Colossal Cave Adventure (decline, fall)
A story about an adventurer in search of treasure.
The Adventurer walks down the cave passage. In one hand he holds his broadsword, in the other his oil lamp. The walls on either side are rough, wet stone, meeting in a crude arch just above the Adventurer’s head. The ground is flat, hard-packed dirt. The light from his lamp reaches only a few feet in front of him. The light is dull and yellow. Beyond is a wall of darkness.
The Adventurer doesn’t remember how long he’s been in exploring this cave system. He doesn’t know how far it reaches, or how deep, or where the entrance was. He remembers meeting a man pushing a wheelbarrow full of old bones, who told him there was a treasure hidden in its depths. He told him this treasure had belonged to an ancient King, who had ruled long before the Christians came, and who had been driven mad by the death of his only son. One day the King had ordered all the gold and jewels taken from his Treasury vault, and loaded into sacks, and with a retinue of loyal slaves and court officials he had descended into the earth. None were ever seen again. The Adventurer can’t remember when he met the man who told him this, if it was in this lifetime or a previous one.
The Adventurer hears the sound of running water. After a short time, he comes upon a stream pouring from a hole high up in the wall, splashing into the earth and making a small basin, from which it spills and runs across the floor of the tunnel, disappearing beneath a flap of rock on the opposite side. The sound of the water is magnified in the enclosed space, and inescapable. The Adventurer kneels down and takes a long drink. It tastes metallic.
The Adventurer continues down the cave passage for a long time. The stone undulates in the light, but the basic dimensions of the passage never change. Pale, sightless lizards and translucent millipedes scurry away as his footsteps approach. Sometimes, he hears what sounds like rocks shifting, stone grinding against stone. The sounds are always far away. Eventually, he comes to an intersection, where another passage crosses the one he’s been following. The Adventurer shines his lamp down this new passage in both directions, and in both directions sees nothing but the same earth and stone, and the same darkness beyond. He decides not to follow it.
The Adventurer has fresh blood on his broadsword. He doesn’t remember where it came from. Bats flutter around him.
The Adventurer arrives at the edge of a cavernous pit. The light from his lamp is too weak to reach the other side. A few stalactites, as thick as human torsos, hang down from the vaulted ceiling, the heights of which are also beyond the reach of the light. The dull roar of water falling a great distance echoes upwards from below. Bolted to the wall of the pit is a gray iron ladder, descending into the darkness. The Adventurer sheathes his broadsword and grabs onto the first rung.
The Adventurer climbs down the ladder. As he descends, the rungs of the ladder and the rock becomes increasingly slick, glistening in the lamp light. The sound of the water grows deafening. He can feel his hands going numb clinging to the cold, wet rungs. Each time he releases his grip, it’s harder to get his hands to close around the next one. Despite this, he continues to climb downwards. There is no other option. The roar of the water sounds like it’s all around him. The density and intensity of the sound makes it difficult for him to focus, difficult for him to hold any thought in his head. The bottom of the pit is still out of his lamp’s reach. He takes his foot off the rung and suddenly his hand comes loose, his other foot slips. He falls. He falls further. He falls into a pool of ice-cold water, and the shock of impact knocks him unconscious. The current picks him up, and carries him away.
The Adventurer regains consciousness lying in the mud in a small chamber, next to a quick-flowing underground river. His sword and lamp are gone. The river emerges from beneath a slab of rock on one side of the chamber, and disappears beneath another on the other side. The Adventurer rises to his feet. His head aches. The chamber is lit by two flickering torches, one affixed to each wall. Towards the far end of the chamber, gold and jewels spill glittering from torn and rotted sacks scattered across the floor. At the center of this, set against the far wall, is a large, high-backed chair. The chair is dark and simple. Upon it sits a skeleton wearing a gem-encrusted crown and the tattered shreds of an elaborately embroidered robe. The Adventurer recognizes that this must be The King and his treasure.
The Adventurer approaches the King’s skeleton. It appears as as though he died lost in thought. The Adventurer kneels down, crosses himself, and initiates a summoning. A gray light appears within the skull’s eye sockets. Spectral flesh appears to crawl upon the bone.
“You’ve come a long way, traveler.”
“Yes, I know.”
“No, I don’t believe you do. Not nearly.”
“…Is there a way out of this chamber?”
“No, not even the river can take you away.”
“There is no secret exit? No hidden passageway?”
“There is nothing. You have reached the end of your journey.”
“Your men, the ones who carried your treasure, what became of them? I see no other bodies here.”
“Many were lost at earlier stages in the expedition. Those that made it to this place with me all decided to try their luck following the river, eventually. Only I chose to remain here. My life had already ended long ago.”
“What happened to them?”
“They all drowned. This is why I say not even the river can take you: even if you had no need of air, their tangled bones would block the way.”
The Adventurer is silent for a moment. Then: “If what you say is true, how do the torches remain lit? If there is no way out of this place, who replaces them when they burn low?”
“They were lit especially for you, traveler. This is the first hour they have burned in many centuries. In another hour they will be extinguished again. This time, I’m afraid, it is likely to be forever.”
The Adventurer starts to ask another question, but sees the King’s eye sockets have become dark again, and that the thin, colorless impression of muscle and sinew has disappeared from his bones. The King has passed back through the gate. The Adventurer is alone. He decides to tally the treasure around him, to estimate its value. He sits passing coins from one pile to another, engrossed, until a stiff wind rises, as if from nowhere. It passes through the chamber and blows out the torches. The darkness is absolute. The Adventurer tries to keep counting. He tries to estimate value by touch alone, by the feel of the ridges under his fingers. The water rushes by. Slowly, he begins to forget which pile is which. He begins to forget what coins are worth, what their purpose is. Everything becomes confused. The sound of the water overwhelms his senses. Soon, he is passing a single coin back and forth between his hands, counting endlessly upwards.
In his mind, The Adventurer imagines himself walking down a cave passage. In one hand he holds his broadsword, in the other his oil lamp.