Snared: Voyage on the Eversteel Sea

by Adam Jay Epstein

  “We can’t get off this island as fast without him,” Pryvyd said.

  “Remember that line I drew in the sand?” Odette asked. “I’m still not crossing it. He is the one responsible for my parents’ deaths.”

  “And Stalag could be responsible for many more families being split apart if we don’t stop his new plans. Just think about how close he was with the army of stone golems.”

  “Just because you’re the oldest one here, it doesn’t make you the wisest. I can see that concerned fatherly look you are trying your best to pull off. But it won’t change my mind.”

  Moshul used his large, muddy hands to push Odette and Pryvyd, who were now practically nose to nose, apart from each other.

  “I am trying to be responsible,” Pryvyd explained. “Take my emotions out of this decision. Because I do care about you.”

  “I liked you better when you were acting more like a reckless explorer and less like a parent.” Odette crossed her arms in a huff.

  As his two companions argued, questions shot through Wily’s mind like darts in the blowgun tunnel. How long will it take to learn how to build boats of wood? Can we wait that long with all the horrible things that Stalag is planning? I need to get back, warn Mom, and help her prepare for his army’s arrival. But working with my father? Is anything worth that? Then his mother’s face flashed in his mind. Then Valor’s face. Then all the people of Panthasos staring up at him in the royal palace tower.

  “Think of all the gearfolk, snagglecarts, and prisonauts that Stalag and his fellow cavern mages might have already rebuilt,” Pryvyd said. “The Infernal King’s machines enhanced by magic would be more than they could handle without our help.”

  “The boat he’ll help us build will sink in the Eversteel Sea,” Odette said. “And he’ll be smiling while we drown.”

  Roveeka walked over and gave Wily a gentle tap on the hand.

  “He’s your father,” Roveeka said to Wily. “What do you think we should do?”

  Odette, Pryvyd, Moshul, and Righteous turned to hear his response. Wily looked out at the waves rolling up onto the beach, considering what to say next.

  “I agree with Odette…”

  Odette smirked, satisfied.

  “… and Pryvyd.”

  And then Odette gave a loud huff of displeasure.

  “We need Kestrel’s help to get off this island,” Wily continued. “But I don’t trust him. Not at all.”

  “So what does that mean?” Odette asked.

  Wily explained his plan to the rest of them.

  “If we do this,” Odette said, already despising the words coming from her lips, “we must never let Kestrel out of our sight.”

  “Understood,” Wily said. “We have two companions who never sleep.” Moshul nodded and Righteous gave a thumbs-up. “We will be able to keep our eyes on him. Sometimes it is better to keep your enemies close.”

  “I can’t believe any of you are agreeing to this,” Odette said to Pryvyd, fury in her eyes.

  “Remember, we all want the same thing,” Pryvyd said.

  Wily took heavy steps back down the beach to the campfire, where his father was flipping mussels on the cooking stone. His companions walked behind him.

  “Have you changed your mind?” Kestrel asked, his lips upturned into a slight smile. “Are we working together?” Kestrel stretched his legs out so that his shoeless toes nearly touched the flames, and he locked his hands behind his head. As he waited expectantly for Wily to reply, he jabbed one of the baked mussels with his roasting stick and lifted it into the air. He snatched it in his delicate fingers, cracked the shell open wider, and popped the fleshy innards into his mouth. He chewed on it slowly as he twirled the roasting stick in his hand.

  “No,” Wily said. “We are not working together. You are working for us.”

  Moshul approached Kestrel as Righteous flew over and grabbed him by the shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” Kestrel said with alarm.

  Moshul snapped off a stretch of thick vines from his body and began to tie them around Kestrel’s wrists.

  “You will be our prisoner until you earn our trust,” Wily explained.

  “If you earn our trust,” Odette added. “Because otherwise the vines stay on. Forever.”

  “And if I refuse this arrangement?” Kestrel asked as Moshul tightened the bonds on his wrists.

  “I’m really hoping you do,” Odette said. “Because I would love to see how deep you would sink with—”

  “I suggest you help us,” Pryvyd said, trying to maintain a sense of control. “You don’t want me to let her loose on you.”

  Odette narrowed her eyes. Kestrel considered, glancing at Wily as he did.

  “I will help you build the boat,” Kestrel answered. “And you will see, in time, that I am now on your side.”

  “So what do we need to make this raft?” Odette said curtly. “Wood?”

  “Not a raft,” Kestrel countered. “A small sailing vessel. A raft would never make it to the next island. We will need a boat that we can steer. Look here.” Kestrel gestured to a pile of large branches resting by his lean-to. “These are branches from the rubber trees up on the ridge.” He lifted one in his now-bound hands and bent it gently. “They are flexible enough to bend and mold. I am only able to carry a few back at a time, but your moss golem is strong enough to take the whole forest.”

  “Moshul has a name,” Roveeka said. “Not just ‘moss golem.’”

  Kestrel bowed his head apologetically. “My pardons to you, Moshul. If you can get enough to cover this whole beach, we should have enough to execute my plans.”

