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// Prologue (Edited 08.12.2015) (Edited 25.11. 2016 by JBL) 
// Story: The Last Descendant 
// by Cup of Coffee 
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“I must be crazy,” I muttered to myself as I pulled the hood of my jacket over my head to shield myself from the cold sea wind, “following a dream like that.”

With a sigh, I removed my sunglasses, gold-coloured frame aviators, and placed them in my jacket pocket. I didn’t need them now since the storm clouds ahead covered the sun and a cold wind blew straight at me. The waves were getting heavier, and I wondered if this boat could handle a storm like that. Probably not.

It wasn’t a large boat, just thirty feet, and the condition of this piece of shit wasn’t even worth the money I had paid to rent it for a few days. The plywood was rotting, it was patched up here and there to prevent leaking, and it could have used a coat of paint twenty-five years ago.

I doubted my sanity at this point. I was in a boat that leaked, powered by an outboard motor that sounded like a smoker with asthma and lung cancer, and I was heading into a small storm that would most likely sink me. And here was the cherry on top: I was in the Bermuda Triangle!

My life was just peachy.

“Better check if I’m on course,” I muttered once again and reached for what had led me to this point. Not a map or sea charts. Oh no, if only it were that.

Leaning forward, I picked up a staff that I had seen many times before. It had been given to me by my grandfather; he had gotten it from his father; he got it from his, and so on. I didn’t even know how long this staff had been in my family, but from what my grandfather had told me, it had been a family ‘relic’ of some kind for a long, long time. He claimed it went as far back as when Native Americans, as in Indians, lived in tribes and roamed the land, hunting on the plains and in the forests and moving their camp during the summer and the winter.

My grandfather used to tell me a lot about my family, especially about the Native side. My mother’s side was part Native American—she had gotten it from my grandfather. My father was a bit of an enigma, and grandfather was not that fond of talking about him. I never really knew him, only told stories about him. I didn’t even look Native American, the darker skin colour and all that. I looked like a normal young man in his late twenties, and I guessed I did the same as all people in their late twenties did. Blood had been watered down over the years, I guessed. It really never mattered to me.

Well, a bit anyway. Grandfather was old school. He was the one who raised me. He had been a bit of an artist as well, weird in his own mysterious ways. He had been the shaman in the small local native community, and had tried to teach me the old ways, the shaman ways, the way of the medicine man.

I think he succeeded.

With a sigh, I focused on the task at hand, or rather, in hand: a wooden staff, almost one and a half meters in length, brownish-red in colour, and polished smooth. Carvings of horses and humans adorned it, along with various other nature reliefs. Mounted on top of the staff was a narwhal’s horn, although it was thicker than what was commonly found on narwhals. It was probably cut from a whale that had beached itself ages ago and then mounted onto the staff for some religious reason.

I studied the staff for a moment before I took a deep breath to steel myself, then touched my forehead with the narwhal’s horn. The world went black, and before I could even register that my eyes were closed, a steady stream of images rushed before my eyes.

“From Grandfather’s cabin, go to the south. The long road from one city to the next, I must go. Find the harbour. The old boat. Sail south to south-east all day. Find the storm clouds. Go to the centre of the storm,” I repeated as I saw the images flash before my eyes. Although I had seen these images countless times before, it never got any easier.

“The Sun. The Moon. The two horses. The Day and the Night. Important. Must know. Life!” I said in a hurried succession of words before I finally managed to tear the staff from my head.

I took a moment to breathe before I placed the staff back on the deck and rubbed my temples. My head pounded like hell. I had been having migraines since I was a kid, eating painkillers like they were candy. It helped somewhat, but I had never lived a full day without pain since I was a child. Each and every time I did that with the staff, it felt like my heart thumped inside my head. Sweaty and confused for a moment, I leaned back and took a moment to regain my composure.

It had been many hours since the last time I took my pain medication. During the last few years, it had been getting worse as the months progressed. Mornings were usually the worst as I would lay in bed, writhing in agony, praying for the pain to subside. Deciding it was time for another pill, I reached into my jacket pocket and retrieved a small plastic bottle. Popping off the lid, I placed one pill in my mouth and set the lid back on before putting the bottle back into my pocket. A few sips of water from my bottle helped the pill to slide easily into my stomach. It only took a few minutes for the medicine to take effect. Leaning backwards so my head was over the side of the boat, I let the medicine take full effect. The slightly blurred vision came first, followed by the sense of immense relaxation.

“I fucking hate this stuff.”

I watched the world upside down as I breathed and calmed myself. From my perspective, I could see that I was far away from land—in fact, I couldn’t even see land anymore. No lights, no sounds except for the waves splashing against the boat and the hacking cough from the engine. Poor thing should be put out of its misery.

