Chapter 3 — Bus
And thus begins Chapter Three.
Now, children.
We were ready.
Destination:
Karkala.
When?
Now.
The council nods.
Planning window:
Expired.
Assignment deadline:
Approaching with a knife.
And so remained one important question.
How do four university students get to Karkala?
The council opens logistics.
Scooters?
Suggested.
Problem.
Only Stitch knew how to drive.
The council pauses.
Only one?
Children.
At this stage in our lives, competence was distributed very unevenly.
One driver.
Four humans.
The mathematics became hostile.
Could we take two scooters and simply teach someone else?
No.
Could we somehow stack four idiots onto one scooter?
Probably.
Should we?
The council unanimously votes no.
And so
bus.
Simple.
Cheap.
Public.
And Karkala wasn’t impossibly far.
Roughly two hours from where the university was.
The council relaxes.
Two hours?
Nothing.
Exactly.
Later Nuo would spend two days on trains and call it transportation.
University Nuo still measured journeys in hours.
So we found a bus.
Or, more accurately
Sharky found a bus.
And I followed Sharky.
The council nods knowingly.
Children.
You know the old protocol.
Pre Kasol Nuo did not navigate.
He attached himself to someone who appeared to know what they were doing.
Friend.
Family.
Authority figure.
Better adult.
Dealer.
All acceptable navigation systems.
The council sighs.
And Sharky?
Sharky was trusted.
Therefore:
Sharky enters bus.
Nuo enters bus.
No further questions.
Before boarding, however
ritual.
The council closes its eyes.
Joint.
Of course.
One pre Wandering joint.
Though at the time,
it was not called that.
There was no ritual.
No mythology.
Just four university students deciding a two hour bus journey would be improved by being significantly stoned.
The council nods reluctantly.
Historical record.
We smoked.
Then boarded.
Seating arrangement:
Me beside Sharky.
Axe beside Stitch.
They sat in front of us.
The council watches everyone settle.
And off we went.
Now, children.
This journey was remarkably uneventful.
No bullock cart.
No missing student.
No mysterious woman with blue hair.
No psychedelic pancakes.
Just
road.
And for two hours,
I stared out the window.
The council grows quiet.
Headphones on.
Music playing.
Landscape moving.
Buildings thinning.
Roads stretching.
Green appearing.
Turns.
Small towns.
Little shops.
People waiting at stops.
The whole world moving sideways behind glass.
And children
it was glorious.
Not in some life changing way.
Not yet.
I simply liked it.
The window.
The motion.
The music.
The strange little feeling of watching somewhere unfamiliar pass by while having no responsibility for where the bus was going.
The council nods.
Sharky knew.
Driver knew.
Somebody knew.
That was sufficient.
I could just look.
Perhaps this too was an early fragment.
Later,
travel would become much more active.
I would get off early.
Miss stops.
Follow roads.
Ask strangers.
Get lost.
Children.
At this point,
the road was still something I watched.
Not something I chose.
And for two hours,
that was enough.
Eventually
Karkala.
The council rises.
Bus stopped.
We got off.
Camera.
Joints.
Four idiots.
Academic purpose vaguely remembered.
Children.
We had arrived.
And then I saw
stairs.
The council immediately sits back down.
No.
Yes.
Stairs.
Ascending.
Many.
Far too many.
The council looks upward.
How many?
Children.
Do not ask me for numbers.
The Archive contains only suffering.
A staircase stretched ahead of us.
Then more staircase.
Then what appeared to be additional staircase beyond that.
A whole nation of ascending.
The council groans.
This was not architecture.
This was punishment.
Now.
Stitch started climbing.
Sharky started climbing.
Like functional humans.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Breathing normally.
Bodies apparently designed for vertical movement.
The council looks toward me.
And then
Nuo.
I took one step.
Fine.
Another.
Still alive.
Another.
And somewhere embarrassingly early,
my body filed a formal complaint.
The council leans forward.
Breathing became louder.
Legs became philosophical.
Heart began reconsidering its contract.
Children.
I looked like I required medical assistance.
Not dramatic medical assistance.
But enough that a passing health professional might have slowed down and gone:
You good?
The council laughs.
Stitch and Sharky continued ahead.
Naturally.
The fit ones.
Traitors.
I kept going.
Slowly.
Step.
Pause.
Step.
Question existence.
Step.
Look upward.
Regret.
The council nods.
Classic ascent protocol.
And then
I turned around.
The council pauses.
Why?
Children.
I wanted to see how far behind everyone was.
Or perhaps I wanted emotional reassurance that I was not the weakest member of the expedition.
