by B A Simmons
Ches pointed down at small figures among some boulders below them. Looking through his far-see, Edwin verified that they were goats; four of them. He smiled at Ches. “Let’s go!”
The two men scrambled down as quickly, but as carefully, as they could. Having been warned again by the islanders of venomous lizards, Edwin was quite cautious where he put his hands. Twice, Ches used a sling to hurl stones at the brutes as they sunned themselves on the rocks. He impressed Edwin with deadeye aim.
The two descended to the field of boulders and began looking for tracks. The echo of bleats from the rocks made it impossible to locate them by ear. Ches, however, seemed to have a natural skill at tracking. His sixth sense led them through the rocks and to the entrance of a cave. Just as the two men appeared before the dark mouth, a billy turned and looked at them. As if to taunt them, its spindly legs reared and, in an instant, the animal disappeared down the opening.
“Weez gown down after ’im?” Ches asked.
“I don’t see what choice we have. It could be that they’re all down there. Let’s make a fire.”
As Ches gathered a few pieces of half-rotted wood, Edwin reached into his satchel and drew out a small, round piece of glass. He ordered Ches to cut a couple of thin branches from a nearby tree, while he focused the sun’s light through the lens onto a pile of crumpled, dry leaves. Within a few minutes, Edwin had fashioned two crude torches.
Ches gulped. As Edwin stepped forward to the entrance, he followed. Both men, remembering what had come out of a similar cave on that island less than a year before, drew weapons as they stepped into the cavern.
The harsh sounds of bleating mixed with the dripping of water. Sounds which reverberated eerily off the walls. The passage narrowed and widened intermittently and continued to descend until Edwin found himself sloshing through ankle-deep water. More splashes signaled the discovery of the goats. Seven of them had fled into the cave where they were eating . . . rocks.
“By Ayday!” Edwin said. His mind tried to process what he was seeing.
He looked to Ches only to find his governor licking a rock. “What are you doing?”
Ches smiled, “Es good! ’Ere, troi some.”
Ches was polite (or perhaps greedy) enough to select a new stone from the pool of water they stood in to give to his king. Edwin thought he was going crazy but accepted the offering, albeit hesitantly.
Only after holding it for several seconds did he realize that it was not a stone. It weighed next to nothing. Gripping it in his fingers, it felt spongy and soft like a loaf of soggy bread. He sniffed it, but it had no detectable smell. He warily placed the tip of his tongue to the cold mass. It did not taste bad, so he forced himself to put more of it in his mouth, using his front teeth to test its softness. After a thin crust, it gave way to a mallow-like interior, and the flavor struck Edwin’s tongue with a jolt of sweetness. He chewed, though he discovered he didn’t have to. It seemed to melt in his mouth like butter.
“Es good, idn it?” Ches said, seeing that Edwin was enjoying the treat.
“You’ve had this before?”
“No’ in dis cave. Funny ’ow dem ghosts is luv’n et.”
“Ghosts? Oh, goats. Guh-ohts,” Edwin clarified. Only after correcting his backward friend did Edwin realize that Ches was right. It was an oddity that the goats had come down into the cave for this . . . whatever it was. “Ches, what do you call this stuff?”
“Cave bret.”
“Cave bread,” Edwin repeated thoughtfully. His mind whirled about with the possibilities of how to use it, sell it, and make a profit. He placed the remainder of his “bread” into his satchel and hoped it kept. A flicker of his torch brought him back from his thoughts. “Let’s get these meecher goats back to the village.”
The two men cautiously made their way along the sides of the cavern so as to herd their animals back out the mouth of the cave. Edwin could see a ledge where the cavern floor gave way to something deeper. A pit, perhaps, but his attention was diverted as a stubborn doe, sensing their intentions, fled toward the ledge. He stopped and signaled Ches to do the same. He did not want to spook her into jumping. As he wondered what to do, the goat let out a harsh bleat. A moment later, the long, clawed tentacles of an octopus reached up from the darkness and wrapped themselves around her legs. She was pulled away so quickly, she hadn’t even time to let out a cry of distress.