I remembered well the first time I had this ‘vision’ or whatever I should call it. It was two years ago. My grandfather had been trying to teach me the old ways, the medicine man ways. One of the things he claimed he did was talk with spirits. Of course I didn’t believe in stuff like that, until one day he and I conducted a ritual. He was a fairly traditional man when it came to that stuff. I was just attending to assuage his feelings. I was never into the traditions, but I would visit him often and that usually led to a lesson or two.

We were well into the ritual as we sat around a bonfire near his cabin. He was chanting a song and moving the staff in strange flowing motions through the smoke from the fire while I watched. I could barely hear his mumbled chant. He then touched his forehead with the tip of the staff, then he touched my forehead with it.

It had only lasted a split second, but it felt like minutes passed. I had seen all the images that had led me to this point. A waterfall of information, time, places, exact dates—it was too much for me to handle.

I had regained consciousness with a scream and had fallen backwards onto the ground. I had quickly stumbled to my feet and looked around, frightened at what had happened. I was still at the bonfire and my grandfather had watched me, as though he expected something would happen to me. He had asked me what I had seen, and I told him everything. He looked worried when I told him, then said that I had to go on a great journey and that he would soon pass away. I had been confused, to say the least. He’d never been sick or had health problems, aside from migraines which ran in the family, so I thought he was on one of his shamanistic rants again.

He died a week later, cardiac arrest while he slept. He never felt a thing.

He left only one thing for me, and that was the staff. In his will, he wished for his belongings to be sold on auction, and the money would be donated to the local hospital. Truth be told, I wondered why he left me nothing but the staff, but at the same time, I was proud. In the past, I had relied too much on my grandfather, and I thought that he wanted to tell me that I was ready to fend for myself for once.

A few weeks passed and I began to have dreams about the same images that I had seen when the staff touched my head. At first it was perhaps once or twice a month, and I didn’t really pay it any attention. Then the dream became more frequent. Once a week, twice a week, every single day. Even when I was awake, I sometimes lost focus and saw those images. The more I ignored them, the more I saw them, and I began blaming the staff for reminding me of them. However, I couldn’t just throw it away. It was a memento from my grandfather, and discarding the staff would be like throwing a piece of him away.

Finally, I decided to try out the same ritual that my grandfather had, only I did the short version, which meant I only tried to touch my forehead with the staff. I saw the images, but this time they felt so strong, so compelling that I couldn’t just forget them. I had to follow the visions, go to the places I had seen and find out what was happening to me.

However, I had to prepare first. I had never been a wealthy man, and as my funds were low, I began saving money for this journey. Working a few extra hours each week at the bowling alley earned me some extra cash, and I made a deal with my boss to take a few weeks off when I could. He agreed to it, yet didn’t understand why I asked for weeks. I wasn’t about to tell him that I saw weird things every time I closed my eyes.

I had left my hometown almost two weeks ago and begun my journey, and so now I was in the middle of the sea. Only now did I realize what a dumb idea this was.

“What the hell am I doing?” I asked myself with a weary sigh.

The sound of thunder rumbling in the skies above startled me. I sat up and observed that the sky was almost pitch-black, the waves had increased in size, and the storm was nearly above me. Raindrops, like a mist earlier, were now akin to standing in a shower. I reacted immediately and made sure my lifejacket was secured tightly on my body. Just to be sure, I tightened the straps a bit extra.

The rain intensified, the waves grow larger and more violent, and I could hear the propeller rising out of the water every few seconds. The lightning bolts in the skies above illuminated the clouds and reflected onto the churning ocean all around me. I severely doubted my chances of surviving this. And for what? A staff that showed me pictures in my head?

“The staff!” I looked to the deck of the boat, only to find the staff missing. "Where is it?" The rocking of the boat must have thrown it around or perhaps tossed it overboard. I couldn’t lose the staff; it was too important for that. I had to find it.

Leaving the throttle handle, I moved towards the front of the boat, climbing over the fuel canister, my backpack with spare clothes, and a box of fishing equipment. The rocking of the boat made it impossible to stand upright, so I was forced to crawl on all fours. Finally, I spotted the staff tangled up in a fishing net. With a firm grip, I pulled it free from the net, but I knew that as it might occur again, it was best to keep the staff close to me. Finding a small string of nylon, I tied the staff to my vest so that I wouldn’t lose it again.

