by B L Barkey
He stopped himself. Now was not the time for reminiscing. Especially when he was so close to the same mountain that had visited his dreams the night before. I don’t have time to think about those either. It’s all about the Trials, he told himself. Focus.
Their bags were light, only about ten pounds each. They had brought enough clothes and provisions to last one night and two days. Such was required of them upon receiving their invitation to the Trials. In the invitation, there had been a brief list of life sustaining supplies, along with a place and time to catch the raft departing from Cephas to Guardian Isle.
It was now half past the fourth hour. Time was running short. They were beginning the descent down to the beach, entering the dense, jungle terrain. They started up a slow jog, not even working up a sweat. Ammon exhaled, then inhaled deeply. He was ready. His body was rested. His mind was focused. This was it.
A thrill arose in his heart, almost indicative of a fear of failure. But he knew that wasn’t it. It was excitement. Of course, a lot was on the line. So many things could go wrong. After taking the SG Trials, if one failed, they would never be able to take them again. That was a lot of risk.
Despite this, Ammon dismissed these thoughts. He would make it. Mikael would make it. They would protect Cephas. They would be guardians of their home.
They broke through the trees, not unlike when Ammon had ran out onto the bay during the phantom storm. Stop! he shouted within himself. No more of that. Forget the storm. Be here, be now. Internal silence followed.
They looked around, the world colored with dark twilight. At first, they didn’t see anyone. After walking south along the tide, Mikael pointed out three figures appearing in the thinning fog. It was dark, making it easy for him to project his imagination onto the unknown.
Several times, Ammon mistook the roll of the tide as an approaching ship. they still had ten minutes before the ship would arrive.
Two figures broke from the trees to their left. Five others followed, one at a time. Only one of them wore a hood, even in the cold. One other person had been wearing a hood, but quickly removed it once they had approached. Then they saw her face.
“Jaqlin?” both Ammon and Mikael said at the same time, utterly shocked.
“She never mentioned wanting to join the Sector Guard, did she?” Ammon asked his brother. “I mean, she has what it takes, but still,” he said, replaying some old Equilibria games in his head.
“She’s certainly tough enough,” Mikael said, “with diligence to match.”
They walked up and nudged her pack, standing on either side of her.
“Well well. Look who it is. What’s with the hood?” Mikael teased, pulling an apple from his bag and taking a large bite. Her smirk waivered, then vanished as she looked down at the receding tide of the ocean.
“The Arcanums were very close to me,” she said. “Jonah wouldn’t have told you this, but he and I would take turns eating at each other’s house every week. Just after the Gathering. My family isn’t particularly keen to the Gathering, leaving early almost every week. On those days, I would sit between Jonah and mother Arcanum, whispering jokes back and forth.” She grinned, looking down at her shuffling feet. A tear fell from her cheek. “The hood blocks some of that out.”
Ammon never thought he would see Jaqlin cry. He decided he still didn’t want to. He pulled her in for a hug, not expecting an ounce of reciprocity. However, she wrapped her arms around him as well, and Mikael joined from the other side.
“Hey, it will all be okay. But for now, let’s focus,” Mikael said. As he stood back, he asked the obvious question. “So, yeah. We didn’t expect to see you here. Since when have you wanted to join the SG?”
A sly grin crept onto her face. “That’s good,” she laughed. “I wanted to keep it under wraps. I figured I could focus best that way, and avoid any criticism that may come from others. You know, the doubters.” She looked at them quickly, then looked away.
“Not that I didn’t trust my teammates. Red pandas for life. It’s just that… well, you know. If you tell one person, then you basically told three people, which means you basically told nine people… until, next thing you know, the whole island is in your business.” She sighed and kicked some dirt with the tip of her shoe. “I didn’t need the attention. I just want to give it my best shot.”
Ammon was excited to see her there. Though he had never imagined her trying out, it seemed obvious now that she would. He hoped she would make it through. Could I marry her one day? She was beautiful, athletic, funny, sassy. She would make a good wife. But why was he thinking about that now? They were just friends. And the SG Trials would begin any minute now. He pushed the silly thoughts from his mind and looked out to the ocean.
Hundreds of miles in the distance, slight signs of sunrays touched on the rims of the clouds. It would be a while before this would illuminate Sector Guard Isle. However, the moon was giving some light. Mikael took the last bite of his apple. He then wound up and chucked it out to sea. As Ammon’s eyes traced the path of the apple, his eyes stopped just above the horizon.
He saw movement. A few moments later, this movement took a dark shape, which then began to grow from the tiny speck. On its approach, its definition increased. Ammon could make out the hull and the sail. It was a rather small ship. He saw three figures in the ship, of which he assumed to be Guardians. All conversation had ceased. All were looking at the approaching ship. But after a minute or so, the ship halted. And there it sat for several minutes after. The tall figures in the hull stood still, moving only with the slight roll of the waves.
After a few more moments, someone asked, “They don’t expect us to swim out there, do they?”
That’s exactly what they want, Ammon thought. It was obvious now that someone had said it. He waited a few more moments for Mikael to do something. But why am I waiting for him? I could just be the first one. That felt like a lot of responsibility. However, he knew what needed to happen and no one else was moving.
