The Long and Winding Road
By: BetterButterBuddha
Chapter 13: A Burden of the Mind

July 9th, 2000 Trovita Island

Just as advertised, the museum was indeed showing the Falsewall artifacts. Streamers draped the front of the building, making the marble architecture of the first days it was build in seem obsolete next to the brilliantly colored advertisements of the modern era. It seemed to me that the people who built it wanted to make it seem larger than it really was. At least two stories worth of stairs built up to the museum, and surrounding it were these now huge sycamore trees in full vitality thanks to the summer’s weather.

I climbed the marble stairways leading up to the building. I went through the turnstile and ended up on the inside of this massive building. The museum maintained its classical architecture inside as well as out. Wood coated the walls, and the roof was, like Lawrence’s mansion, covered with art of a lost era.

“Sir!” a woman in red at the front desk said. “Did you want to buy a ticket? They’re three dollars each, but if you want to see the new exhibit, it’s an extra two,” she informed me.

“Well then,” I replied, “I guess I’m obligated to give you five dollars.” I handed her a bill, and she put it in the register.

“Here’s your ticket, sir. The Falsewall display is that way,” she said as she pointed down a large hallway through which several teenagers, supposedly good friends, walked. I nodded at the girl in the lobby, pocketed my ticket, and walked down the hallway to the Falsewall display.

A sign standing in the center of the hallway informed me that there was to be “no photography permitted without special admission”. This kind of cut my plans short. I had wanted to take some pictures of the artifacts to show Blue. I hadn’t spoken with him in a long time, and to him, silence meant I was busy. He would be awfully disappointed if I didn’t have any new information.

“Sir,” I said to one of the security guards who were watching the front of the exhibits. “That sign over there says no photography without special permission. What do they mean by special permission?” I asked.

The guard eyed me warily. “Usually that means that only professional photographers or perhaps contributors to the museum are allowed to take a picture,” he informed me.

“Oh,” I said.

“But you know,” he said while he looked around suspiciously, “I do have a horrible memory. If somebody were to walk in with a camera, I might not even notice it. Heck, for the right kind of person, I might even forget that the exhibit was open to the public for a while.” He nonchalantly put his greedy, open hand on the wooden platform in front of him.

I stared at the man in blue, and he stared right back at me. I could either go in without the camera, and forget the bribe altogether, or I could turn this guy in for accepting bribes. I could also slip the guard a fifty, and walk in with my Kodak. I stared at the ground in thought, and realized how easy it is for people to become corrupt like this.

In the end, it occurred to me that only one option would let me take pictures of the artifacts for Blue. I slowly put my left hand into my pocket. I retrieved a fifty dollar bill, and encased it into the folds of my hand. “Hmm,” I said to the guard, “good luck on that memory.” I shook his left hand, and put the fifty into it. He smiled at me, and said, “Have fun in the exhibit sir!” I walked ahead, partially satisfied, but also partially ashamed.

The Falsewall artifacts themselves were few in number. They only needed to be housed in one room, but I suppose that because of the advertisements they were putting on about these things, they wanted to put them in two separate rooms. From the looks of it, most of them were in tablet form, carved with delicate writings of a culture long forgotten. I shrugged it off, and reached into my backpack to draw out the Kodak.

The first tablet seemed normal enough. I couldn’t read any of the writings, predictably, but there were a few pictures to go with the hieroglyphics. Several of the pictures had been worn away by the sands of time, but some remained. Below the words was a carving of the world. It wasn’t totally correct, as I knew from looking at maps, but it was a pretty good rendering, especially for an ancient culture. A black band carved into stone ran through several of the oceans depicted on the tablet. It looked a lot like a road, a highway of modern times. I noted that it touched several islands as it went through the oceans, but it never stopped. Like a more complex infinity symbol, or a snake eating its own tail, this road never stopped. I snapped a shot, and continued to another tablet.

This one, like its brethren, had some degree of incomprehensible writing on the top. Again, at the bottom of the tablet lay a great picture. This one was a picture of the oceans and the heavens. It’s hard to describe, but it looked like I was viewing the earth itself, even though this picture only gave away a part of it. The thing about this picture that stood out the most was their subjects. A white bird flew below the oceans, and a smaller, more intricately carved bird flew above the oceans, and into the day. An illegible symbol was carved next to each of the birds. Again, I snapped a photo, and moved on.

Most of the other photos were incomprehensible as were the first two I saw, but these didn’t have any pictures. It was simply rows and rows of letters. Some of them seemed similar to the others, but there was no way that a person like me could decipher their message. For the sake of thoroughness, I snapped a shot of each and every tablet for Blue. Then I moved on to the next room.

I quickly glanced around the room. There were again those non-readable inscriptions on every one of the artifacts. This room held more than tablets; there were vases and chalices, jewelry and scepters.

Another tablet caught my eye. This one was actually what could be classified as art; it looked almost brand new. There were absolutely no words on this one, just the picture. A man stood in a field of long grass, and from the looks of it, the wind was blowing fiercely. He looked very solemn as he leaned on his walking-stick. His right hand was raised to his brow, and he looked onward. In the distance, a large, beautiful city stood. As I stared more intensely into it, I began to realize the man’s sorrow. The city in the distance was burning. I took another photo.

I had just enough film left to take pictures of everything in this room. Every piece of antiquity which may or may not have meant the world to somebody at some time was captured by the light of my camera. Most of the pictures were hard to understand, but there were sometimes a small hint of what they were supposed to mean on them. They were all similar: a little girl holding a doll while she cried, a wilting rose, a man holding his head in shame, the sun setting. They all communicated the same theme to me; this was supposed to show the fall of something great.

