TR: 40

Chapter Forty: A Fine Day For Fishing

The mango fell to the ground with a soft thud, rolling onto the jungle floor. Brian placed the blade that Kel had given him between his teeth and he shimmied up the tree trunk towards the next bunch above.

He began to saw at the stems with his knife and, one by one, they fell to the ground like giant pink dew drops. Marlee squeaked with excitement and scooped up as much of the fallen fruit in her paws as she could fit, running over to the basket that Kel had made out of dried banana leaves and twine. She plopped the mangoes on top of the bunch that had already been gathered and headed back to the tree to gather the remaining ones. Brian slid down the trunk and landed on the ground, wiping the dirt and bark off on his pants and sheathing the knife at his side. He walked over to the basket where Marlee was jumping up and down excitedly. He looked down at the heap of fruit and nodded.

“This should do, hey monkey?”

Marlee squeaked and ran off into the jungle, eager to tell her master about her day’s work, no doubt.

Later, they came to the stream with the large flat stones that looked like a giant’s footpath. Kel had called them forgans. In his words:

Forgans are the phenomenal product of a stream’s selective erosion of river-bound rocks into flat surfaces at evenly spaced increments, forming precise patterns that leave a spectator in debate as to the existence of nature’s predetermination.

In other words: they looked like someone had placed them there.

Kel stood fishing on the edge of one such forgan, a crude instrument that he had fashioned out of a reed and spider-twine weaved from some kind of fibrous leaves. As primitive as the instrument was, it did the trick; there were five fish lying on the rock beside him, food enough for several days. He sat semi-hunkered over, his long pointy hat sitting crooked on his head. Along with his disheveled clothes, it made for quite a humorous sight. By the angle of his head, Brian suspected the old man might have nodded off.

Brian smiled, his gaze drifting over to the waterfall cascading down into the stream–the one he now knew housed a secret home. Its droning hiss as it burbled against the water was like a soothing applause, welcoming them home every time. Marlee ran across the stones towards Kel but her attention was diverted partway at the sight of nearby fish which she bounded after along the forgans, though she would never actually go in the water. Never the water; Marlee hated the stuff, though she seemed comfortable enough being near the waterfall. A strange oxymoron, indeed.

Brian walked up beside Kel and placed the brimming basket of mangoes next to him. The sound startled him and he half-jumped, his head jerking upright, signifying that Brian had been right about his little afternoon snooze.

“Catch anything other than some zees?” Brian joked.

“Oy, my boy! What a fine day for fishing don’t you think? They’re biting good today. Already got myself a day’s catch, as you can see.”

Brian nodded at the fish approvingly. One of them, about as large as his forearm, had a hard bone beak used to open shellfish, and a thick yellow stripe down its side. Brian had remembered catching them with his father back at the bay in his hometown when he was a boy, back when his father had been alive. They were called broomfish, named after the funny looking crown of orange spikes at the base of their skull. Another one he recognized as a small panperch, but the other three he couldn’t place a name to. They looked tropical.

Brian turned back to the stream, watching as the river caressed the bedrock as it meandered its way toward the drop-off. His mind wandered to distant things. Though he worried for his friend, he had begun to feel somewhat at home on the island. In retrospect, his life with Kel was something of a gift; anyone could have found him back down on the beach that day, and he would have been helpless to stop them had they ill intentions. Or worse, he could have found no one and had to go Wyndrona alone. Likely, he wouldn’t have ever found out the island’s name at all, and died alone and lost. So, beyond just alive and breathing, he was grateful to know where he was and to have friends there with him. Kel (and mostly Marlee) had accepted him openly, without question, which rekindled Brian’s feeling of friendship that he had with Kade. After meeting Kade he felt as if he had met the younger brother that she should have always had. He only hoped that he would get to see him again to tell him that.

“Do you think that you’ll ever leave here Kel?” Brian asked, watching the stream.

The old man tugged on his rod. He glanced down at him with an unreadable look. “I’m old, Brian. When you get old you get set in your ways. This is my home now. I shouldn’t ever think about going back.”

Brian frowned up at the old man. “And just where is back?”

Kel continued to fish the stream, the sounds of the waterfall the only conversation to be heard. Just when Brian was sure that Kel was ignoring him he brought in his lure and bent down to gather up his fish. He turned to Brian and stared at him with his cerulean eyes for a long moment.

“Everyone comes from somewhere. It matters not where we were but where we are now. Do you understand?”

Kel began to walk towards the waterfall. Brian caught up, walking alongside.

“That wasn’t really an answer, you know.”

