March 24, 1921
The morning after a kharisiri had devoured one of their donkeys, Larkin prepared a hearty breakfast and was eager to hear of the night’s events. As he was the only one to stay in his tent during the attack, he was curious about the incident but seemed somewhat aloof about the actual details. Soon after, with breakfast eaten and the camp safely packed and stowed on the remaining donkeys, the arduous trek into the jungle highlands continued.
During the day’s journey, Larkin appeared to be affected by the altitude, a malady no doubt aggravated by his addiction to narcotics. He asked for frequent short rests throughout the morning, which the party grudgingly permitted. Some hours later, after an extended lunch break at Larkin’s request, the sound of gunfire was heard somewhere in the distance. An accurate assessment of the calamity’s origin proved difficult considering the distorting acoustics of the region, but all guessed the shots came from over the next ridge.
Soon, with the ridge hastily crested, a pair of figures were spotted across the small valley that lay on the other side, approximately one-half mile away. With some difficulty, it was determined that one of the figures was standing while the other was lying on the ground. After theorizing that the pair must be in distress, it was decided to head into the valley to assist them, a decision Larkin argued against.
On reaching the mysterious persons in question, they were discovered to be an adult man and a teenage boy. The adult, now kneeling, held the boy in his arms and wept as he offered tormented and ceaseless prayers over him. It soon became clear what the source of the man’s anguish was, as the boy appeared severely injured. A step closer revealed a torn and bloody shirt barely covering a gaping, circular wound in the boy’s emaciated chest.
Upon noticing the party in the vicinity of his injured son, the man snatched up his rifle and began to excitedly shout in Spanish while pointing the weapon directly at them. Not wanting confrontation, the group put their hands in the air in the hopes of calming the man and learning his story. Despite his agitated state, hurried verbalization, and language difference, the word kharisiri was easily heard and understood several times.
With the help of Elias, it became known that the man believed the white members of the group to be disciples of the feared fat-sucking kharisiri tribe and would not permit them anywhere near his son. However, after it was demonstrated that they were in fact humans and that they only wished to offer aid to the boy, the exasperated man relented and allowed medical treatment to be administered.
With tensions somewhat calmed, the man introduced himself as Julio Céspedes and informed the group that he and his son Domingo were in search of a lost alpaca when they were attacked by what they believed was a kharisiri.
When asked in which direction the attackers fled after being fired upon, the man pointed further into the highlands. Perhaps coincidentally, the direction he indicated coincided almost perfectly with the direction the group was already headed in.
With Domingo stabilized, Julio then hoisted his son upon his shoulders and headed back to his small village, with many thanks to Elias and his friends.
Back where they had left their donkeys and other supplies, the group was surprised to find no sign of Larkin. While preparing to continue their trek (with or without their patron), the sound of movement was heard just beyond the tree line. Perhaps stranger, though, was that two distinct voices were detected, apparently locked in conversation. The first voice was clearly Larkin’s, but the other had a deeper, more sinister-sounding tone.
Sneaking closer to investigate the origin of the strange conversation, Ford observed only Larkin, who was sitting bolt upright near a tree. Shirt undone and chest tattoo visible, Larkin craned his neck up at Ford and peered at him with glassy eyes. Assuming Larkin to be under the influence of narcotics, Ford then witnessed him aim a sneering smile in his direction before shaking his head and coming out of whatever drug-fueled stupor had come over him.
As he rose, buttoned his shirt, and wiped the dust from his person, Larkin explained to Ford that he sometimes talked to himself when trying to parse puzzles or remember certain pieces of information. Meanwhile, despite standing some yards away, Brochet noticed Larkin concealing something under the back of his shirt as he rose. Deciding to let the issue lie for the time being, the group saddled their mounts and continued their journey into the mountains.
Once camp was made some hours later, speculation about Larkin’s state of mind and the nature of his concealed items remained high. When confronted with these suspicions, Larkin claimed ignorance and changed the subject. Not content with his non-committal answers, Ford subdued Larkin as Holder and Brochet searched his person for the hidden object or objects in question.
Upon the discovery of a small leather satchel containing drug paraphernalia, Larkin vehemently protested its confiscation, excitedly shouting, “You have no idea how much I need that!”
With this, Larkin’s body went completely rigid, which forced Ford’s overpowering grip on the man to weaken. Once freed, Larkin’s eyes rolled back in his head, but not before turning the color of newly discovered obsidian.
Shocked, the group assumed Larkin’s state was due to some sort of extreme narcotics withdrawal, but this theory was dashed when the thing before them spoke in a voice that was not his own.
“You think you can contain me?” the thing defiantly asked before letting out an unsettling laugh. “You will now do as I command,” it said as it seemed to grow in height before the group’s very eyes.
Out of a profound sense of self-preservation against such a blasphemous scene, both Brochet and Ford discharged their weapons at the thing that was Larkin, ripping through his body in an insane display of viscera.
Although wounded in a way that would kill any normal man, the Larkin-thing did not fall but instead reached up and grabbed Brochet by the throat, lifting him completely off the ground.
Then, with eerily measured confidence, the thing croaked, “You will all become the servants of the Father of Maggots.” In an instant, and with the ease a ball player might pitch to a batter, the inhuman being flung Brochet across the camp, who landed in a heap but was otherwise unharmed.
“The Father of Maggots will devour all!” the thing screamed as it bore into the camp with its black eyes. But this was to be the thing’s last words, for with its declaration complete, Larkin — the true Larkin — returned to his body, which was now ravaged by gunfire.
Pleading for his “medicine” and clearly near death, the group surrendered Larkin’s narcotics to him to ease the immense pain of his last minutes. Just before administering the drugs via hypodermic needle, Larkin told the group that he was giving himself a large enough dose to render him unconscious.
“Please,” he begged, “once I’m out, if you have even a morsel of humanity in your souls, you will end my suffering and my life. I can’t take this pain anymore.”
Yielding to this macabre request, Brochet quickly and humanely ended Larkin’s anguish with a single bullet to the man’s heart. The body of their former employer was then burned using an accelerant from the group’s supply of homemade explosives.
It was at this moment, as the light from their makeshift funeral pyre shined onto and above the jungle canopy, that the group caught their first sight of the dark and ancient pyramid they sought.
As its outline danced high above them in the flickering light of Larkin’s mortal remains, the pyramid loomed and hinted at the things of darkness that surely dwelled within. Not wishing to wait until morning, the group made their way up the winding and precarious trail toward an unknown fate.
The Friends of Prospero
Peru: Episode VIII • Peru: Episode VII • Peru: Episode VI • Peru: Episode V • Peru: Episode IV • Peru: Episode III • Peru: Episode II • Peru: Episode I
The Two-Headed Serpent
Coming soon…
