caetechu and the island of souls

crush in the ancient gallery as the faces peer up from the stone and wall around and dusty light flickers and cascades from a hole in the distant ceiling.  the faces lidless keep watch and every footfall echoes down and along the corridor.  In the distance there is a dreadful drumming, a monotonous throb that rolls the sand beneath me.  waves of the sound echo and shimmer around me bound by the earth and the stagnant air.
I push on into the darkness and follow a winding staircase down, into the belly of the mountain, following the drum and its hypnotic snare, bound around my spirit and walking me, into the valley below.