TR: 35

Chapter Thirty-Five: Deserted

 “Do you think he’s dead?” said one of the blurry figures looming over him, obscured by sunshine.

“I don’t know but he looks like good eating.” Said another.

“No, stupid! We can’t eat him. You know the rules–what’s one’s is all’s.”

“Yeah, he’d have our hides if he found out we’s weren’t sharing.” Came another voice. They sounded like adolescents.

“Let’s just leave him. Better someone else finds him than us. Maybe he’ll wash out to sea.”

“Good idea. I’m surprised it came from you.”

“Shut up, Hake! At least I didn’t pour sand down my trousers like a certain someone did last week.”

“That’s not fair! That only happened ‘cause…”

“Quit your bickering! We haven’t even picked out the…”

The voices faded off into the distance.

***

Sometime later (it was impossible to discern how long), he awoke with the taste of sand and salt water in his mouth. His vision came to him in swells, each wave of sight gathering more and more color, more and more clarity. The first thing he could see was an expanse of white beach and then the cerulean blue of the ebbing shore. Seabreeze filled his nostrils and the familiar sound of seagulls drilled into his splitting brain. He coughed up a lungful of saltwater and seaweed and rolled over on to his hands. He sat up rubbing the back of his throbbing skull.

“I guess horses don’t swim as well as they thought, huh?”

When silence passed he looked beside him, finding nothing but shoreline as far as he could see. He stood up, taking in the scene around him.

“Kade?” He called, quietly at first, and then cupping his hands he shouted out into the ebbing sea.

The only motion was the slow lap of the tide as it caressed the shore. He turned from the water and stared into what seemed to be a canopy of dense, tropical flora behind him.

“A jungle? Where am I?”

As he took in his surroundings it all came back to him in a sudden torrent of recollection. He fell to his knees, gasping for air as a wave of nausea rolled over him.

“Celine.” He panted under his breath.

He yelped as a spasm racked through his skull He meditated against the pain, listening to the calm speech of the tide juxtaposed against the electric mandalas of pain that radiated in his vision against the sand. Finally, after his migraine had settled some he got to his feet, brushing sand off his shorts. Standing there, staring off into the jungle of the surreal, Brian felt as if he were in a lucid dream where at any moment something incarnate of his imagination would bound out of the bushes with its fangs and claws bared, ready to wrench his tormented soul from his body, where he would then start in terror in the waking world. It was if he had crossed a dimension of the past, into a time lapse where he had done everything already, about to set onto those chain of events once more. This, he figured, must have been why he thought he was back on the beach with Kade after the Laminka had inadvertently saved them from the rogue Kelpie.

The only way Brian could define it was recalling a similar experience when, years ago back in his training days at Falkner’s, he had a dream within a dream. He awoke from a strange story conjured by his mind, the one where the dreamer was a detached observer of the events happening, the scenery and figures changing randomly within it. Yet, for some unspoken reason, there was no justification necessary to validate anything. Disgruntled and parched, he recalled getting up to grab a glass of water except that when he turned the tap, instead of water, a scream began to crescendo out of the pipes, filling his bathroom with the wailing sound of distress. Startled, he fell backwards and, at that very moment, awoke in his bed screaming, confirming the source of the terrifying sound in his dream to be himself. It was at the moment that all foundation of reality left him and, for three hours, he sat huddled in his bed, staring off into the blackness of his room until day began to break. The event bothered him long after that, as if the residual betrayal of his mind left a tainted trail that he could not soon forget. After all: how could one trust one reality if another had proven to be a lie? Couldn’t they all be lies?

That was how Brian felt again, there on the shore. The disorienting feeling of not being able to settle into any moment left him unsettled, and so he resolved to abstain from further introspection.

“Ok, breathe, gather your thoughts.” He told himself.

He patted himself on either side of his face to confirm his existence or, at least, what purported to be. He looked back at the ocean once more, took in a last breathe of the crisp ocean air (hoping it was truly there for him to breathe) and he set off into the vast unknown.

***

The S.S. Leviathan plodded towards the harbor near midday. Her sails were tattered, several of her masts cracked and stooping over drunkenly, and the hull was scoured with deep gouges from being battered against shoals which would have been otherwise impossible to navigate in the storm’s obscurity. The crew looked and felt no better. Admiral Hadurynn, wincing against the glaring sun, stood at the bow watching the massive city come into view.