Kel raised an eyebrow at him. “Perhaps, you mean it was not the answer you were hoping for.”

“What I mean is that, well…you know all of this…crazy stuff, like words that will stop waterfalls and candles that light themselves… You must have learned that from somewhere. From someone…”

Kel’s eyes wandered from Brian up to the waterfall mere blades away, enough force to crush them.

“Sometimes, my boy, things are not as they seem. Instead of looking for the meaning of something, for once, define it yourself.”

With that, Kel walked towards the waterfall and passed right through it, the rushing torrent of water dividing around him as if it were afraid to touch him. He disappeared from view and the water resumed over the gap as if nothing had ever disturbed it. Brian stood staring at the waterfall for a long moment, unable to decide whether what he was seeing was real. Marlee ran up to him, tilting her head at him in the same curious way that she always did. Out of nowhere a small hole just big enough for a monkey to pass through opened up in the wall of water. Marlee hopped across the last stone and bounded through the hole without pause.

“Hey, wait! Wait for me!” Brian shouted, racing after the monkey.

Another hole formed–this time person-sized–and Brian ran through it, the hole closing behind him like the rest. And the stream was left to its tranquility once more, the waterfall babbling on eternally as small fish patrolled the waters lazily, looking for their next midday snack.

***

The roasted fish filled the cave with a delightful smell as it cooked over the makeshift spit Kel had made in the living area, cleverly fashioned over the air intake atop his small mortar stove. The smoke filtered out through a simple chimney Kel had bored out in the center of the ceiling, venting the room surprisingly well for how small it was. Brian suspected Kel had some kind of hand in it–like the other strange things he did here and there. The official explanation was that the limestone of the cave had become very brittle and porous over the years, allowing more filtration than met the eye. Brian didn’t buy it.

Kel hummed a jovial tune as he sauntered over from his makeshift kitchen, carrying a wooden tray with several sliced lemons and umn, a sweet rootlike vegetable similar to a spring onion. Brian worked atop a stone ledge in the kitchen area, using it as a counter to mash the mangos into a pulp with a pestle in a large wooden bowl. Marlee loomed over his work at the edge of the countertop like a hungry shadow, chewing on the scraps of rinds. Brian didn’t know what kind of diseases primates could impart, but his best guess was that it wasn’t likely sanitary to have a monkey on a prepping surface. Regardless, it wasn’t his home and Marlee had more of a run of the place than he, so it wasn’t his place to scold her. Besides, they were stranded on an island after all; monkey-pox was hardly the worst thing that could happen to them.

Kel gently pushed the sliced garnishes atop each fish with the edge of his knife, aligning them along each piece just so. Watching the old man’s mannerisms reminded Brian of the old librarian back in his home town, Mr. Bludley. As a boy, Brian had frequented the Edgewich Library, a quaint little building on the corner of First Ave and Manning Street, using it to fulfill his insatiable desire for knowledge. The owner was a boisterous old man with large-rimmed glasses that sat on the end of his bulbous nose, projecting too-large-to-be-real eyes into the reflection of his lenses. He wore the same leather vest and tan slacks every day, with faded grey loafers. Like Kel, he looked to be from another time out of time. Whenever Brian had stopped in, Mr. Bludley would stop whatever it was he was doing and don a warm smile to greet him, as if welcoming him into his home. He always had some kind of inspirational saying to greet him, almost always derived from source material that Brian had never read.

The soldier on the quest for knowledge comes knocking again on the door of its disciple; a welcome guest in the home of inspiration.

He would say. After enough of these pedantic overtures, Brian had begun to wonder if Mr. Bludley was testing him–encouraging him to read more so that he could keep pace with his welcomes. Eventually, Brian would garner enough literary experience to respond, but not until much later in life. But it mattered not, for it was the act itself which endeared the librarian in his eyes. And it was always the same; after each new greeting, Mr. Bludley would then pull out a book–seemingly from nowhere–that he had set aside specifically for him, as if anticipating his arrival. He would then hand it to him carefully–ever so carefully–as if bestowing a sacred artifact. And then he would say something along the lines of:

Your next mission, valiant knight. Tread carefully, there’s no telling what sort of surprises may lurk around every turn!

