by Z. M. Wilmot
~ Lazarus Lanoné, in his personal diary
The roots grabbed my arms and legs, and one gently wrapped itself around my neck. They began to lift me up, towards the trees themselves. I struggled, but the roots only tightened their hold. Deciding that I liked being able to breathe, I stopped moving, even as one snaked its way around my torso.
I’d heard that many carnivorous plants let you go if you remain perfectly still. I tested that theory, and now firmly believe that I have thoroughly disproven it. They definitely kept pulling me up, although very slowly.
Something wet touched the top of my head, and I yelled, recoiling, trying to move away. The roots pushed me up into it, and I panicked. I started to struggle.
Then there was a blinding light, and I heard a shrill shriek. The roots all either recoiled or evaporated, letting me go. I fell to the ground, shielding my eyes. After several moments, I began to open them, little by little. I saw a figure, holding something in his hand above his head. It was muttering something. I removed my hand from above my eyes and tried to make out the shape of the figure. It looked oddly familiar.
It lowered its hand, and the light faded, a dim glow in its place. I blinked as I noticed that the glowing “object” was actually three crossbow bolts. The figure in front of me was the cloaked man from my dream. “You endanger yourself needlessly, Jakken Servidos. You will return to your ship now, and not leave the sight of it again.” He didn’t ask my opinion, but I wasn’t going to argue with him. There was unquestioned authority and power in his voice.
I slowly stood up. I looked at the figure and swallowed. “Who are y-you, s-s-sir?”
The figure didn’t answer, only pointed with the glowing crossbow bolts back the way I had come. I nodded and ran in that direction. The roots parted in front of me, allowing me to make it back to the path in no time at all. I looked back, but the light was gone. I turned to my left, looking down towards the continuation of the path, and saw the man standing there, arms crossed, blocking my way. I swallowed and ran in the other direction, away from the ominous figure in dark green. I squeezed through the crack in the trees, and ran back to the clearing. I waited at the tree line to catch my breath before walking back towards the ship. I glanced behind me, but did not see the figure.
Shaken, I walked back to my room. There was a note on my door. I recognized Joseph’s handwriting. Jak, you were not here for lunch as was ordered. I have reported you to the captain. Come now. I blinked. I had been told, both by Joseph and Michaela, that I did not need to help him in the kitchen for a few more days. Curious and mystified, I walked quickly to the kitchen, and opened the door. There was a massive pot, almost half as tall as I was, sitting in the middle of the floor, with a lid on it. I walked up to the pot. Another note was on top of it. I picked it up and read.
Dear Jak,
Thank you for all of the work that you have done for me. I know we did not talk much, but I wish I had been given a chance to get to know you better. I will thank Ezekiel myself when I see him soon. I hereby give you all of my possessions, and give to you my position as cook on board this vessel. May you not suffer too much on this planet, long ago forsaken by God. That is why I am leaving you – I cannot bear the thought of watching us all perish away, slowly, one by one. It is easier for me this way. I hope you can forgive me.
With Love,
Joseph Antiochus
The note fell from my shaking fingers as I looked at the pot. I laid my fingertips on it, and pulled them back hurriedly. It was hot. I was afraid to open it.
I stood there for several moments, at an impasse. Then I heard footsteps rush in. I turned to find Vincent standing in front of me, Michaela behind him. “What’s this? Is Joseph here? I need to talk to him.” I forced my trembling hands to point at the note on the floor, and then walked over to the table and sat down. Michaela gasped and Vincent cursed as they read the note. The captain looked at me, his face ashen, then walked over to the pot. He closed his eyes tightly, muttered what sounded like a prayer, grasped the top of the handle, and pulled it off. Whatever was in the pot smelled delicious, and the thought sickened me. Vincent opened his eyes a second later, dropped the lid with a loud crash, and backed away. Michaela touched Vincent’s shoulder and walked over to the pot. She looked into it, and winced.
There was a moment of silence. “Well, at least he went doing his favorite thing. He even put… spices… in the broth.” She peered into the pot, mostly unperturbed by whatever was in it. She reached in, winced, and removed her hand. She was holding something: a piece of paper covered in some kind of plastic. She backed away from the pot and read it. She let out a short, choking laugh. “It’s a recipe for… himself. Including what wine to eat him with, and what side dishes should be offered.” She paused a moment. “Silly fool. He’s a cook, he should know that he’d have to be gutted first. No one wants to eat boiled rectum.” No one laughed. She let the note slide from her fingers, then looked at me. “I guess you’re the cook then, Jak.”
I blinked. And swallowed. “M-me?”
She nodded. “Although I think at this point all you’ll have to do is grab food directly from the cargo bay and put it in the bins. No one will care, and it will help us preserve food. Plus, it’ll still be edible.”
“However, I must ask that you please not serve us Joseph – despite his intentions.” Vincent had finally spoken. He sighed. “Let’s take the pot and dump his remains out in the trees.” Michaela and I nodded, and we each grabbed a handle. We lugged the pot off the ship. We only passed two crewmembers, both of whom gave us questioning looks, but said nothing.
Vincent grabbed the shovel on the way, and quickly dug a hole. Michaela and I tilted the pot over, and watched the stew pour down into the hole. Or at least Michaela did. Or might have – I’m not sure. My eyes were closed. I couldn’t look.
Vincent filled in the hole, said a few words, and then we trudged back to the ship. We left the pot out there – we had all silently agreed that we never wanted to eat out of that pot ever again.
When we returned to the ship, Vincent called all hands to the bridge, and explained what had happened. He included my promotion among his announcements. No one congratulated me. Once he was done, everyone left in a somber silence, I among them. I knew that dinner was coming up, and travelled to the kitchens. Painful as it was, I forced myself to prepare everyone’s meals. I’m not exactly sure what I made, as I was working on autopilot, my mind elsewhere. It can’t have been any good. Fortunately, it didn’t matter, because as soon as I was done I remembered that we still had several days’ worth of meals left in storage. I sighed and stored everything I had just made in the bins, along with everything else.
An hour before my observatory shift, I cleaned up the kitchen, then went to the observatory early. Nemhet had been replaced by Mikhail, who nodded respectfully as I came in. We stood in silence until Mikhail’s shift was over, and then he left without saying a word. I stared glumly out at the landscape before me, walking in slow circles around the dome. The day cycle was different on this planet than on earth, and it was still bright out when I went back down after Jeen replaced me. We did not speak to each other.
It took me several hours to fall sleep, and when I did, I was plagued by dreams for a long while before I finally slipped into blessed darkness.
22
“Dreams and reality are intertwined, and each lives off the other – they cannot co-exist without eachother. Dreams are the stuff upon which reality is built, and dreams are built upon the foundations of reality.”