“There she is boys.” said Jack Ballade from behind.

“A sight we never thought we would see again.” The admiral added. “Brazen city. Welcome home, gentlemen.”

Celine leaned on the railings and stared off into the distance. In every instance that she could recall, the sprawling towers of bronze and golden spires never failed to awe her upon her many returns to the city. But this time, the looming pall that hung over her and the crew, no feat of man could eclipse that lingering shade. Celine swallowed a dry lump in her throat, tears burgeoning in the corners of her eyes which she stoically fought back. She turned from the gunwale and made her way silently back into the ship. Seeing his shipmate so chagrinned, Ballade reached out to console her but the admiral quickly stayed his majordomo’s hand, the two making no move to stop her.

“It is best, in my experience, to let these kinds of things breathe.” The admiral said, softly.

“Sir, aye sir. But she mus’a know she be not alone in this. T’was no one’s fault that boy. He…”

Hadurynn put a hand on Ballade’s shoulder, watching Celine disappear into the cabin. “It’s not about just the boy; she had a duty and she believes she has failed that. I can relate, in one sense, as the Leviathan is our charge, along with every body on her. To be certain, it would be devastating, to say the least, were she to become a wreck–as she nearly did, were it not for you and your crew’s seasoned finesse. Yet, one cannot help but feel that a large piece of something was lost this day, despite our best efforts to the contrary…”

As the admiral trailed off, the two men stood in silence watching the small figures of men skirting about the docks like busy ants as the harbour finally came into view. There was a loud call from above decks and the deckhands began to scramble as they prepared to dock the Leviathan. Large fluorescent buoys and anchor lines were heaved overboard while knots of men climbed over the side of the hull on riggings, getting in place as the looming docks bore in. The harbour was massive, one of the largest ports on the continent, an intricate network of layers upon layers of wharfs and piers, the highest of which stood nearly as tall as the Leviathan herself. As the ship settled into her slip, familiar faces waved them in, happy to see the crew’s safe return. Hadurynn responded with a grim nod and turned to look out at the sea. How long had he sailed the endless blue and how many storms had he seen? What they had faced was something… unnatural. In all his years of sailing he had never seen or even heard of a storm like the one they had just been through. Somehow–he didn’t know exactly how he knew–It had the distinct impression of magick about it. Call it a gut instinct. Of course, he had a fair amount of experience working around the Gifted in his line of work; Celine, after all was one of them, and she was hardly among the first witch or wizard that had commissioned him for work. Suffice to say that, from all of his previous encounters with the lot, he had learned to discern the specific flavour that magick exuded, and this scenario reeked of it. The thought then donned on him that, perhaps, the storm was a spell, although he had never heard of a conjuration on such a scale. Such power would be unprecedented. He cut his chain of thought short, realizing that he was beginning to conspire–not a demeanour befitting of his station. It was nonsense of course, nothing more than sea bandy between drunken sailors and tavern-goers. Whatever the case was, he had let someone down, and just a young man at that. Now, the ocean had claimed another body on his watch.

“May your soul find peace in her depths, my friend.” He whispered, saluting out to sea.

When he turned back he found his entire crew standing solemnly before him, Jack Ballade at the fore. They took off their caps and the entire group chanted together:

“N’er a boat or sail would we, without our mates upon th’ sea.”

Hadurynn smiled, placing a gentle hand on his first officer’s shoulder. “He is a part of the sea now, so he will always be with us, at our rudder, in our hearts.”