Spurring on the adventure before it had begun. But his relationship with the librarian went much deeper than just witty exchange. Perhaps, Brian’s most clear memory of Mr. Bludley was his first visit to Edgewich following his parents’ murder. Everyone in his life had been so apologetic, ingratiating–and he didn’t blame them in hindsight, for how else should one act towards a child following such a horrific event? But not old Mr. Bludley. When Brian arrived, the librarian greeted him the same as he always did, if not with more candour than usual. It was if his parents had never died. At first, Brian was infuriated by the old man’s seeming neglect–almost offended, in fact. But it didn’t take long before it became all too apparent that Mr. Bludley was doing something that no one else had up to that point: he was treating Brian like an adult. He was showing him respect. Autonomy. The ability to allow oneself to be themselves. In the whole work-up and drama surrounding the misery that followed the loss of his mom and dad, everyone had acted like they had forgotten that Brian was still alive and patronized him to the point that he himself felt like he was lying in a child-sized coffin next to them, even though he still thought and breathed. The realization came when Brian confronted the librarian on his alleged apathy. Brian recalled the conversation as clear as a crystal lake:

“Why are you acting like nothing happened? You know what happened to me, so why are you ignoring it? Everyone else can’t stop talking about it. I thought you of all people would care…”

The old man looked at Brian for a long time, silent, his expression unreadable, unlike any of the hundreds of thousands of books he watched over under Edgewich’s roof. And then he spoke:

“There are a thousands thoughts, and many a season, which shall wilt a lily. But the oak shall stand, e’er time o’er place, and only needs one reason.”

Brian knew that passage, and he knew Mr. Bludley knew he knew it, for he had given him the book a month prior. It was from a collection of poetry written by Vizarius Noche, a second-era poet famous for his uplifting and down-to-earth reminisces about life. And–as in this case–death. When Brian had first read the poem, he could not ascertain its meaning. But hearing Mr. Bludley recite it just then, he knew exactly what Noche meant: there were a hundred reasons one should want to die, but all that mattered was finding one reason to live. And–perhaps, more importantly–that that reason be to remain strong. Stronger than ever before, if one were to thrive.

And then, just as all the other times, Mr. Bludley handed Brian a book. But it was much more than just a book; as it turned out, it was a lifeline. For what Mr. Bludley handed Brian that day was a guide about grieving written by an Alteir priest. As Brian took the book, Mr. Bludley put his hands atop Brian’s and gently closed the younger’s hands on the book. As he did so, his eyes met with Brian’s but, this time, they glistened.

Brian finished the entire book in two days. Originally, he had gone to Mr. Bludley’s with the intention of taking out one last book to read before he took his own life. The pain he had endured was too great too bear and–other than his aunt and his little sister–Brian had no one. But reading that book changed his life. Saved it, in fact. And, as it turned out, it was not his last book.

A tear rolled down Brian’s cheek as he pulverized mangoes. Kel sidled up beside him, rinsing off the board in a small basin. He glanced over at Brian. Brian wiped the tear away with the back of his hand.

“Those onions, they get you, huh?” Brian said, jokingly.

Kel stared at him for a protracted moment then turned back to his washing, a knowing smile on his face. “Ah…Yes, indeed. Certain root vegetables do have a way  of…bringing out those little moments from within us.”

Brian looked sideways at Kel, the old man rinsing his hands with a knowing look in his eye as he stared down into the suds. A small smile formed at the corner of Brian’s mouth and he turned his attention back to his prep work.

Once he had finished up, Brian brought the bowl of pureed mangoes over to the small side table by Kel’s easy chair and Kel followed behind with a wooden platter of steaming fish covered in sautéed vegetables. The smell made Brian’s stomach rumble; he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a good home cooked meal. His mouth watered in anticipation. Once the food was set out Marlee scuttled over to it, reaching up to grab the bowl of mangoes.

“Naaah, monkey!” Kel snarled at her, swiping a long arm in her direction.

She squeaked and then bounded out of the living room and up on to the bannister, chattering like an admonished schoolgirl. He pointed a spoon at her.

“You shall be served along with everyone else. No sooner, no less.”

He turned to Brian, shaking his head as he portioned out a piece of fish onto his plate. “You’d think she learn after the seven hundredth time we’ve gone over this…”

Brian looked over Kel’s shoulder at the small monkey who sat smoldering on the railing. “Well, she is just a monkey…”

Marlee cheeped loudly, what sounded like an indignant reply. Kel chuckled.

“Aside from her atrocious table manners, you’d be surprised what Marlee is capable of, boy.”

Once the humans were served, Kel set aside a plate of fish and mostly mangoes on the floor. Marlee eyed it suspiciously but nature soon won over and she got over her spitefulness and leaped onto the floor, scampering over to the place setting and snatching it up in her paws. She quickly returned to her roost on the bannister where she plucked up a handful of mashed mango, raising it to her nose as if to inspect it for poison. Deciding it was safe she shoved the piece in her mouth and resumed eating her meal, watching the two humans across from her with a vengeful twinkle in her eye. Brian made a humoured sound.

