by T J Marquis
“Well I love the mystery,” the girl shrugged. “Where is this tower? What is the bloody shadow? Why don’t I help you find out?”
Jon studied her face as she gazed back at him.
“Why would you do this, Bahabe?” Jon asked. “I just show up, and you’re willing to help me find my way? Why would you trust me?”
She gave him a little smile and said, “You’re homeless, and lost. Somebody has to help you. If you had seen the village, you’d know I’ve got nothing better to do,” she rolled her eyes. “Besides, if you’re lying about being dangerous, the men will kill you.”
Jon’s eyes widened and she laughed at him.
“Come on,” she said, rising to her feet and brushing off the sand. “It’ll be getting dark -they’ll be starting up the cook fire.”
Jon’s stomach growled. He rose obediently and followed the girl out of the cove. She sprang catlike up a fairly steep climb, bare feet on rocks, hands moving confidently up a system of gnarled roots.
Jon followed, not clumsily, but not nearly so familiar with the landscape. They ascended into dense tropical forest, taking immediately to a trail Bahabe must have forged over the years. Star-shaped leaves brushed by, the occasional yellow-petalled flower drifted down from above, and the air was thick, wet, and fragrant. The trees were tall and of many varieties, familiar and yet alien.
Jon’s family had taken him to Hawaii once as a kid. They had gone on every tour of Oahu and the big island imaginable, and this lovely tract of forest brought those memories to mind. He shook them away and focused on the path, his young guide, the dewy green of the jungle.
They’d gone a ways when the village became audible. Men and women called out to each other stridently, someone was hammering away in spurts, and the sounds of animals and shuffling feet undergirded these aural accents. Bahabe’s narrow path converged with a much broader one that eventually split to encircle the village. They followed it east, a natural wall of trees and dense brush rising to their left. Naturally all heads turned toward them as they passed between two large log buildings and into the village center. Jon wondered when the last time was that these people had seen an outsider. They betrayed no shock or hostility, simply watched him with an aloof calmness similar to Bahabe’s.
There was a sort of outdoor mess hall off to the right, and as promised, the cook-fires were stoked, suffusing the area with a smell of fish and strong spices. Everyone in sight was dressed similar to Bahabe, in loose, thin clothing, with colored beads in their hair. Generally, the men boasted longer hair, with fewer beads and no braiding. Some of them wore only pants or shorts. Jon immediately noticed that the villagers were just a bit lighter-skinned than Bahabe - clay brown, with more rounded features and greater statures.
“Let’s find Nak-sak,” she said to Jon, “our Elder. He’ll have a fit if he doesn’t meet you first,” she smirked. She waved amicably to her neighbors, who wouldn’t stop watching, however calm they seemed, and led Jon away from the delicious-smelling food. The Elder’s hut was more opulent than the rest, its sturdy wooden frame wrapped in a layer of thatch and dotted with flowers of many colors. Nets of painted wicker formed shutters for the many glassless windows. Bahabe entered the hut without calling or knocking, and Jon followed.
The inside of the Elder’s hut was much like the outside, employing various organic colors to showcase the man’s importance. It was dim, a single skylight open to the waning light of day. Jon was surprised to see that the Elder was poring over a stack of papers atop his incongruously hardwood desk. The Elder himself was styled to complement his surroundings. The leather of his clothing was dyed green, trimmed in bright red. His long hair was rolled up into a knot atop his head, long green feathers worked into the ebony locks.
“Nak-sak!” Bahabe hollered at him. Jon saw a brief tensing of the man’s mouth as he looked up, but in an instant, his expression shifted into a politician’s smile. A convincing one at that. His eyes flicked to Jon, but he addressed Bahabe first.
“Hello Bahabe, I trust you’ve enjoyed some adventure today?” he said. She smiled diplomatically. “I see we have a visitor. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”
“Jon, nice to meet you,” Jon wasn’t sure if he should, but he extended his hand as he introduced himself. The Elder blinked at the gesture, but seemed to get the picture and clasped Jon’s hand firmly.
“A pleasure, my friend,” said the Elder. “It’s not every day we get visitors here, but you are most welcome in our humble village. What brings you to us this fine evening? I heard of no arrivals at the eastern docks.”