He placed a fist to his chest. The crew nodded, lowering their heads for a moment of silence. As they reflected, a massive shadow crept across the deck, engulfing them in temporary darkness. The admiral looked up, the silhouette of a gargantuan bird sailing through the sky, partially eclipsing the local star. It sailed past the Leviathan, so low that it kicked up the sails on the mainmast which the crew had yet to batten down. Not a bird: a ship. But the conflation was an easy one to make; long, winglike sails protruded out at right angles on either side–remiges, as they were known in the nautical world, after the major support feathers belonging to their ornithological counterparts. As she soared past, along her starboard side Hadurynn could make out the words The Galant embossed in gilded letters, shining triumphantly against the fine-grained Argothian mahogany. She was one of three anseriformous crown-ships in the Prince’s royal fleet, a rare breed of technological perfection in which a nautical vessel could be equally adept in the air. While having functional beginnings primarily in military use, it didn’t take long before the public sector took note of the flying fish, and civil manufacturing and mass production followed shortly thereafter. While still bearing a heavy price tag, it was not uncommon to see them in any of the world’s major ports. Despite their commonality, the Galant was no less impressive, being the largest among her ilk, though the admiral suspected the prince himself was not likely aboard as he had been suspiciously absent from the public eye for the past year and a half. No, much more likely the Galant had been sent as a personal gratuity to some important dignitary which it had been sent to collect. The potential bombast notwithstanding, the crew stared in awe as as the vessel soared overhead, its massive turbines chugging and hissing as they crunched stellar level reactions, leaving a sizzling blue contrail of Glo residue in its wake.

The smell of lacquer mixed with brine and ionic air stirred something deep within him, something primitive yet nostalgic, reminding of days long ago when he first took to the sea. Seeing the majestic creation before him–thousands upon thousands of years of man’s toil and failures, culminating in such a thing–the very thought made him proud to be a human. And then, delving into that mental pool, he reminded himself that Brian–barely a man himself–would never get to see the Galant or anything like her. Or anything, for that matter. Water filled his eyes as he watched the Galant sail into an aeroslip, a specialized docking bay specifically designed to berth anseriformes like the Galant. The engine flickered as she neared the bay, remiges folding up on actuating levers and struts. The loss of lift was offset by massive pneumatic actuators along the aeroslip which shot tactical bursts of air at programmed intervals, helping to offset the momentum of the massive beast about to enter their domain. After a symphony of hisses and engine growls, the Galant finally set down with a final kerchunk, sidling into fenders longer than most commercial buildings. Hadurynn stared morosely into the concentric circles of fading blue within the dying engine of the Galant, until the shrill call of a sailor broke his attention, his crew dispersing haphazardly back to their work, as if the spectacle that had just occurred had never happened to begin with. Down on the docks boatswains struggled against the Leviathan as they pulled on the lines to bring her in, sinewy muscles in their arms bulging against the vast forces at play. Superiors once again began barking orders and the general tumult in the harbour resumed.  The admiral cleared his throat and silently made his way back into his ship.

***

Celine was sitting at the dining table in the captain’s bridge, staring at her reflection in a silver spoon. Hadurynn startled her from her trance when he sat down across from her, clasping his hands together. He contemplated her for a moment and then looked off to the side, trying to find something to say.

“You know he told me about his friend.” She said, perhaps more to herself than him. “He thought very highly of him.”

Hadurynn frowned at her. “He was a strong spirit. I imagine he attracts good company.”

“But there was something else.” She interjected.

“Something else?”

“Yes. I divined…I mean, I went into his mind to see if I could help him. Brian agreed to it. Suggested it even.”

Celine paused, looking at the Admiral in earnest.

“The boy needs help, Admiral.”

“What kind of help, m’ lady?”

“Not the kind so readily available I’m afraid.” She sighed. “When a person is unconscious their mind has to form an image to hold onto, otherwise we would become lost in thoughtlessness. It is our mind’s failsafe–a foundation for coherence that saves us from becoming atrophied, you see. It does this in the form of a self projected image, what we call a Vasad. It can be summed up as how you see yourself in your mind.”

Hadurynn nodded. “Much like how we imagine ourselves when dreaming.”

“Exactly. But such is not the case with Kade. You see, his Vasad is completely aware of everything happening within his world. Normally, the Vasad is only a vessel, a point in space that anchors us to reality. His is cognisant of what it is, where it is and even of his own body while unconscious.”

Hadurynn stroked his chin in thought. “But this isn’t quite the anomaly you are making it out to be m’ lady. You see, many men are able to control their dreams and have a lucid experience while sleeping. I know it as I myself have done it.”

“Yes, of course, but have you ever been aware that someone else was in your mind while you were sleeping?”

The admiral looked puzzled. “I’m afraid I can’t say that I have ever had anyone enter my mind before. I imagine that, if one did, it would be impossible to tell the difference between those that your mind creates and the intruder.”