“I think I see what you mean.”

Brian stared down at his plate as he chewed carefully on his piece of fish. A thought came to him.

“Kel, do you think we could go into the valley tomorrow?” Brian said through mouthfuls. “I mean, you mentioned that you haven’t seen any activity for the last while. Maybe you could show me around a bit?”

Kel shook his fork at Brian, not looking up from his meal. “Absolutely not.” He shoved a huge piece into his mouth, juice dripping down his chin and onto his beard. “It’s too dangerous.”

Brian put his fork down. “But how long do you think we can just keep hiding here? If we charted this island better you’d be able to find better supplies, more food.”

He pointed to Kel’s cot in the corner which was aslant due to a broken leg. “You’d be able to get some sap from the klince in the valley to fix your bed.”

Kel didn’t seem to be persuaded. Brian frowned. “How long do you want to keep eating only fish for?”

Kel looked up at him, his piercing eyes made Brian feel like he was looking through him. “Marlee and I like fish just fine.” He said.

He looked over at Marlee, ripping a piece of fish apart with her teeth. Her face was covered in globs of food, her jaw working up and down in exaggerated chewing motions. Brian poked at his fish, gritting his teeth in frustration. Kel could sense the boy’s impatience. Sighing, he placed a large hand on Brian’s shoulder and gave him a warm smile of sympathy.

“I know how you feel Brian, but you really have no idea how dangerous it can be out there. I’ll tell you what: tomorrow we’ll go into the pass and hunt for zampi, how does that sound? They’re a tough kill but they’re great eating. It should liven things up a bit. Normally, I wouldn’t risk it on my own, but with two strong, young lads like ourselves it shouldn’t pose a problem.”

Brian met his eyes with a look of part reverence, part resignation. He nodded glumly.

When they had finished supper, Kel took Brian outside and up an overgrown path leading up the side of the cliff where the waterfall ran off. As they ascended the trail a clear sky greeted them, the stars twinkling down on them like glittering pieces of glass. The birds had retired for the night, replaced with the nocturnal buzz of insects. Every now and then a random distress call from an animal could be heard, perhaps, alerting the rest of its kind of a night-prowling predator. Up high the air was cooler but welcome after the abrasive heat and humidity of the daylong jungle climate. Eventually, the path leveled out, opening up into a small plateau. Brian took in a most wonderful sight. The forest formed a dense wall which enclosed a small, circular lake. A small brook ran from the lake, trailing off into the tree, no doubt becoming the eventual waterfall that barred the way into Kel’s cave. Floating mere pinches atop of the lake were what must have been thousands of golden specs, hovering above the surface casting the lake in a brilliant glow. To Brian it looked like the entire like was alive with light, as if the sun itself sat nestled at the lake bottom.

“What…what is it?” He asked in bewilderment.

Kel smiled, leaning his weight on his staff. “Habwissh Lake. The dryads come out at night to worship the spirits of the forest. They bring rare flowers to the gathering, sacred to their ancestors. They call the offerings tumlem, and they spread them about the surface of the lake. Think of it as a kind of…sacrament to their pilgrimage.”

Kel lifted his head to the breeze and inhaled the aroma emanating from the lake. Brian couldn’t help but feel a sense of serenity about the place, as if nothing could ever disturb the sacred lake. He watched as the glowing balls of light danced about over the water performing their ancient rite.

“What’s this about a pilgrimage? Where do they come from? And what is so important about here?”

Kel continued on down the path, walking solemnly along with is staff, the orb at the end catching the light from the lake every so often, making it come alive. Brian followed and Marlee trailed close behind, her body language telling Brian that being outside at night was not one of her most favourite pastimes. Kel led them up a small embankment to a bluff overlooking the lake. There was a small grassy patch with a single overturned log that had been sapped of most of its moisture from baking in the hot jungle sun over the years. It almost looked skeletal, like driftwood. Kel sat down on the log, Marlee hopping onto his lap. Brian sat next to him. Kel stroked Marlee’s fur as he watched the dryads. After a bout of silence, Kel finally answered him.

“There are stories, like any tale worth telling, but no one really knows where the dryads come from. Some believe that they are the reincarnations of the indigenous folk that first inhabited this island. Or, perhaps, they are the lost souls who have succumbed to the many fates that lie on this island. Others may tell you that they are faeries that were sent into exile for performing forbidden magick… Whatever the case, they gather here because this is a node, Brian.”