“I came... “ Jon began, but Bahabe cut him off.
“Shipwrecked!” she exclaimed. “It must have been dreadful,” she shook her head gravely. “Down by that rocky stretch on the south-western shore.”
The Elder displayed sincere concern, eyes wide, “Well did you look for other survivors? We’ll send out a rescue party at once!”
Bahabe wore a grim mask, “Just Jon and a plank off the ship. He’s lucky to be alive. I’m taking him to Daddy for a check-up.”
Nak-sak studied her briefly, took in Jon’s general dryness - at least his pants and boots were damp.
The Elder’s smile resurfaced, and he said, “Yes of course! I shouldn’t have even kept you this long, son. We’ll speak another time.” He waved his hand up toward the door, “Please, go see our healer and then join us for dinner. We’ll happily see to all you need.”
Jon thanked the Elder and they left him to his work, but Jon felt his eyes on them as they exited the hut.
When they were out of ear-shot, Jon asked Bahabe, “Why did you lie to him? That wasn’t necessary.”
The girl scoffed, “Trust me, you don’t want him knowing you’re a sorcerer. Once he finds something he can use you for, the pressure is relentless. You saw those fake smiles.”
Indeed, he instinctively mistrusted the man. Jon had a long career behind him in which he’d learned how to tell the sincere from the manipulative. In his business, one misread contact could have meant getting narced on or even arrested on the spot. In some cases, misplaced trust could have led to robbery or death. He trusted his own gut, as well as Bahabe, and so he let it go for now. He did have a peculiar sensation at the thought of being in danger, a faint, electric vibration at the tips of his fingers that came and went in an instant. Something about it pushed the sense of danger away.
As they crossed the common square, they were tantalized again by the savory aroma of the communal dinner. The healer’s hut was situated nearly opposite the Elder’s. It was stark in contrast, thatch walls adorned only with a roughly painted glyph depicting a green leaf cradled in a half-rolled bandage.
“I painted that,” Bahabe said, pointing. “Daaa-ad!” she called without knocking. She led Jon through the door. “We have a customer. He can’t pay you.”
The healer was apparently tidying up his tools from the day’s work. Bahabe’s father was an average-sized man, brown-skinned but not as dark as the girl. Jon noted that they actually had few features in common, the man’s face round with a bulbous nose and small eyes, his hair tousled and curly. He looked up at his daughter with a warm smile.
“Gone all day, and now eager to put me back to work,” he shook his head at her. She went to him and they hugged warmly. He kept an arm around her and looked over at Jon.
“Marnha,” he said, and gave Jon a small nod.
“Jon,” he didn’t try to shake hands again, just returned the nod.
“Jon needs looking after, Dad. I found him on the beach, I told Nak-sak I’d bring him to you,” Bahabe said.
“On the beach, huh?” Marnha repeated.
“She told him I’d been shipwrecked,” Jon said. Marnha looked him up and down.
“Much too clean for that,” he gave Bahabe an admonishing look. “How will people know when to believe you with all the tales you tell?”
Bahabe blushed but didn’t apologize. “Jon, tell him the rest.”
So Jo
n recounted his tale, sharing as much as he had previously with Bahabe, but no more. Cal’s shocked and dying face loomed in his mind, and he wondered if it showed through his eyes, but neither of his hosts pressed him for more.
Marnha listened patiently, then conceded to Bahabe, “Perhaps it is better the Elder doesn’t know all of that.” He addressed Jon now. “He can be...demanding. But that doesn’t excuse the lies, daughter. That’s not how your mom and I taught you to be.”
Something about that curbed any further protest from the girl.
“In any case, you and I can follow orders, can’t we Jon?” the healer rolled his eyes playfully toward his daughter. “Let’s get you checked out.” He indicated for Jon to sit on his sturdy examination table.
From among his many tools, he produced a long, smooth object, apparently of steel. Its shape was something like an egg, stretched and flattened, and when he touched it, green characters and charts came to life on its surface. He saw Jon staring at it.