“Exactly my point, Admiral. Kade was able to differentiate these two. When I approached his Vasad, it was as if I had been allowed into his world only through his grace. When I spoke with him he knew that I wasn’t of his making. He was fully aware that I had come to help him. In fact, he told me that I was not able to help him, as if he was aware of his condition. It was shortly after that that I was rejected. After…”

Celine stopped, staring into empty space.

Hadurynn leaned forward. “After what?”

“Light. Light surrounded us, chased us… it overwhelmed everything. The landscape, the thought, the consciousness. I was lost. I felt like he had entered my mind and that I was no longer in control. In all the years and individuals that I have worked with, Admiral, I have never encountered anything like it. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. And the worst part is I have no idea how to help him. Or if he even needs the kind of help I can give.”

The admiral sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. He sighed deeply. “I can understand your pain of failure my lady. It seems that we have both discovered our incapacities on this voyage. Pray they be too few.”

Celine gave a barely perceptible nod in acquiescence. “Indeed.”

When the silence became awkward the admiral cleared his throat.

“Come, let me take you back to the embassy. The ambassador will be glad to see you’ve returned safely.”

Celine sighed. “Perhaps, you are right. It is of no benefit to mire oneself in the swamp of regret.” Celine smiled faintly. “I am sure all of that expensive, cool marble will help take my mind off things. Somehow, the place has its own kind of serenity at times.”

The admiral smiled, his sharp hawk-like nose casting a handsome shadow in the dim cabin light. “That is the kind of resolve that will get you home, m’ lady.”

She glimpsed her reflection in the spoon out of the corner of her eye staring dourly back at her. “Hopefully, next time I will have enough to get us all home.”

***

“I am terribly sorry, sir. Perhaps, I should contact the consulate in Makis?”

The Ambassador frowned out the window of the carriage as the rain poured down onto the city streets. A blanket of fog had settled over the town, cascading it in an ominous haze. He had left the Arch of the Calm just after the incident with the Kainean commander; large crowds, especially those in a pandemonium, were not his milieu. On a good day he would have enjoyed seeing Algreaves blather and squirm as he attempted to regain control of the house and temper the media shit storm that had ensued, but this was not a good day. Far from it.

“No, Darrik, that will not be necessary.” The ambassador sighed. “If what Abayu said is true then we have to take into consideration a conspiracy.”

His crystal eyes fell on his comrade’s. “I know the folks over at the Makis consulate well. Trust me when I tell you they only have a pulse on what the Immigration and Trade Commission feeds them. In this case, near radio silence, which is certainly not standard behaviour.”

Darrik poured the ambassador some tea into a very expensive looking porcelain mug. “That does indeed sound like the behaviour of someone trying to hide something.”

“Exactly. The ITC controls virtually all of the flow of trade to and from its ports, and that includes any Bannamud vessels that make their way in and out. If–and I mean if–a vessel was somehow commandeered, then the only possible way the alleged could realize such an endeavour would be through the oversight of the ITC.”

Darrik set the pot down on a saucer, serving three cubes of sugar into the ambassador’s tea with a small silver spoon–a formidable job considering the turbulence from the carriage. “An inside job, then?”

I tell you, Darrik, it makes no sense. “I cannot see any possible gain that they could make by allowing it. To declare war on the Men’o th’ deep will only serve to aggravate trade relations until they declare an embargo with Atlandia. That, and the Poio are fiercely territorial; if this dispute is not resolved, there will no longer be safe passage to and from the western ports, which severely disadvantages the nation. Especially, the port towns–like Makis–whose economy is chiefly in supply and trade.”

“It is a conundrum, to be certain, sir. Consider also though, if I may, that Commander Abayu is lying and that the Emperor has a snake up his sleeve. It would not be the first time.”

The Ambassador groaned, mumbling behind a gloved hand. “Yes, of course there is that...”

He sat, sipping his tea as he stared off into space, a look of consternation on his face as his mind attempted to unravel the puzzle set before him.