Securing the staff to my vest and tightening the knot, I suddenly noticed that the boat wasn’t rocking as much as earlier. In fact, it was fairly still. The rain, on the other hand, was still pouring down, more than twice as hard. A few drops found their way into my mouth and I tasted saltwater. Even stranger, I heard a faint sound, almost like wind chimes in the air. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a golden light high in the sky. Turning to the light, I felt my heart lurching in my chest at the sight before me.

In front of the boat, almost a hundred meters away, was a column of water stretching up into the sky. It was as though the water flowed upwards, like a reversed waterfall, defying the laws of gravity. Gazing further upwards, I saw a golden orb on top of the column, pulsing like a beating heart. Every few seconds, the orb shrunk slightly before becoming larger again, like a beating heart. In the center of the orb was a dark spot, a gaping maw into oblivion. The water that flowed upwards acted as a nest for the golden, humming sphere.

The sight was entrancing, captivating, and I found myself unable to look away from the phenomenon. Like a deer in headlights, I just stared until I managed to tear myself away from the spectacle and noticed where the boat was headed: straight towards the column and the distance had shortened considerably. In my stupidity, I had left the engine throttle running at almost full speed.

The phenomenon was beautiful to behold, but I got the distinct feeling that it didn’t bode well for me to be this close. Scrambling back to the engine, I twisted the throttle lever to full speed while turning the boat away. The old engine, however, finally decided that this was the time and place for it to die, and with a sputter and a cough reminiscent of a death rattle, the engine stopped. I acted quickly and grabbed onto the pull rope in order to revive the old engine. Each yank only made a wheezing hack, and the engine refused to start.

I glanced forward and noticed how closer I now was to the column. If I didn’t do anything, I’d get sucked in. Looking to the deck of the boat, I looked for oars, only to find nothing of the sort. I didn’t even think they were included in the price I paid for this wreck.

Just as I noticed that the oars weren’t there, I observed that the bow of the boat had changed angles. It was now pointing slightly upward. The horrific realization that I was about to be sucked into the void gripped me. The old boat started to shake as if some force had grabbed onto it, rocking it like a toy. I did the most logical thing, diving to the deck and finding something solid to hold onto.

The boat rattled violently, and before I could register what was going on, I saw the bow of the boat pointing towards the dark clouds ahead and that the orb of golden light was dead ahead. Holding on for dear life, loose items rushed past me, missing me by inches. Fuel tank, fishing gear, tackle box, fishing net—they all fell out of the boat while the vessel I clung to jerked upwards on the column of water. The sound of air rushing past me, like a violent wind, reached my ears along with the sound of wood cracking and breaking apart. Holding onto the bow’s seat with one hand, I used my other hand to shield my face. Various pieces of wood struck my arm, causing little damage until a sizeable part impacted against my arm, sending a sharp pain through the appendage. I shrieked, unable to brace myself. I barely caught a glimpse of a large splinter protruding from my lower arm before I saw something much worse in front of me.

The golden orb was less than twenty meters away, the sound of wind chimes now so strong that I couldn’t hear anything else. The dark core of the orb was growing larger, like a door opening for me, and inside the dark core were tiny dots of light in many colours. It was both fascinating and terrifying.

The sharp crack of wood tearing apart grabbed my attention. The entire front of the boat was being torn off, sending huge chunks hurtling towards me at a dizzying speed. With only one hand to hold onto the boat and my other arm incapacitated, I had no way to defend myself, and I knew one of those pieces was going to smash directly into me.

For a brief moment, I thought about letting go, simply dropping into the ocean below and hoping for the best. A glance down told me that it would be my doom; I had ascended too far in the air now. If I released my hold, I might be knocked unconscious and drown, or die from the sheer impact. The water was flowing towards the column and twisting around, meaning that I would simply be swept up again and perhaps wind up in the middle of the column and drown within it.

‘So this is it, then? Is this how I die?’ I thought as I spotted one particular large piece of wood that splintered from the bow and was sent hurtling towards me. There was no way I could avoid it.

I always thought I would die of old age. An old man in his bed, surrounded by his family, by his children and grandchildren. A final breath and a final exhale, perhaps in my sleep. Sometimes, things didn’t go as we wanted them to, particularly in life. We faced challenges and fears throughout our life, and we had to face them head-on in order to grow stronger. It was how we all grew. Now, it seemed that this was the place where I was meant to die, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Deciding to accept this strange fate of mine, I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable. I calmed my breathing, taking long deep breaths of air and listening to the beautiful sound made by the orb. It was a pleasant sound, rather calming, relaxing. Strange it might seem, but I felt like I should have known this sound already from a young age. It was almost something I should be used to, but never had heard before. It was like a song, a tune, so comforting and… lifelike.

I didn’t even feel the impact of what it was that struck me on the head.