He stripped off his coat and belongings, the reality of the cool morning air biting his skin all-round. Swimming out to them would mean leaving all of his belongings behind. Why had they asked them to bring them in the first place then? But if the Trials only lasted two days, he would survive without food. It would hurt, but he would survive. He knew what he had to do, no matter what the sacrifice.
Mikael quickly followed suit, undressing just the same. Jaqlin was a bit slower to respond, a look of internal conflict on her face. Slowly, she slipped out of her jacket as well. As Ammon walked up to the crest of the tide, he looked back in time to see the hooded figure strolling away. Maison, he thought, then scolded himself. No, forget it. He’s gone. The hooded don’t concern you. Focus on the task at hand. He turned back towards the ship, taking deep breaths. This was going to be very uncomfortable.
Mikael stepped up to his right and looked out with him. They looked at each other then, laughing lightly at first, then harder. They were thinking the same thing. What an odd situation. Preparing to swim over the Corals together again. After all these years. He couldn’t think of a better way to start the beginning of their dream. Life comes full circle. How poetic.
Life rarely seemed to have structure and meaning to it. Yet it was in these moments when the opposite seemed true. As if all life had meaning, structured to be just the way it should be. In these moments, he felt as if truly the main character in a story. In these moments, he felt as if he were right where he should be. As if he had found the one golden thread leading to the best future.
Warm from the laughter, and partially delirious, Ammon strode into the water bringing his knees higher the deeper he got. Soon it was too deep to walk, and he dove forward, swimming towards the ship.
Left arm, pull. Right arm, pull. Glide. Breathe. Smooth kicking. Pull. Glide. Breathe.
Water splashed into his mouth and he choked, spitting it out. His muscles screamed, demanding oxygen.
Steady breathing. Get the rhythm b
ack. Left arm, right arm. Spot ahead, find the boat. I’m too far right. Pull harder with the left arm. Stroke, kick. Left arm right arm. Water is freezing. Head hurts. Feels heavy and frozen. Stroke. Stop to sight the boat. Getting closer. Stroke again. Am I even going anywhere? Stop to sight the boat. I have moved, though not far. Stroke again.
I’ll keep my head down longer now. Kick, stroke, breathe. Choke on water. Push on. I want to sight the boat. Not yet. Stroke. It’s been a while now. Stop, sight the boat. Further away? Are they sailing away from us? Too late to stop now. It’s going to take a while. So cold. Will they come out if I start to drown? No, that won’t happen. I will make it there. Stroke, kick breathe. Corals. Open my eyes.
Wow. It’s beautiful. Not as many colors as usual. All different shades of dark blue and green. Incredible. Some fish, so close. Just touched one. Kick, stroke. Hopefully no reef sharks this morning. That fish just up ahead is rather large. Stroke, kick. It’s coming right for me. Stroke. I may die here. Stroke, kick. At least this pain and cold will stop. Kick.
An arrow pierced the water’s glass surface, sinking into the fish. The fish jerked downwards and swam off leaving clouds of blood.
Kick, breathe. Stroke, breathe. Sight, breathe. The boat is further still, towards the isle. Surely they wouldn’t… make us swim the entire way.
Ammon breathed out his exhaustion, then breathed in new energy.
Mikael and him had done it before, though never in such bitter conditions. No matter. They would make it. No other choice. He wondered where the others were. Had they passed him? Were they safe? Kick, breathe, stroke. Had they turned around? Breathe, kick, stroke. Or even started swimming?
He kept his head down for a while then, occasionally opening his eyes to look at the Corals, or to sight the boat. Kick, breathe. Stroke, breathe. Sight the boat. It actually looks closer. Kick, stroke.
Breathe. Passing over a drop off. So deep right here. I don’t remember this from before. Must be further south. Stroke, kick. There’s something down there. Movement in the dark blue. Stroke. I could get a better look if I didn’t have to, breathe. Kick, stroke, breathe. Wait. It’s coming towards me. Too deep for those watching over to shoot it. Stroke. What is it?
Ammon took a deep breath, then plunged underwater several feet before halting in place. The approaching figure became clear. It’s human. It had dark hair floating around it, an oxicon mask over its face.
And then he recognized the face. No. This can’t be real. It can’t be him. Yet he knew the truth of it. It was Maison.
Already intoxicated with adrenaline and endorphins, Ammon felt as if deeper in his dreams than ever before. That cannot be him. What is he doing here?
Afraid to look away, but his body screaming, Ammon resurfaced for a few deep breaths. Terror sank poisonous fangs into his heart, leaking into his blood. He imagined sharp teeth ripping at his toes. Heart racing, he plunged back underwater.
Maison was closer now, though still lurking below, as if avoiding the Guardians watching over the swimmers. Ammon looked to the water’s surface, searching for small boats or other swimmers. Ripples in the wavy, silver sheen. The last two boats were far ahead, for he was now approaching the final shallow stretch to the Isle.
Fear gripped him. True fear, the supposed stranger to Cephasonian souls. Ammon wondered if he had ever felt it before now. It was an unknown, clouding his near future. I am so close to my goal. Another few minutes and I’ll be safe on land. Why does he have to be here?