“I don’t like it, Darrik. We are being lead by a very short rope, and we can now trust no further than the hand that guides it. The Chancellor is a bumbling fool, along with his senile senate. I can expect nothing less than deliberation on their part in this matter. If they have a part in this, then I fear the problem may be bigger than what the embassy can handle. Only time will tell how far the rot has seeped into the wound…”

“You suspect the house, sir?”

The Ambassador turned, staring out into the rainy streets. He sipped his tea as he gazed out through the distorted images on the waterlogged glass.

“There was something about the way the chancellor reacted when Abayu approached him. It was as if… he were expecting the encounter, like it was orchestrated. Maybe the assault was improvised to make the ordeal more believable. Either way, I don’t trust him or the house, at this point.”

“If I may, sir, I see a potential pitfall. How can we proceed without any consent from…”

The carriage came to an abrupt halt. The Ambassador and Darrik stumbled forward in their seats at the jarring motion. The ambassador collected himself and stuck his head out the window to yell at the driver.

“For the Creator’s sake man! What in the…”

There, in the middle of the street, blocking the path of the carriage stood a large cloaked figure accompanied by two men that the ambassador recognized as royal guards. The guards approached the carriage and exchanged words with the driver, motioning at the carriage. The carriage hand opened the door to the stage and let Darrik and the Ambassador out. A cold wrought with the unrelenting snare of the ocean breeze cut into their bones as they stepped out into the downpour. The Ambassador hoisted his jacket over his head to shield himself and he approached the entourage barring the way.

“What is the meaning of this?”

The guards stepped forward and planted the butts of their lances against the hard cobblestone, then took to one knee as the cloaked figure proceeded past them out of the obscuring mist.

“There are many possible meanings, master Vassik, but only one of which is to be your concern.”  The voice had a serene, yet assertive quality to it.

Through the congealing mist the Ambassador could discern no more than an apparition shrouded in cloak and shadow.

“Please, just Vassik if you will, and enough with word games; my schedule is quite constrained. State your business and we can all be off.”

The figure stood silent for a moment and then slowly withdrew the hood from its head. Darrik gasped and immediately went to one knee, the ambassador quickly following suit. There in front of them stood not a man but a creature that, some would say, could not be put into words. Though there was some semblance of a man, the skin instead glistened a pearlescent purple, such as one might see in the faint, fading light of a summer’s dawn, and atop of the head were three tentacle-like protrusions extended out in series, each longer than the last. On its face, the creature had three slits above either cheek which palpitated in respiration, given it had no nose. And where ears should have been were single, circumspect holes, belying the vast perception which the creature’s poise told of. Pupilless eyes shone red in the mist, seemingly transfixed in a permanent glare that said it did not miss anything.

“Quigzid, forgive my heedlessness. I was not informed of the prince’s presence.” the ambassador conceded.

Quigzid was the official messenger for the House of Enbrazen and had been for as long as the ambassador had been in office. If something were to happen to the prince, Quigzid would be the plenipotentiary until a new monarch could be elected. And the royal family’s inexhaustible trust in him notwithstanding, Quigzid was also a deft bodyguard to the throne–their most lethal known attribute, in fact. Anywhere the prince went, Quigzid was sure to be close by. Though there was much speculation and rumor surrounding the legend of him, the most commonly accepted belief was that the prince’s late father–King Enbrazen–had found the creature injured while on a royal hunt. It was said that the king had become ensnared by a rogue branch and was abdicated from his saddle, stranded in the middle of vast, unknown territory. Though there were many variations of the tale, the common theme throughout was that the king came across a strange winged creature, face-down in a stream, as if it had died straining for its last drink. When he found out that the thing was alive, being the pious man that he was, the king carried the injured creature home, thinking he had found an angel. Somehow, the king managed to find his way back to the castle and nurse the poor fellow back to health. Tt was publicly announced, shortly thereafter, that the strange creature was to be appointed the royal warden to the House of Enbrazen via divine intervention. Naturally, there was much demand from the people to explain the nature of his benefactor, but the king suddenly became quite reticent, which was not his usual demeanour. Rumours abounded, anywhere from the king being brainwashed by his new compatriot to learning of the creature’s true identity and being sworn to a sacred oath of silence. Whether for good or for foul, the king remained more or less mum on the subject, treating the whole ordeal as an ever day occurrence. And while it took a long time, eventually, everyone else saw it the same way, more or less. Most passed it off as another of the king’s religious tangents. And, besides: it was suicide to question a king’s authority.