The sudden movements caused the rest of the flock to break for the sunlight at the other end of the cavern. Edwin and Ches followed them, casting quick glances over their shoulders to see if the tentacles were coming for a second helping.
Soon enough, they were back outside, shielding their eyes from the hot sun.
“How did that get in there?!” Edwin asked, catching his breath by propping his hands on his knees.
Ches gave no answer, only blinked in the sudden light. He did not need to. Even as he asked the question, Edwin knew the answer. He remembered what Rob and the others had told him of the sea cave at Alimia being connected to the tunnels they discovered under the castle. Obviously, these caves connected somehow with the sea.
Once they could see again, they counted up their livestock and began the arduous task of herding. The five remaining does followed Edwin, with Ches bringing up the rear. The narrow passages between piles of boulders and the assorted trees of the island made it somewhat easier to control their direction. Though once they came out onto the beach, the billy decided he wanted to go north, into the marshes, rather than south toward the village and the awaiting corral. Edwin gave chase, but the billy was faster.
Once again, Edwin was forced to get his feet wet chasing goats. The marsh may not have been the hidden abode of an octopus, but its smell was enough to make Edwin want to avoid it. The only reason he had ventured there previously was to obtain toadstool. Now that he was slogging through it for goats, he wished he’d never brought the animals there. It seemed the billy felt just as uncomfortable as he did. It circled around, bleating constantly while trying to decide where to flee next.
Just as Edwin sent it running back toward the beach, the rest of them arrived with Ches. The assembled animals stopped running altogether, content with each other’s company and seeming to believe this was where the humans wanted them.
Edwin began leading the goats again, sending them out of the foul-smelling water. But as he did, his feet tangled in some unseen roots or branches in the water. He stumbled and fell forward, saving himself from a marsh-water bath by taking hold of a nearby tree branch. The thin tree shook with his weight against it and sent debris of bark and moss down onto his head and shoulders.
Then something bigger and heavier fell into the water at his feet. Edwin froze as the object thrashed about before him. It did not like bathing in the water and having no other recourse, sought refuge quickly, and the nearest place happened to be Edwin’s leg. He gasped, holding the breath in. His eyes filled with terror as he looked into those of a lizard. Its six legs held tight to his shin, and it also froze. Neither dared move lest such action set the other into a violent reaction.
Ches came to the rescue of his king. Before Edwin could command him to stop, the well-meaning islander’s club smashed the lizard’s skull. The hit was effective at killing the beast, and well aimed at Edwin’s leg.
“You meecher!”
Ches dropped his club and tried to apologize. Edwin lifted the leg of his trousers to see the bright pink welt forming. His skin was unbroken.
“See, no frettin’. No bite!” Ches said with a smile.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
The smile faded from Ches’s face. He reached into the water for his club but immediately withdrew it, letting out a small yelp as he did. There was movement in the water, but both Edwin and Ches were focused on the latter’s right hand.
“Are you bitten?” Edwin asked. His voice sounded small.
Ches didn’t have to answer with words. His face began to contort with pain and fear as the realiz
ation struck him. His left hand gripped the other wrist, and he ran from the marsh with Edwin right behind. Both men left the goats and ran as quickly as they could for the village.
Edwin rifled through the few belongings he had brought from the Anna Louisa, looking for woundwort. He cursed himself when he could not find it. Several villagers gathered around them, some to comfort Ches, others debating the next course of action. It was an aggravating scene that unfolded before Edwin as he desperately tried to think of something. He felt he, too, had become as stupid and imbecilic as the islanders. At least their stupidity was due to the effects of the potent toadstool.
Edwin’s mind flashed. Even as he looked at Ches’s purple hand and his agonized face, he knew he could save him without severing the limb. He knew what he could do to stop the venom.
