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Sorry for another belated installment! 😅 Between an SE retreat, Realm Makers, and settling into my new job here, I’ve barely had time to catch my breath (hopefully August will be slower).

For those of you who have missed portions of this story, you can click here for the first installment, here for the second, here for the third, and here for the fourth.

@jessi-rae @daeus-lamb @j-a-penrose @supermonkey42 @karthmin @savannahgrace @maddiejay @catwing @brandon-miller @josiah @anne-of-lothlorien @scribbles @noah-litle

RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARC II: LEGEND OF THE FORBIDDEN BURIAL GROUNDS, PART 5

“The arc is in there.” Storm stopped at the mouth of an old mine shaft. Edna moaned, rubbing her side, and Gracie the Kid brought her a glass of tea and some banana bread (with pecans, of course). That revived her a wee bit.

“So, who wants to go inside the creepy tunnel inside the mine first?” Four Ears commented, proud to have snuck in a reference to a Disney movie.

Hopeless shoved Storm in. “You lead the way.”

Storm held her nose up in the air. “Don’t I always?”

They traipsed their way through spider webs and fallen beams to a spectacular dead end.

“You purposefully took us here, didn’t you?” Inkless narrowed her eyes.

Hopeless pulled her black bandana over her mouth, aiming her gun barrel right at Storm.

***

Pennsylvania inhaled deeply. “Let’s go.” He slowly stepped inside, and the others followed closely. A fog enveloped them, so thick that it could make a writer lose his ideas in a few seconds.

Nebraska shivered as they passed the skeleton of a writer’s dead brain. “I’m going to have daymares after this.”

They plodded onward, passing body after body. The mist thickened so that they could hardly see the ground in front of them.

“Where’d everybody go?” Grabber slid off Kooky. “I think we lost the men.”

Savannah and Morrow joined her as Grabber pulled out a telescope and peered through it.

“Ahhhh!”

“That sounds like Nebraska!” Cinders exclaimed, running toward the noise along with Savannah and Grabber.

“Pennsylvania must’ve finally fired him,” Morrow said, trotting in that direction. Grabber screeched to a stop, almost plunging into a cavern that was as deep as a writer’s imagination.

Martin appeared out of the fog. “Man, I’m glad you’re here. Cranky didn’t like Nebraska and kicked them off.” He pointed below. Nebraska and Pennsylvania clung to a ledge, dangling above the pit.

The girls gasped and grabbed a rope from Crazy’s saddle.

“Aren’t you going to help us?” Savannah peered at Martin, who sat on a stone and watched.

“I don’t like cliffhangers,” he retorted. “I practically died from the last one I read.”

Cinders shoved the rope in his hand and made him help despite his convictions.

“I got it! Pull us up!” Pennsylvania shouted.

They heaved, but the rope wouldn’t budge because of the weight. “Can’t you guys lighten your load?”

“We can’t—Posie fed us too many baked goods!”

The ground the girls were standing on started to break and give way. “Noooo!”

“I told you that cliffhangers would kill us!” Martin screeched as they all plummeted below.

Boom! They crashed at the bottom.

Cinders rubbed the back of her neck. “Where’s Nebraska?”

They all gazed upward, and Nebraska floated down on a balloon, landing softly.

“Leastways we’re closer to the arc.” Pennsylvania shrugged. He straightened up and dusted off his hat. “Follow me.”

They traveled along. The path grew narrower and narrower until they could hardly squeeze through.

“This reminds me of a museum I once visited…” Grabber noted, rubbing her hand across the wall. Blackened, dead plants dangled from the cracks.

“Look!” Pennsylvania pointed to an opening. An ancient idol in the shape of a typewriter guarded a pedestal where the arc rested. Carcasses of dragons and fictional creatures surrounded it. “Careful, if you touch that with your bare hands, every character you’ve created will turn evil.” Pennsylvania slid a glove on. Nearing the top, he reached for the arc and slowly lifted it.

Boom! Rocks thundered from above and the walls began to crack as the whole place shook. Pennsylvania lost his balance and tumbled down the steps.

“You have taken our people’s possession,” a voice echoed as a gap formed in the wall. Chief Shortbeard stepped out of the hole, his cat-feathered brave standing beside him. “You must be punished!”

Indians leapt out of the walls, war words painted over their faces. They grabbed Pennsylvania and his cowhands, forcing the arc out of Pennsylvania’s hands. Chief Shortbeard slipped it into his notebook for safekeeping.

The braves tied their hands behind their backs and shoved them westward, taking them to the Indian encampment. Hundreds of Indians dotted the site, bending over papers and scribbling while other Indians watched and angrily pointed at the pages and smeared red tribal paint on them. Chief Shortbeard halted by a typee with a brave guarding it.

“Raspi berrpermission iesto raspenter,” Chief Shortbeard muttered in his native tongue. The Indian stepped aside, holding the curtain open.

Pennsylvania and the others waited awkwardly because they were awkward. The brave looked them over and smiled, tipping his newsboy cap. “I’m Little Thinker.”

“Oh, hi.” They shook hands.

Chief Shortbeard burst out of the typee. “The Indian council shall talk.”

The Indians dragged them to an enormous tent and pushed them inside, where a bunch of ancient Indian chiefs sat in a circle on those giant balls people exercise on. “Welcome to the council.”

Chief Shortbeard bowed, then took his place on the head bouncy ball. For a while, the chiefs talked back and forth.

“Can anyone translate?” Pennsylvania whispered, wondering what was happening.

Cinders nodded. “I know a little. It sounds like they plan to turn the girls into beta-reading slaves, and the men…” She couldn’t finish.

“What? I have a right to know!”

Before Cinders had a chance to reply, a woman stepped inside and the council silenced. A beautiful red headband rested on her forehead, and a beaded necklace hung across her neck. “Do I have permission to speak?”

Chief Shortbeard extended his hand. “Permission granted, Princess Brown Squirrel.”

She bowed. “Greetings to the council. I have come to request leniency on behalf of our prisoners.”

The whole council murmured.

“As you can see, they are fellow writers. It would be a dishonor to the ancient authors to destroy them.”

Pennsylvania stepped forward. “Allow me to say something. This arc you cherish—do you know that it’s what’s keeping your land barren and chasing away inspiration? If you let us return it to its rightful place with the flat arc, then you could craft—”

“And disobey the laws of my people that have been handed down for centuries?” Chief Shortbeard jumped up. He turned to his fellow chiefs. “This man is an evil spirit! What shall we do with them?”

“Shave off their beards!” The council cried.

“Noooo!” Pennsylvania, Nebraska, and Martin pleaded.

Chief Shortbeard remained unmoved. “Guards, take them to their chamber to await punishment.”