Quigzid motioned for the two men to stand.

“Do not worry, Ambassador, I do not come to play games. I can assure you that master Solus is not present. I have been sent to bring you a message.”

Vassik frowned. “A message? From whom? I pray hope it not be of the same nature as the commander’s message to the chancellor.”

Quigzid’s features remained unaffected. He exchanged brief glances with his guards.

“Surely, you have gotten word of the debacle that just occurred at the Arch? The Glaive practically quarantined the place.”

“I am not aware of any such disturbance this afternoon, Ambassador.” Said Quigzid.

The Ambassador was dumbfounded. The palace should have been one of the first to hear of such news. It was common protocol for chain of information.

“Damn that Bumbo! The fool can’t even manage his errand-boys. I’ll have his head the next time I…”

“Ambassador,” Quigzid interjected. “I will send my men to investigate further into this situation and to ascertain the intention of the Ministry of Oversight. For now, please accept this, for I must be on my way.”

Quigzid reached into his cloak and pulled out a sealed envelope, handing it to Vassik.

When the ambassador took the letter he noticed the royal insignia stamped into the wax seal. There was only one man in all of Atlandia who used the seal.

“This is… this is from the prince?”  It was more of a baffled exclamation than a question.

Quigzid turned to leave, but turned back halfway.

“Oh, one more thing Ambassador.” Quigzid extended his arm out towards the Ambassador, palm splayed and a barely noticeable tension formed at the corner of his crimson eye.

“What..what are you doing?” Vassik stammered.

The Ambassador knew what the creature was doing–magick. Though most if not all of Quigzid’s nature was unknown, it was common knowledge, even to the most humble of peasants, that Quigzid was a deft sorcerer. Whether it was an innate ability of his kind or if it was taught to him later in life, it was said that few could rival his command of the working. After only a brief moment he lowered his arm.

“There. Now I will hear as you hear. I cannot be everywhere at once, Ambassador; we are both important men and many demand our time. Know that I will be with you on your journeys. If there comes a time when you feel that no one is there to help you, you will not be alone.”

For the first time that Manin Vassik could recall, he witnessed Quigzid smile. And just as a summer breeze, it was gone as quick as it came, as did the strange man and his retinue as they disappeared into the wall of fog.

The driver mounted his booth and stared down at the two men with a look of stern reverence. “You fine gentlemen just let me know when its time to be on the way.”

“Journeys?” Said Vassik, lost in thought.

“Sir, perhaps we should open the letter in the carriage. With all of this commotion going on there is no telling what kind of miscreant may be about.”

The Ambassador shook his head. “I don’t like it Darrik. I don’t like it at all.”

“Like what, sir?”

He shook the letter. “This. The letter. Xanth Abayu. Magick…all of it. It is as if everything is caught up in a giant hurricane and we are at the center of it all.”

The two men climbed back into the carriage and the driver cracked the whip, starting the horses back on their cobblestone trot. Darrik frowned down at the letter in his master’s hands.

“Perhaps, sir, the true hurricane is yet to hit.”

Vassik glanced up at his compatriot. He studied the letter for a moment more, inhaled deeply and broke the royal seal.

“I guess we’re about to find out.”

***

Brian pushed the broadleaf fern out of his face as he stepped over the nursing log. A strange multicolored beetle hissed at him as he passed by a moss-covered tree. All around him there were many strange plants and creatures that he had never seen or heard of. The colours seemed to be more vibrant in the jungle than back in the woods near his home, like a different photo filter overlaid atop the world. The one nice thing about being stranded on the island, he had discovered, was that it gave him the rare occasion to reflect on his life. Back at Falkner’s he was constantly busy, running himself ragged as Mik’s errand boy, so free time was a rare commodity. Now, he had all the time in the world. Brian liked to apply his mind to a problem and he had already devised several plans that could help him out of his situation. First, he would venture into the jungle and find high ground–the highest ground that he could. From there he would be able to get a better perspective on the size of the island and how far away from other land masses he was. Perhaps, he would even spot a passing vessel and could make some sort of signal so that they could come rescue him. He figured that since he had left the beach he must have walked three or four leaves as the bird flies, though there was still no sign of the jungle ending. Whichever island he had been sequestered to, it was a very large one. That being considered, there were all the more things that could wrong; on an island that size, it was entirely possible there were predators about. Not to mention hazardous pitfalls, poisonous creatures, and the ever-looming threat of thirst and starvation. Thus, he was careful not to make too much commotion as he trudged through the bushes, as there was no telling what he might attract. As it stood, his track record dealing with strange, dangerous animals presented a bleak outlook.