Reaching into his satchel he took out a small glass vial and removed the stopper. “Ches,” he said with confidence, “I need you to drink this.”
“Es meds? Can fix me rytup?”
“Yes, it’ll make you feel much better.”
Ches opened his mouth, and Edwin poured the contents down his throat. An undiluted dose of elixir. It did not take long for the power of the drug to affect the wounded man. Ches’s warm grin reappeared, and he almost laughed at the sight of his discolored hand. The other islanders began smiling and laughing, too. They thought that King Edwin had given the governor a miracle cure for the lizard’s poison. They were shocked into screams when Edwin drew out his bronze knife and cut the veins in Ches’s wrist.
Ches peered quizzically at the gushing blood. He tried to raise his hand to his face, as if to see it better, but Edwin took hold of his arm and forced it down.
“It has to drain,” he said. “And we pray to Ayday that the venom didn’t get past your arm.”
Ches smiled again and nodded. The islanders around them, seeing how calm Ches remained, returned to their lackadaisical observation. Edwin compelled a return smile to his own lips and tried to fight back the tears welling up in his eyes. He knew that of all the people on that island, this was the last he wanted to lose. He hoped he was right about this bloodletting. As the sand next to Ches became crimson, and Ches turned a pale-gray, a lingering doubt invaded his mind.
His bronze knife was heated over a fire. The blade glowed in the dimming light of day. Edwin sucked in a deep breath and pressed the hot metal to Ches’s wrist. Ches had already lost consciousness and did not stir as Edwin cauterized the flesh.
Edwin fought the urge to vomit as the smell of melting human flesh entered his nostrils. He wanted to turn away but could not and did not. Rather, as soon as he took the knife away, he looked to see that the wound had closed. It had. Water was applied, and Mayre sliced a length of octopus tentacle and wrapped Ches’s wrist. They made the unconscious man as comfortable as possible in his stick hut, and outside, Edwin kept vigil all night.
6: Forgotten Isle
After six days of constant wind and torrential rain, even Pete had become weary of Forgotten Isle. The Alphina and the Old Man were not enjoyable places to be. Above decks, one became drenched and experienced the worst of the rocking motion. While below decks was dryer and more stable, but with so many bodies cramped into a confined space, the smell alone was enough to make one wish for a sodden corner on the deck. During the afternoon of the third day, Pete and Edward agreed to move the Punishers to land. They had come with canvas tents and quickly made camp on the grassy field below the slopes of the peak.
Living conditions in the camp were not much better than those aboard the ships, but at least one could go for a walk around the island. There existed on the island an abundance of a burrowing animal, which the Punishers called “hares.” They hunted them, and when they managed to get a fire going in the lee of some of the tents, they were roasted and eaten to the satisfaction of all. Between the hares and the daily catch of fish, they were able to supplement their rations. They were beginning to run low on supplies though.
Men were stationed in the earthen fort atop the peak. They kept watch over the seas around the island. While they were ordered to report on any ship traffic through the area—if anyone was meecher enough to go sailing in this weather—the dismal conditions limited their view. A few nessies and behemoth pods were all the watch reported.
On the seventh day after their arrival, the wind abated some, but the rain continued to dump on them by the bucketload. Edward brought the dinghy from the island back to the Alphina. He found Pete in his cabin, huddled over a bowl of soup while examining a book.
“Nineteen days,” Pete said before Edward had a chance to begin the conversation.
“Pardon me?”
“The longest recorded storm in this part of the world lasted nineteen days. I hiked up to the peak again yesterday. I can’t see anything past two miles out. I have no idea how long this storm is going to last.”
“I figure we have enough food stores to last the men another two weeks on full rations. If we continue to supplement that with meat from our hunting and fishing, we can maybe last a month. My veterans and I have lasted longer on less, but we’d rather not.”
