhouses dotting the land. “Why do you suppose Mr. Hain volunteered that information to us,” Nathan asked Gus.

 
“About how to mask our terrible odor in late season?”

  “Yeah. It’s a gem, don’t you think?”

  “Indeed. You should consider that he might really hope we make it to his home.”

  “I got the feeling he wanted the opposite.”

  “It may appear so, and I don’t think he’ll lament our failure, but it could be for that reason that he gave us such a gem.”

  “Or . . . ,” Nathan said.

  “Yes?”

  “He doesn’t intend for us to live long enough afterwards to use it.”

  The morning became noon, and high sun warmed the valley that had opened to yellow blankets of daffodils. Nathan, riding alone at the head, Leeda rode up beside him. “How’re you doing, Nathan?” she smiled, sitting straight, rocking gently in the saddle. “Lovely day,” she continued, her white satin blouse bright under the sun, her officer’s tunic spread open across her horse’s hindquarters. “Russell doesn’t look good.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “He looks—coming into late season.”

  “He didn’t when we left,” he said concerned.

  “Didn’t you ask before leaving where you all were in cycle?”

  “I did. He was still early.”

  “And maybe he fibbed in order to come.”

  “I . . .”

  “You could see he’s beyond middle season, Nathan.”

  “Okay, I should’ve pressed him, yes. I know you’re okay.”

  “I’m in the pink. But keep an eye on Russell. I think he could be in trouble before long.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Let’s have ‘em ride up here where we can keep an eye on him.”