Ombre

The two men stared up at the mountain ahead, silhouetted in the early morning light. It loomed over them like an inescapable doom.
Dranger hoisted his pack more securely on his shoulders, took another glance at the map at the base of the statue, and set off to the northeast with the mountain on his right.
Cobb, still studying the map, took no notice for a few moments, then looked around, startled to see that his companion was no longer standing beside him.
"Hey man, wait up! Where're you headed?"
Dranger looked at him for a moment, as if trying to ascertain whether the question was rhetorical or not. He spat into the sand, and replied, "I'm following his map, you no-account. I want to know what he knows."
The younger man brushed sand from the knees of his jeans as he stood. "Well, that's easy enough. Looks like the map ends up at the peak of the mountain. Can't be more than a day's hike both ways. C'mon, let's get on up there, if you're so all-fired curious." He turned, scrunching through the sand into the shadow of the mountain, but stopped when he realized that his companion was not following. Dranger stood just outside of the mountain's shade, his own shadow stretched long and black on the sands behind him. "Well? Are you coming or ain't you?"
Dranger nodded and said, "Yeah, I'm coming, but not that way. I don't think that'll be the fastest way to the top."
"And how exactly do you figure that?"
Dranger shaded his eyes with his hand and looked at his partner. "Well, Number one, this coot knows this island more than we do. If there are any dangers to be avoided, he knows them and he put them on that map. Number two, if he really is crazy, he may have booby-trapped the areas off the path, in which case we'll want to avoid them anyway. "
Cobb shuffled his feet in the sand, edging towards the light. "Man...this sucker's starting to scare me. Maybe we should just leave, yeah?"
The other chuckled sardonically and began trudging back towards the northeast. "Nope, can't leave now. We're in this till the finish, I think." The younger man had to agree.
They walked for a quarter of an hour through the cool sand before finding what they sought: a stone marker, carved into the shape of a small obelisk. It appeared to be blank at first glance, but upon moving to the far side of the monument, they discovered writing:
"Pause, traveler, in your hurried flight,
Observe the shadow on the sand
That in yourself which mimics night;
At this time you must stand,
Consider your position now
Cut off from the rest of Man."
It was, in fact, impossible not to observe their shadows, since the writing was on the eastward side of the monument. In the morning light, the shadows of the two men completely covered the obelisk and stretched away into the distance.
"So....does he expect us to be afraid of our own shadows?" remarked Cobb, genuinely baffled. also unsure, Dranger rubbed his chin, thinking. He began to muse, half aloud:
"Shadows...and being cut off...Well, of course we're cut off, we're on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean, and no-one else knows where we are...But he wouldn't know that...have to apply to anyone...cut off..."
"Maybe the next one explains this one?" Cobb interjected.
"Yeh...maybe..." He still did not move, eyes fixed on the twin shades upon the ground. "Shadows..." The faintest flutter of a smile darted across his features. "We stay here too long, we'll fade away with hunger and the sun." He squinted at the base of the statue.
"Here we go...another map, next location on it." He traced the route with his fingertip. "Keep going around to the northeast, bear a bit more east..." He frowned. "He's given a name to that area of the island...'Hic Draconia.'"
Cobb was unfazed. "Hick what?"
"Hic Draconia. Means 'Here there be dragons,' or something to that effect. They used to put it on old maps when they didn't know what was there...Looks like we got a stop or two before we get there though."
"Dragons? You're an idiot if you think there are dragons in there. Besides," he grinned, exposing his stained teeth. "We ain't either knights or fair maidens. I reckon any dragon'd think twice about chomping on one of us."
Dranger smiled, but didn't seem to hear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The man wiped sweat from his brow, then bent down to examine his find. He'd stumbled upon it--literally--in the forest. It had been half buried by the stream, and it had taken a full morning's work to pry it out of the muck. With a strong tree branch for a lever, and several more for a platform, he had finally managed it. Now it lay upon the logs like a subdued monster. He looked around, finally finding what he was searching for: a tree, covered in strong supple vines. He grabbed a sharp stone from the ground and began hacking at the vines. After a few minutes work, he had several long vines. He gathered them up and began tying them around the rock to fashion a crude harness. He then began pulling it, letting the rock rest on the logs as they rolled across the ground. In a few minutes, the log was beginning to be shifted off the platform. He dropped the harness and walked behind the rock. Picking up the logs that had been left behind them, he postioned them in front of the rock again, and continued pulling. Movement was slow, but certain, and as the sweat poured off his body, his mind drifted...

"No, Arthur, I simply will not agree. I cannot...cannot do this, not while you still maintain your view."

"Come on, man, it's not like I'm trying to lie to myself or anyone else. It's simply my opinion, and why is that 'bad'?"

The old man creakily got to his feet and began to pace the room. "My dear boy, I know that you are learning many things in school. You are learning to think for yourself, and this is a good thing, an excellent thing." He sighed, and began tamping tobacco into his pipe. "However. You say that there is no need for man to be saved; that man is, in fact, always moving towards 'salvation' as a species, and that the whole of human history is a moving onwards towards this state. You state that man never fell, per se, merely awoke to his potential for making his own decisions and became self-aware." He slipped his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and took out a book of matches. Striking one, he touched the tip to the fragrant mound in the bowl of the pipe and took a few puffs. Exhaling slowly, he turned to the young man sitting on the sofa. "You not only hold these ideas, which are strictly contrary to the Creed which you yourself affirm every week during the service, but you have begun spreading them amongst the congregation." He sat down beside the young man. "Come now, you're an intelligent young man, and goodness knows you're not sheltered. Can you really believe that humanity is moving ever upward?"

Arthur sighed, and nodded. "I don't see why you can't see it. And if I honestly believe it, I don't see why it causes problems! It's just a belief, no different from the beliefs you recite every week. I don't see why you won't allow me to participate in the Mass anymore."

The priest sighed and rested his head in his hands. "My dear young man, if beliefs are so unimportant...." He raised his eyes to look the young man in the face, then stood again. "If beliefs do not matter, then you might ask yourself why it matters to you whether or not you partake ofthe Eucharist. After all, it's only a belief." He smiled, then turned to peruse the shelves of his study. The young man, sensing that the interview was at an end, retrieved his hat and scarf from the coatrack by the door. Donning both, he paused in the doorway, eyes searching for a hint that the old man might relent, but finding none, he went out, closing the door softly behind him.

The man smiled faintly at the memory, recalling the year of struggle and soul-searching that had occured afterwards. "That one question...the unaswerable question." For it had been true: he had been hurt deeply by the priest's refusal to allow him back at the altar rail as long as he had held ideas in direct opposition to the ideas proclaimed by the congregation every week; but he also could find no reason that such a refusal should hurt him, unless he truly believed that he was being deprived of something of value. The next few months had been spent reading and arguing, trying to discern what value he found in the traditions of the Church, and why he found it there. Finally, he had broken down, and admitted error. He could still almost taste the first time the Bread and Wine had touched his lips after the year of being barred from the altar rail. Unconsciously, he passed his tongue over his lips, this time tasting only the salt
of his own sweat.