And there
Axe.
The council turns.
Children.
Beautiful.
Not her.
The situation.
Because Axe looked
worse.
Much worse.
The council goes silent.
She had climbed fewer steps than I had.
And somehow looked like she needed resurrection.
Not rest.
Not water.
Divine intervention.
The council erupts.
For once
I was not the worst one.
Children.
Do you understand what this meant?
Across university life,
I had developed a reliable role.
The slow one.
The exhausted one.
The person everyone waits for while asking:
Are you coming?
And suddenly
promotion.
The council applauds.
I was waiting for someone.
Me.
The Unbegun.
The physical liability.
Had become the benchmark of acceptable climbing performance.
The council stands in ovation.
Ahead
Sharky and Stitch.
Walking.
Existing.
Annoyingly capable.
Behind
Axe.
Attempting to negotiate with gravity.
And in the middle
me.
Children.
What a position.
For once,
no one turned back waiting for Nuo.
Nuo turned back waiting for Axe.
The council wipes away a tear.
Growth.
No.
Schadenfreude.
The council laughs.
I stopped.
Looked at her.
She looked at me.
And children
there is a special bond formed between two people who both hate the same staircase.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Just mutual suffering.
The council nods.
She climbed another few steps.
Stopped.
Looked like she had just returned from war.
I waited.
Probably grinning a little too much.
Because yes,
I was also suffering.
But comparative suffering is a wonderful anesthetic.
The council agrees reluctantly.
My lungs hurt.
Her entire soul appeared to hurt.
Therefore:
I win.
Eventually she reached me.
Or close enough.
And for the first time that day,
the group had naturally split into pairs.
Stitch and Sharky ahead.
Me and Axe behind.
The council notices.
Not by design.
Not because we chose each other.
Because two people possessed inferior cardiovascular systems.
Children.
Romance begins in mysterious ways.
The council reaches for flowers again.
Put them down.
We were dying.
And so the climb continued.
Sharky and Stitch slowly disappearing farther above.
Axe and I progressing at a speed more appropriate for continental drift.
Step.
Pause.
Step.
Breathe.
Step.
Regret every academic decision that led here.
The council nods.
And somewhere during this climb,
Axe stopped being simply:
Stitch’s friend.
Not yet someone important.
Not yet someone close.
But now
someone suffering beside me.
The council grows quiet.
That changes things.
Because classrooms are strange.
You can sit near someone for months and still know almost nothing about them.
But put two people on an enormous staircase
while both are fighting for oxygen?
Children.
Truth emerges quickly.
Nobody has energy left for social presentation.
There is only:
This is horrible.
Yes.
Correct.
The council smiles.
And perhaps we spoke.
Perhaps complained.
Perhaps insulted the stairs.
The exact wording is gone.
Eleven year old files are cruel like that.
But the image remains.
Stitch and Sharky ahead.
Axe behind.
Me stopped in the middle,
waiting.
That survived.
Maybe because it was unusual.
I was used to being followed reluctantly.
Used to others moving faster.
Used to being the inconvenience.
And there I was,
looking down at another human and thinking:
Come on.
I’ll wait.
The council listens.
Again
do not turn it into prophecy.
I did not look at Axe and think:
Ah.
Future girlfriend.
No dramatic chord played.
No divine light appeared around her exhausted face.
Children.
I mostly thought:
Holy shit, you’re worse at this than me.
The council collapses.
But still
I waited.
And she kept climbing.
And for a little while,
Karkala divided the four of us exactly as gravity preferred.
The competent.
And us.
The council nods solemnly.
Eventually,
we would reach the top.
Presumably.
Unless this entire Wandering ended with our skeletons being discovered halfway up a staircase.
The council considers.
Archive existence suggests otherwise.
Correct.
But children
we had only just arrived.
The assignment had barely begun.
The camera had hardly been used.
The essay remained nonexistent.
And already Karkala had produced its first surprise.
Not architecture.
Not history.
Not romance.
A tiny social shift.
For once,
Nuo wasn’t the one everyone waited for.
He was the one waiting.
And the person he waited for
was Axe.
Thus concludes Chapter Three.
The Bus.
The Trust Companion Navigation Protocol.
The Two Hour Window.
The Nation Of Stairs.
The Discovery Of Someone With Worse Cardio Than Nuo.
And The First Waiting.
Children.
Stitch carried the camera.
Sharky carried the joints.
Axe looked pretty.
I existed.
Then Karkala added one more role.
Axe suffered.
And I waited.
The council nods.
Not romantic.
Yet.
Just oxygen deprivation
with excellent foreshadowing.