Brian came to a small clearing where he decided to sit down and take a rest. The sun had baked his shirt against his chest, pools of sweat in the crevices of his muscles. He wiped the condensation for his forehead and licked his lips. The air was so humid that it was literally like walking in sweat, for the lack of heat exchange it provided. He looked around him but there was no sign of water.

How ironic that I could die of thirst in air practically dripping with water.

He leaned back against a tree stump and closed his eyes as he listened to his steady breathing. The sun, though it was excessively persistent, felt nice against his skin. It was days like this that made one feel glad to be alive, even if it there was a not-so-distant threat to take that life away. He smiled at the thought of Kade and Ballade’s crew arriving at Brazen City alive.

Kade will love it there, he thought. So much to see… Maybe Celine will even take him on a tour of the Royal Palace.

He hoped that they made it to port safely. Thinking about Kade and Celine soured his mood and a lugubrious cloud settled over him. As Brian’s thoughts began to drift to dark places, a squealing sound like an animal in distress sounded not too far off. Brian listened for a moment and then leaned his head back again.

“Probably just someone else having a bad day.” He laughed to himself.

The sound continued to persist to the point where he lost his concentration. Having nothing better to do, he got up and made his way toward it. When he had gone roughly a bout, he peered through the thick fronds of a tangle of ferns into a small clearing similar to the one he had been in. In the clearing there was a small monkey with a cord tied to its ankle which was fastened to a stake pinned in the ground. It squirmed about frantically, hopping around in a mad dance trying to bound away into the bushes. It would stop every now and then and try to chew through the cord but whoever had made the snare had thought of that and had made the cord out of a monkey-resistant material. Seeing the stake and the tether immediately got Brian’s hackles up; only humans made such things. That meant he was not alone on the island. Cautiously, Brian stepped through the bushes and the monkey looked up at him with the cord in its mouth. It stopped chewing for a moment and cocked its head with an inquisitive look, as if to say: are you going to help me? Brian looked at the unfortunate creature and shook his head.

“I guess we’re both having bad luck lately, huh?”

Looking down at the sorry animal reminded Brian of the rabbit that he had tried to free back in the woods which had gotten him ensnared and almost eaten by a forest ogre. Though there was an element of redemption there, the thought of ever having to face such a beast again made his stomach curdle. The monkey squeaked at him as if it could see his hesitation.

Brian shook his head. “Sorry, buddy. I’m not going to fall for that again. Besides, it looks like you’re doing a pretty good job yourself.”

He motioned to the cord in its mouth which, despite its resilience, had been gnawed down some by the monkey’s persistent chewing.

Brian stopped, realizing he felt ridiculous for talking to a monkey. The two shared one last quizzical look at each other before Brian shrugged and turned to walk away. With Brian’s back to it, the monkey waddled over to a fallen coconut and picked it up in its arms. It scuttled back over to the iron peg in the ground which bound it and, raising the coconut above its head, slammed it down on top of the peg. Brian turned around just in time to see the strange spectacle before he felt the world being turned upside down. Suddenly, the sky was below him and the ground above. He could feel pressure around his left ankle and his weight bearing down on him, his arms hanging pinches from the jungle floor. He strained to look up and saw that he hung from a snare attached to a tree branch high above him. The snare was made of the same cord that was around the monkey’s ankle. He looked over at the inverted image of the monkey who stood staring at him as it chewed on a piece of coconut. He glared at the primate and yelled at it. The monkey ran over to the peg and, with a gentle tug, lifted the cord off of the iron spike and fled off into the bushes, the cord trailing behind like a teasing tail.

He stared at the spot in the bushes where the monkey had disappeared. His hair hung straight above (below) him like fingers reaching out in desperation as he turned in a gentle circle.

“Unbelievable.”