Extracts Near The End Of the Diary
22nd February, 1785.
Oh Diary,
It appears that something grevious has occurred, both within and without my dream. How else might I explain the spill over of nightmare into joyous stroll? Or desperate and discarded faces that flitted between the walls of the fair city? Laraquan nights are chillier now. The blue stone walls have gold veins that never lay still, seeming to pulse. The sounds of children's voices and fair ladies' beckoning faces that I had liked to imagine within the foreign cities of my imagination were drowned out by screams and ruination. My thoughts are immediately drawn toward the oncoming crush of my brother's wedding to my dear beloved and this, I fear, is what is poisoning even my dreams.
Oh mother, who are in heaven, content beside the heavenly host, do send me your love. I feel I shall need it for what I am prepared to embark on. I am far too tired to do anything without your loving strength to guide me.
In the meantime, I shall speak more to my friends of my desire for exploration. There is much within Kamchatka that is beautiful and much that is rare. Perhaps if we stopped by that place, with the Valley of Geysers and other such things that I dreamed about. Perhaps, then, we would find the purpose and meaning in life to carry on.
5th December, 1786
My Diary,
It does seem that there is something mysterious about that unexplored mountain, or at least, that the world around is has built something of a mystery upon its firm, stone flanks. An unexplored volcano, whose smoke may well be sourcing the angry clouds overhead, despite the claims that it is a purely perpetual storm floating about on top, is an exciting possibility.
We began asking around for the best manner in which to start the climb, to see how steep and high it is, and we were eventually directed to some natives lurking about the area. The natives, seemingly cunning yet primitive organisms, laughed outright at us and claimed that upon the very highest reaches was a crater lake they called the Cauldron of Suffering Stillness where an entire people were frozen in a raw moment of agony. They continued on about tales of flitting entities from that place, flowing down the mountainsides, perverting all it touched so that insect were no longer insect, and mammals were touched with insanity. Of valleys of anger and despair. Of all kinds of bizarre phenomena, yet the whole while, they were chuckling to themselves. I do believe these particular natives, who had largely joined the town they were working in, felt such tales were simple stories to tell the children. Yet when I offered a generous sum for one to become our guide, they made their excuses and left. How utterly bizarre.
15th January, 1787
Its skittering through the gravel. Rock spray. Keeps coming. Around and around. Encircling us while we sleep. Moving onward. The rocks up ahead looming. I think they're here now.
It was Golitsin.
Funny that. It's so much colder now. Why does Galushkin keep removing his clothes? We put them on him time and again. Golitsin is singing funny songs.
We saw those rocks again. The same ones with the same carvings. How is it so?
I'm a little scared. Those noises. They're back. I think it's Golitsin. We've got to stop him.
16th Naura 178732
Golitsin stopped.
We're still moving. Back now. Back down the mountain so the mountains became a mountain and the stars become clouds. All it says now is that we're going to make it. Galushkin taking Golitsin. The two are like brothers, fused in their clothing, moving down with me. Hard to write while walking. Hard to sit and write while walking.
Golitsin's singing again. Strange noises. Please make him stop.
He's calling them.
Stop the rock that stopped it. No one stopped the rock. Why didn't I?
Galushkin, too, time to sit. Must remember to write a letter to my mother.
Its chanting their names. Names to their souls. I keep seeing their faces. I don't think it will let us go. I don't think there is a down. Not moving quickly enough. There is a cliff, though. We can get to the bottom quick fast. Wouldn't you say?
Brother, pray for me.
Landed. Good. Sky back. Legs not working anymore. We're Golitsin? Didn't Galushkin bring him? The rocks are spraying. I hear them speaking, friends, but can't reach them. My bones. My poor bones. Why don't I die?
17th January
I'm hungry.