“A relic,” Marnha said, “of some bygone era. Something I’d wager you wouldn’t see even on the mainland - not anymore. But lots of interesting things wash up on our shores, don’t they?” He winked at Bahabe. “Took me ages to figure out how to read it, but it’ll tell me how you’re doing.”
Marnha had Jon remove his shirt, and Bahabe looked away quickly.
“Take deep breaths,” he said, and pressed the warm metal to Jon’s forehead first, let the readings begin. He moved it to Jon’s left pectoral, then his right, then to Jon’s belly. Then he had Jon sit up, and pressed the device to Jon’s back, left, then right. After examining it a moment, while Jon put his shirt back on, he gave the diagnosis.
“Healthy as a ram,” Marnha declared. “Your blood is a little over-animated, but it has been an exciting day for you hasn’t it? My little tool sees much, and it’ll please you to know your heart’s bile is at a good level, lungs are clear despite some very light, old scarring, and your guts are clean and moving healthily. You are a lucky one, to have survived that disastrous shipwreck without a scratch.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Jon said. The title came out in English.
Marnha took a moment to understand the unfamiliar word, then nodded, “Ah, you’re welcome.”
“I’ll have to tell your Elder the truth, Bahabe,” he said to his guide.
She pulled a face but didn’t argue.
“But perhaps wait ‘til tomorrow,” Marnha advised. “Right now, it’s time to eat.”
“Won’t argue with that,” Jon said. “Are your meals always communal?” he asked.
Again the meaning of the word seemed to be lost on his hosts, so he clarified, “Do you always eat as a village?”
“We do. Breakfast and dinner anyhow. I’ve always found it peculiar how the mainlanders eat alone or in small groups. I suppose it’s just that our village is still small enough to allow such things. But I’ve always thought we were blessed, because ohhh, Chu-seh’s cooking…” he blinked long and shook his head once at the pleasant thought.
“He is good,” Bahabe confirmed, eyes wide and serious.
“Can’t wait,” Jon said.
Outside, people were already being served. They were either too polite or too hungry to swarm down on Jon and his hosts for gossip and introductions, but not so polite as to refrain from staring and talking about him. The three took their place in line, accepted their stew and bread with thanks. A number of tables were set up outside the cook’s hut, and many torches lit up the area nicely.
There was a roiling of peace and guilt, like oil and water, in Jon’s gut as he sat with his hosts to enjoy this meal. He thought long and hard about whether feeling as hungry as he did was even okay. Shouldn’t he be in shock, or mourning? Should he be fasting and bathing in the ashes of the cook-fire? His body seemed to be insisting on sustenance, however, and the peace he’d found upon touching the light in its temple was persistent. Cal was on his mind. Maybe that was enough for now.
The meal was as amazing as promised - jerk goat with tender chunks of tuber and long strips of roasted peppers. The bread was flat and thick like naan, with a stretchiness to it that reminded Jon of pizza crust. The villagers did not eat with beverages, but when Jon asked after some water, Bahabe brought him a drinking bowl she called a salef, filled to the brim.
Elder Nak-sakaresh sat at a special table, its legs and edges painted with swirling patterns of colors. With him sat either family or advisors, or both. Among the little entourage was a woman about Jon’s age that the Elder seemed to speak with the most. From Jon’s first look, her image was addictive. Loose, dark curls of hair framed a face of graceful curves, with dark eyes, a wide, smiling mouth, and full lips. One small ear peeked timidly from among the curls. The fall of her hair led Jon’s gaze to the slender length of her torso and the suggestion of pleasant curves. Her dress was fancy by the standards Jon had seen here so far, woven with beads and colored thread few other villagers seemed to possess. She caught Jon looking, held his eye for a split-second, then turned casually back to her conversation with the Elder with a half-smile Jon couldn’t miss.
Jon had already forgotten how closely everyone was watching him.
“That’s my sister,” said Bahabe, an odd note in her voice. “Eleana. Everybody loves her.” She made it sound like a complaint.
Jon wanted to apologize for his staring, but realized that would make it even more awkward. He tried his best to steal no more glances, knowing everyone would notice and talk about it.