Brian gave Kel a cursory glance. “A node?”

Kel nodded, picking out a leaf that had become entangled in Marlee’s fur. “Yes, they exist in abundance about the globe, usually where you least expect them to be. They are places of concentrated energy, a hub of sorts, where one gifted in the arts can come to ground themselves and connect to the source.”

Brian frowned as he looked out at the placid lake. It was hard to imagine that such a place had anything to do with mystical powers.

“I don’t understand. Do you mean to tell me that the dryads and…this lake are connected to something…magical?”

“You could say that. Though it’s not what you may at first think. All things are connected, Brian, and through this connection some may reach an… understanding.”

Brian frowned. “An understanding? Of what?”

“Let me show you.”

Kel reached into his pocket and pulled out a strange looking object that looked like a bunch of reeds cut at different lengths, fastened together with a piece of dried kelp.

“Music, for example, is an excellent way to connect to another. It’s something that all can understand to a point, like a universal language.”

He brought the thing up to his mouth and placed it against his lips. Soothing notes like the wind’s breath danced through the air. Brian did not recognize the song but he felt some kind of archaic kinship to it as if it were something that existed in his blood, or in the darkest reaches of his ancestral memories that he had yet to dredge up into waking consciousness. The tune sounded through the midnight air, resonating across the lake’s surface. Brian couldn’t be sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him in the low light but it almost seemed as if the dryads responded to Kel’s music, the tiny golden ebb surrounding them growing that much brighter as the song carried on, as if invigorating them. Brian closed his eyes and listened to the music against the solace of the night, his mind drifting off to unknown realms. He realized then that he was having one of those moments that defined a person–one that stayed with themfor all of time, until the end of time. There was a deep philosophy to it though no words could describe the feeling. Only the feeling could describe the feeling. It was a perfect kind of subjectivity.

When the last note faded, Kel lowered the instrument to his lap, every change in his position seeming to carry that much more meaning, somehow. Together, the two of them gazed solemnly out at the lake. Brian caught a glimpse of Marlee sitting between them out of the corner of his eye; she, too, stared raptly out at the lake, as if in a trance, sharing in the moment. Three of them, then. After a time, Kel closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He exhaled and turned to Brian.

“Why don’t you give it a shot, my boy?”

Kel handed the strange instrument to him.

Brian sat upright, holding it up to the moonlight as he examined it.

“What is it?” He asked, squinting in curiosity.

“A gift from a once great man. A man…once of both the state and the people. And once a–a very long time ago–a good friend. He was also a wonderful musician and teacher. His name was Yulev Pallas. These are his panpipes.”

Brian turned them over in his hand, feeling the weight and texture of the object before him. He wasn’t sure how to describe it but it was if the pipes bore some kind of characteristic, explicable only through experience, that made them feel important; important in that the previous owner had been an important figure, and that the object itself had played an integral role in history. He didn’t know why he felt so, but it seemed natural to assume it.

“Pallas pipes, hey?” He lifted them to his lips. “Doesn’t seem that hard.”

He took a breath and blew through them, a shrill sound like a dying bird coupled with an airy fart came out of them. Marlee covered her ears and dived off the log, hiding underneath Kel’s robes.

Kel laughed, holding his belly. “It’s not as easy as it looks, boy. Anything worth learning takes time.”

Brian frowned and lowered the pipes, staring at them with a questioning look. Kel placed a hand on his shoulder.

“They were once given to me from a friend; now I have a friend that I can pass them on to. There is a power in them, if you invest the time. Practice long and hard you may be able to coax some animals into doing your bidding.”

Kel looked over his shoulder at Marlee, peeking her head out, her expression all but asking if it was safe to come out.

“Others may get offended.”

He chuckled softly, lifting himself off the log as he braced his weight against his staff. He scratched his beard as he looked down at the instrument in Brian’s hand.

“I hope you find them useful.”

With that, he turned and made his way back down the waterfall path, slowly plodding along, his gaze focused upward at the cloudless night sky. Marlee skipped along behind him, hopping after her own shadow cast by Lema in gibbous, basking the path in soft white light.

Brian stayed on the log, staring out at the golden will-o’-the-wisps speckling the air above the lake. He looked down to his pipes and then to Kel, who’s figure faded off into the darkness. He looked back to the dryads, listening closely to see if, perhaps, he could hear anything from them. Did they sing? Did they even know what music was?

He wondered.

He raised the pipes to his lips and began to blow hollows sounds, determined to make the pipes come alive as Kel had.

Every creature had its own song; he was determined to find his.