There was only one more artifact that I had overlooked. It stood in the very center of the chamber, and if you had never seen this room before, this would be the first thing you would notice. It stood out easily. A fifteen foot tall obsidian slab would have to. I walked closer to it, and subsequently stopped dead in my tracks.

My jaw slowly dropped open with total disbelief. My lip quivered, my stomach knotted. “Wha….but…..How?..Why?” I said. I could feel my hands shaking, though weather in anticipation or fear, I did not know.

An incredible depiction of Lugia was engraved on the obsidian. It was jade colored, and it seemed to be burning. Its wings were held upward in a position which might be triumph, or pain. Its eyes were closed, and its mouth was open in what seemed like awe. It was a brilliant artwork, to be sure, but that’s not what astonished me so much.

Every artifact in this exhibit had been written in a language that was incomprehensible to me and every person living. Scientists have tried to decipher this language for decades, ever since artifacts similar to these had been found in Stillwater Island. However, nobody had come even remotely close to understanding any of this language.

I didn’t dare to take my eye off of the slab for even a second. My mouth still hung open in surprise, but I continued to walk closer still to the tablet. After much inner struggle, I convinced myself to blink. It was still there. This was no illusion. The tablet was written in English. It said in jade letters:

These words were written only for the eyes of the guardian. We put our trust in you. Take these words with a grain of salt, O Empathetic One, for not all things that are written are true. You are not affected by the winds of destiny that blow all others like dust in the wind.

Speak not these words to any soul, lest you feel the consequences of your actions in later days.

Once I had finished reading these words, I blinked once, involuntarily. I opened my eyes again, and this time saw nothing. No words written in jade, not even a single symbol, just a blank obsidian tablet with a burning Lugia on the front. I drew in a breath, for I had forgotten to breathe while I was reading it, and then closed my eyes.

*************************************************************

The wind blew through Cain Lennon’s long red hair without any remorse. His cold face reflected none of what his thoughts were, but then again, it never gave away much of anything.

He crouched behind a patch of particularly thick bushes, and listened intently to Vincent Castaneda. He had been doing this for some time now, ever since he first saw Vincent in Viridian City, in fact. He stared intently at the sixteen year old in the bench, and thoughts breezed through his cruel mind.

He thought of his purpose. Cain Lennon wanted power, and desperately so. He would do anything to get it. He had experienced much suffering in life, and thus followed what he thought was the truth: Power is everything. This was why he was hiding in the bushes like a timid little rabbit; he was doing this for power.

He began stalking Vincent when he heard about Lugia. Cain knew that Vincent and Blue had been corresponding for some time now, but when he first heard mention of Lugia, his eyes lit with greed. He knew that if he were to acquire a legendary pokemon, he would be the most powerful person in the world, and he also knew that Vincent Castaneda was his ticket to power.

So then Cain had taken to following Vincent. Ever since early June, Cain had been as Vincent’s shadow. One was always followed by a shadow, but one almost never thought about it: such was the relationship between Vincent and Cain. Cain learned much about Vincent’s connection to Blue, and to Lugia.

He watched Vincent take out his pokegear, and turn it on. Vincent was calling Blue; he knew this even before Vincent turned on the LCD screen. Cain was still silent, but he heard much.

“Blue!” said Vincent, “It’s been a while. Sorry for not calling, but I’ve been really busy. We need to talk.”

“Oh?” replied Blue, “You found something new out, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I’ve seen a lot, actually. I’m doing pretty well as a trainer. I’ve managed to catch poliwag, who has now evolved into poliwhirl, and rhyhorn, who grows stronger by the day. I also managed to capture a scyther, but I traded it for a mareep, one with the move: thunderbolt. I also met a mantine, and he decided to follow me.”

“Hmm… That’s really good. I don’t think I did much better than that when I was a trainer like you. How are their levels? Are you training them well?”

“Yes, I’ve been able to handle them quite well. My pokemon are all in their mid 30’s, and I’ve begun to teach them some TM moves.”

“That IS good.” An uneasy silence followed.

“I also went to that legendary expert’s house. His name was Lawrence Calset. He knew a lot about it, more than I could have ever guessed. Listen, I taped the conversation. If you want, I’ll send it to you now,” said Vincent.

“Yes, that would be great. Where are you right now?” asked Blue.

“In Trovita Island. I heard about these fossils of an ancient culture, and decided to go. It had a lot of different artifacts, but they had kind of cryptic meanings. I might be able to send them to you, I just need a second.”

“Take all the time you need Vincent,” remarked Blue. Vincent nodded, and spent about two minutes trying to create a digital hookup between the pokegear and his Kodak. After this, he pressed a button, and it was done.

“Thanks Vincent, I think these will be helpful. Nothing else then?” said Blue.

“Nothing.”

“Right then. I guess I’ll see you later, and give me a call when you figure anything new out. We’re counting on you, Vincent.”

Vincent Castaneda then turned off his pokegear. He put it in his bag, and put his head into his arms. Cain’s glare intensified.

“Why do I have to do this?” he said to himself. Then with that, he grabbed his book bag, and got up from the bench. He began to walk to the sidewalk, being wary of the people walking toward the other direction. Vincent grasped a pokeball from his belt, and held it in his hand as he walked into the woods of Trovita Island.

Once he had done this, Cain first looked around the area near the bench to make sure nobody saw him, and then stood up. He turned his head, and coldly stared down the street. He too walked into the woods, yet he did not have the intent to train as Vincent did. Greed was in this man’s heart, and when a person covets something that much, nothing else, even self-improvement, matters to them.