Conversation took the crowd as people began to finish their meals, but before it got too loud, the Elder stood and clapped his hands for everyone’s attention.
“You have all noticed the guest among us,” he began. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. “And no doubt you’re all clamoring for his story. I urge you though, friends, while we make Jon welcome and see to his recovery,” the murmurs rose, “rein in your curiosity until tomorrow and let the man rest. He was hungry, and we have fed him, thanks to Chu-seh,” a few people applauded the cook. “If he thirsts, we will drink with him,” a few men hooted at this. “And when he is ready for company, we will visit him.” Nak-sakaresh nodded that he was done, and took his seat again.
Bahabe scoffed quietly, “If you want to be up all night telling your story a million times, by all means drink with them.”
Jon surmised they were speaking of hard drink, which did not sound good to him at all in that moment. How could he be thirsty, when his best friend had just died?
“Even so,” Marnha whispered, “If you’re not ready to talk - a lot - we’d better whisk you away soon. Elder’s told them not to bother you, but no one will listen for long. Look, they’re already mustering their questions.”
Indeed the stirrings of conversation had many eyes turned toward Jon. Any moment, he’d have to be ready to engage these dozens of people. He didn’t feel ready. “Ok, let’s go,” he said. Reflexively he took one last glance at Eleana, who was ready to catch his eyes a moment more.
Marnha and Bahabe stood, Jon with them. To the many villagers’ dismay, they strode across the open commons to a hut shouldered up to Marnha’s medical office.
“This is ours,” he said, and led Jon inside, lighting a single candle.
The home was very humble, with a bed on each side of the small, round room, and a skinny table in the middle. A wicker chest sat in front of each bed, and a shelf above one bed held some random trinkets, an old doll, and a number of worn-out books.
“You’ll take my bed,” Marnha pointed to the one without the shelf, “And I’ll have the floor tonight,” he said.
Jon tried to protest, but the healer waved him off. “No, no. I insist.” Jon realized perhaps he simply wanted his own presence between Jon and Bahabe. Fair enough.
“I’ll be working early,” said Marnha, “so Bahabe can show you around in the morning. I’m sure you’ll see the Elder again, and I agree you should tell him the truth. Just… don’t let him push you around.” He clapped Jo
n on the shoulder and searched his eyes for something - a brief moment. “Come on, Bahabe. Let’s go back out.”
She stuck her tongue out and squinted, but followed obediently. “Good night Jon, fun day!” she said.
The thatch door closed behind them, voices rose outside, and Jon was left alone.
Bahabe was the last one up, laying back on a dinner table to watch the stars - even the drunkards had gone home. Despite all the questions, she’d stoutly refused to say anything about Jon. Really she knew very little herself, but there was a feeling. That brightness in his eyes. His sudden appearance. It was all sort of like the wind picking up suddenly on a sunny day, looking up to the surprise of a late rain on the horizon. She’d come not to believe in randomness or chance, and she trusted her own intuition. Jon’s arrival meant change.
She had to wonder to herself if her senses were fooling her. She felt protective of him in a way that surprised her, like he was her own discovery and she alone had claim to his mysteries, his attention. Was that it? Had she decided his arrival meant something just because it was so far out of her norm? Or was it simply because he was so handsome?
The men and boys of the island were too well known to her. On any given day, she could predict where they’d be and what they would be doing. Even the few cuter ones she’d known since they’d been gap-toothed, snot-nosed brats. Jon’s novelty could very well be the source of her interest and sudden investment.
“But he already likes Eleana, of course,” she muttered to herself. That curse of an older sister, obsessed with her looks, boys falling over themselves to impress her, the disgusting way she served the Elder like a little handmaid for all that jewelry and those clothes…
She stopped herself, “Sounding bitter again,” she murmured.
Eleana’s not magic, she told herself. You are.
She sighed aloud.
Whatever was going on, she had no intention of relinquishing her claim on Jon tomorrow. She would be the one to show him around, help him figure out what to do with himself, learn as many of his secrets as he would reveal, and who knew where things could go from there. She hummed another sigh and resigned herself to bedtime, hopping off the dinner table and making her way through the dark commons to her home.