And how perfectly timed it was, catching Ammon all alone, exhausted, hazy, and desperate to reach land. He feared what would happen next.
Maison drew closer. He was close enough for Ammon to see his eyes. Or rather, his eye, for the other was missing from the gory mess that was his face. Several pieces of skin floated from his eye socket, revealing deeper wounds. Mother-Wolf must’ve gotten her revenge. This thought gave him courage. Maison could bleed.
Maison glanced at the faraway boats. Ammon could see his mouth, smirking. And yet, the boy seemed hollow, like an abandoned turtle shell taken over by spirits from dark trenches. This creature was not Maison, or at least, not the one he used to be.
Maison kicked hard, rocketing towards the surface. Ammon kicked to the surface himself, breaking free from the water and opening his mouth to scream for help. Yet all that came out was a gasp for air. They won’t make it in time. They can’t help me. I must handle this.
Ammon descended. Maison was only two hard kicks away. He was holding a long knife in his right hand. It was a white knife from the Gardens, often used for filleting fish from Emerald Whirlpool. With the smallest push, it would slip right in between his ribs like butter, piercing his organs and killing him slowly. The blood would attract other beasts, and Ammon’s body would be gone before anyone found it with knife wounds in the side. And Maison would get away, free to kill Bastion, Krystal, Jonah. Or even Sadie.
Maison was upon him. The knife was at his hip. He jerked it towards Ammon’s heart. Ammon caught the blade with the back of his left forearm. It stung like fire, but he swept it away, delivering a blow to the oxicon mask. It flew from Maison’s face, obscuring his view while still providing oxygen. Bubbles emerged from Maison’s mouth, further obscuring the view.
Ammon took his chance. He thrusted his foot forward, feeling the quick motion harshly resisted by the water. The blow connected. More bubbles escaped his mouth. Maison reached for his own leg, revealing another metal weapon. He pointed it at Ammon. There was a click and a whistle as the projectile rushed past his left ear. It was a harpoon, used for mercy killings at the ARC.
He was frantic now, realizing how close to death he truly was. I must keep calm if I want to survive. He kicked back towards the Sector Guard Isle and the surface. He broke from the water, taking a breath and yelling ‘help’ as loud as he could. Paranoia then forced him back under to spot the threat.
He blinked in disbelief, shaking his head. A second figure was approaching. It was coming from the south, directly towards the two boys. Its stomach was grinding on the ocean bottom, dwarfing the deepest parts of the submerged gully beneath them. Its size was impossible. It was larger than any of the whales or sharks he had seen in the ARC, Whirlpool, or even gliscs. It was twenty times the size of an orca. It had familiar markings, tied into mysterious ones. It cut through the water easier than light cuts through air. None of this can be real, his mind whispered.
Maison grinned with self-perceived triumph, kicking towards Ammon for a fatal stab. He seemed unaware of the approaching beast. Suddenly, it was upon them. A giant blackhole appeared behind Maison, engulfing his body and yanking him backwards. Eyes equally as black filled the sockets in Maison’s head. They were wide and dark, though darkness was the wrong word. It was not the darkness that comes from absence of light, but that from which lives in darkness itself. A tangible, living creature bred to consume.
Maison’s grin vanished. Sudden terror flashed across his face. He reached out to Ammon for help. Ammon felt pain then, wanting to help the boy, though too stunned to move. While Maison writhed, Ammon saw his own feelings flash within the single eye of Maison. It was fear.
The void around Maison vanished, becoming the face of the great beast. Maison was gone, swallowed by the creature. All that remained of the boy was his disembodied forearm left spiraling down in a cyclone of blood.
Ammon was certain he was next, when instead the great beast plunged beneath him, sending him spiraling up and out of control. He was caught in the current of the beast, unsure of where he would end up. His lungs were begging for air. Something struck his ribs. He flailed all around, dizzy, looking for what had hit him. It was Maison’s arm, also caught in the flurry.
And then he felt it. The flesh of the beast. Though petrified, he was shocked by its touch. It did not feel horrible, nor void of all light. It almost seemed to cry out, begging for release. Even so, its movements remained sure and precise. It buried its belly into the coral beneath, spurting clouds of bl
ood and rock to all sides.
Ammon broke the surface, gasping for air. He had given up on ever breathing again. He had thought himself dead. His mind was just as shocked, grasping for any semblance of reality. He spotted the forearm floating atop the waters, the hand now limp and the ligaments trailing behind like jellyfish legs. There was no blood around its pale flesh.
He was too frantic to be disgusted. He needed to get away, though he barely could determine which direction was up. Then the water became a dark purple, becoming black as the blood of the leviathan dispersed all around. He felt as if sinking into another vortex, spinning towards oblivion.
He spotted a dot on the horizon. Upon this dot was a white spire. Even with the rising Sun, the spire shined bright as a beacon of hope.
Ammon threw all he had left towards the spire. He kicked rapidly before slowing his movements, knowing he was just burning himself out. He found his rhythm, then swam harder than he ever had in his life.
