Brother, Who Did You Bury? / Chapter 4: Into the Mouth of Hell
Brother, Who Did You Bury?

Brother, Who Did You Bury?

Author: Rachel Ortiz

Chapter 4: Into the Mouth of Hell

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I held the purple envelope, whispering, "Brother..."

The word barely left my lips before the seal flashed—a burst of violet light filling the room. The air crackled, and for a second, I felt like I was standing on the edge of something vast. Unknown.

A flash of violet—the seal broke. The light faded, and the envelope fell open, spilling its secret into my lap. My heart hammered, equal parts fear and hope.

A painting sprang out of the envelope. The place in the painting was so familiar it hurt. It was a watercolor—delicate, vivid, every detail impossibly clear. The sight of it sent a rush of memories through me.

It was where I first fought with Nate. Wild River Ridge, behind the waterfall. The air always smelled of moss and river spray, the roar of water drowning out every other sound. Childhood ended there, and something harder took its place.

But the painting showed the scene after our big journey. The hills were covered in apple blossoms, everything alive again—but there was no Monkey. The colors were brighter than I remembered, sky impossibly blue. Blossoms drifted on the breeze, carpeting the ground. But the Monkey—Nate—was nowhere to be seen. The absence was a wound, raw and aching.

Not a single monkey in all of Wild River Ridge. It was absurd. It felt wrong, like a joke with no punchline. The place was empty, hollowed out, waiting for someone who’d never come back.

Since Sam Walker gave this to me with his dying breath, I didn’t dare treat it lightly. I tucked the painting away and drove out to Wild River Ridge. Soon as I got there, I found the spot.

The drive was long and winding, sky darkening as I went. When I arrived, the ridge looked just like the painting—lush, alive, but too quiet. I parked the truck and pushed through the brush, heart thumping in my chest.

A gorge thick with vines, banks lush with spring grass. This was the pillar holding up the sky, the root of the earth in every storm. The air was cool, river echoing through the canyon. I paused at the edge, letting memories wash over me. This place always felt sacred, like the world’s heart was beating just beneath my feet.

Wild River Ridge had a waterfall, and behind it, a stone slab carved with "Handsome King Nate." Next to it, a toppled flag reading "Great Sage of Silver Hollow." The spray soaked my clothes, but I barely noticed. The carvings were faded, half-hidden by moss. The flag lay crumpled, colors bleeding in the damp.

I stepped through the waterfall and found the cave empty. As I wondered, the painting flared with purple light. In an instant, it vanished. The world spun, and when I came to, I was somewhere else entirely.

The rush of water faded, replaced by a silence so deep it hurt. The cave was gone, the world shifting around me like a dream turning sour. My stomach lurched, and I staggered, trying to get my bearings.

"Where... where am I?" My voice echoed, swallowed up by the emptiness. The air was thick, heavy with the smell of ash and something older, meaner.

Wailing souls—a living hell. The cries rose up, a chorus of pain and despair. Shadows twisted at the edge of my vision, shapes half-formed and restless. I fought the urge to run, but my feet wouldn’t move.

Before me was a thin figure, heavy chains as thick as my wrist hammered through his shoulders. A silver blade zipped back and forth, tearing him apart. Blood pooled at his feet, chains rattling with every twitch. The blade flashed, merciless, relentless.

What kind of torment was this? I wanted to turn away, close my eyes and pretend I hadn’t seen. But something held me there, made me watch.

"Who... who are you?" I managed, my voice barely a whisper above the chains.

The figure let out a few cold, bitter laughs—mocking, full of pain I couldn’t even begin to understand.

"Heh, who’s there? Me? I’m the Great Sage of Silver Hollow, Nate Nash!"

The words hit like a slap. I staggered back, heart racing. No way. Nate was supposed to be free, redeemed—a preacher now.

No, impossible! Wasn’t Nate already a preacher? My mind spun, trying to find a foothold. The world blurred, truth and memory twisting together.

I stared at the shadow, trembling. A chill crawled up my spine. My teeth chattered. Fear rooted me to the spot. The air got colder, every breath harder than the last.

"Nate?" He looked at me, surprised. "How’d you end up here?" His eyes were wild, fever-bright, but I saw a flicker of recognition. For a second, he almost looked like the man I remembered.

"It... it’s me." My voice shook, barely making it out. I wanted to reach for him, to help, but I didn’t know how.

"How’d you get in? Usually, only that bastard the mayor comes to watch me suffer. Did he send you? No... he’d never send you."

He spat the words, anger and betrayal twisting in his voice. The mention of the mayor sent a cold shiver down my spine. I shook my head, desperate for him to believe me.

The scariest part was—even though I didn’t want to believe it, maybe this really was Nate. The realization hit hard. If this was Nate, then everything I thought I knew was upside down.

Then who was the one who became a preacher? The question echoed in the dark, unanswered. My heart pounded, fear and confusion tangled together. Deep down, I knew the truth was about to change everything.

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