“I’m all for not cutting our rations down either, but we’ve got to consider a prolonged stay. Last year, we were stuck on an island for three months during the rainy season.” Pete sighed, “sadly, this island is not that one. All the same, it’s not safe to sail in this weather. My job is to deliver you to Mark at Copper Isle and then to Alimia to fight the Falcons. If we sail in this, we’ll not likely make it past the sea of rocks north of Isle de Joc.”
“It would almost be better if we at least tried. There are two things a soldier needs; food and someone to fight. Right now, we’ve got little of the first and none of the second. We’d rather fight the storms than spend the winter months on this island.”
Trina burst into the cabin at that moment, “You both need to come out here. We received a signal from the peak.”
“A ship?” Pete asked.
“No, the lone Falcon has surrendered.”
Pete accompanied Edward back to the island where they discovered that the Falcon marine had been brought down to the camp. He was trussed up and on his knees in the mud with two Punishers standing guard over him.
Joshua met the captains and made his report: “The men on watch heard him calling out to them. That cave is only about five feet into the cliffs. He had no supplies. Apparently, he was too weak to make the climb, so they threw down the rope and told him to tie it around himself. He offered no resistance, just asked for some food.”
“Did you give him any?” Edward asked.
“Not yet, sir.”
Pete asked, “Does he speak Engle, or are you translating for him?”
Joshua looked at Pete with curiosity, “I speak enough Iyty to understand the little he’s said.”
Pete crouched down to look the man in the face. He looked cold and miserably hungry, yet there was a defiance in his eyes as he stared back at Pete.
Edward mused over the scene before saying, “Let’s put him in a tent. Get me some of that roast hare and flagon of mead.”
“What are you going to do?” Pete asked.
“Interrogate him, of course.”
“I’d like to ask him questions, too.”
“I may have to use some methods that you might not approve of,” Edward warned.
Pete nodded. “He’s your prisoner to do with as you please. Just allow me a few questions as well.”
“Certainly.”
A few minutes later, Edward and Pete stood, hunched over, inside a tent, with the prisoner who remained bound with rope, but now sat on somewhat drier ground. Edward held a trencher in one hand while he picked pieces of roast hare from its bones with the other.
Joshua entered the tent with a satchel and sat on a camp stool in front of the marine. “Come ti chiami?”
The marine shifted his eyes from the savory meat to Joshua and back again. He said nothing.
“Come ti chiami, bersagli
ere?”
Again, the man shifted his eyes to Joshua. This time, he shook his head before looking again at Edward who continued to eat.
“Apparently, an Iyty can’t talk unless he’s stuffed his face with food,” Pete said with a grin.
Edward chuckled, taking a long draught of mead.
“Let me have some of that,” Pete said. Edward passed the flagon over and Pete sucked down a gulp. He coughed and sputtered, “That’s worse than Nell FitzHugh’s ale.”
Joshua continued his questioning while drawing a knife from the satchel. “Sei un cecchino, non é così?”
Edward laughed again, “Not much for alcohol, are you Pete?”
“I like a good Vin de Joc with dinner. Something to enhance the experience, not drown it out.”
Joshua pointed the knife at the prisoner, “Un bersagliere chi usa dardi d’acciaio. Come ti chiami?”
“I can’t say I’ve had Vin de Joc,” Edward confessed.
“I’ll be sure to buy you a bottle when we get to Copper Isle. I hear the Falcon ambassador there drinks it by the barrel.”
The prisoner turned his scowl to Pete, and Pete noticed the attention. Still smiling, he said, “You know those Falcons . . . can’t resist wine when it’s offered. Even the cheap stuff. We poisoned some and sold it to the Falcon infantry on Alimia. The gluttons were so desperate for some, they paid us three times what it was worth.”
The Falcon leaped to his feet. Despite the bonds that arrested his movement, he made as if to throttle Pete. Joshua delivered two quick strikes with his hands and the marine fell back to the ground.
“You arah peeratahz! Porco schifoso! Peegs ah-wid no honor!