  Moshul looked up at the ridge and nodded.

  “I’ll go with you,” Odette said before leading the moss golem off toward the hillside with the rubber trees.

  Kestrel turned back to the remaining members of the group. “The rest of you can help me make the sealing wax. It will keep the pieces of wood together and prevent the boat from sinking. We wouldn’t want to be out at sea and find ourselves suddenly taking on water.”

  “What do we make the wax out of?” Roveeka asked.

  “That’s the tricky part, little hobgoblet,” Kestrel said.

  10

  HORSETRAP

  “Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like what you’re going to say next?” Pryvyd asked.

  “We need the pollen from the horsetrap plant,” Kestrel said. “It’s incredibly sticky and, when mixed with water, it will make a thick and powerful sealant.”

  “A horsetrap plant?” Pryvyd looked very uncertain. “Have you actually seen one on the island?”

  “Not just seen.” Kestrel chuckled grimly. “I nearly got swallowed whole by one. I was very clumsy. Should have seen the vines snaking around my ankles.”

  “Am I the only one who doesn’t know what a horsetrap plant is?” Roveeka asked.

  “Actually, I’ve never heard of them either,” Wily said.

  “You know that flytrap plant in the palace garden?” Pryvyd said. “Well, it’s like that, only bigger. Much bigger, and much quicker too. Many a Knight of the Golden Sun have lost their stallions to the vile plant while riding through the jungle of the Western Peninsula.”

  “And this pollen,” Wily asked. “Where is it on the plant?”

  “Inside the flower, of course,” Kestrel said. “Where all pollen is. Didn’t Stalag teach you any biology while you were in Carrion Tomb for all those years?”

  “Actually,” Wily answered, “I was too busy building traps and cleaning up the leftovers of the hapless adventurers that got caught in them to even learn how to—”

  “And if you are wondering,” Kestrel continued on, “if the flower is close to the horsetrap’s mouth, the answer is a most resounding … yes. Hence my difficulty in getting it.”

  “I bet Righteous could fly in and get it without any problem,” Roveeka said, giving the floating arm a nudge with her elbow.

  “Not likely,” Kestrel replied. “
Even for a floating ghostly arm. The horsetrap plant only allows butterflies and bees to fly near without swallowing them up.”

  “If Lumina was here,” Wily said, “she could have quelled a whole pack of butterflies and sent them in for the pollen.”

  “Yes,” Kestrel said with a flicker of melancholy. “Your mother was always quite good with the little bugs and such.”

  “Unfortunately, she never got a chance to teach me that trick,” Wily said angrily. “Maybe if I hadn’t been separated from her my entire life because of you, I would have been able to do the same. Then again, if I hadn’t been separated from her, we wouldn’t have had any of these problems.”

  “I told you that I have a lot of regrets about what I did,” Kestrel said. “I’m trying to make up for it now.”

  “I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”

  “I can’t prove it to you if we all remain stuck here on this island,” Wily’s father said.

  “So how do you propose we get the pollen?” Wily asked. “I’m not a bird or butterfly queller.”

  “You built a giant mechanical bird to break into my Infernal Fortress,” Kestrel stated. “Perhaps we can build a mechanical butterfly together? Not a huge one. One the size of a small kite. We could attach it to a string and fix a small mechanical scooper to the front to snatch the pollen.”

  “That sounds very risky,” Pryvyd said.

  “All the machine needs to do is fool a plant with very limited eyesight,” Kestrel said. “It can see shapes and motion but not much else.” Kestrel stood and picked up one of the rubber-tree branches in his bound hands. He used one end to begin drawing in the sand. Wily watched as his father quickly sketched out the blueprint of a kite with wings on hinges. Wily was impressed by the swiftness of his father’s design work, but he immediately noticed a few structural flaws.

  “How do you plan on flapping the wings without metal springs or mechanical pistons?” Wily asked, pointing to the lower side of the butterfly blueprint.

  “I can see you have the brain of a master trapsmith,” Kestrel replied. “It’s a fine question, but one for which I already have an answer. Which is why we are going to collect those slender reeds near the tide pools.” Wily looked over his shoulder at the yellow-hued shoots growing from the small pools of water at the top of the beach. Kestrel continued, “They are hollow inside.”

  Wily caught on quickly. “You’re going to blow air through them to move the wings.”

  “We will make our own bellows just like the kind that would stoke the flames of a furnace, and connect them to the base of the mechanical butterfly with interconnected reeds.”

  “The air will push the wings up and gravity will pull them back down,” Wily said. “It would look a lot like a butterfly.” A very clever idea, Wily thought.

  “I’ll need your nimble fingers and fine eyesight to pull it off,” Kestrel said. “My hands are too big to tie the reeds to the wings, especially without my glasses. The frames rusted away, leaving me with just the lenses. We need to do this together.”

  “Will it even work, though?” Pryvyd asked.

  Both Wily and Kestrel nodded in unison and tilted their chins in the exact same fashion. It was a detail that didn’t go unnoticed by Wily and made him very uncomfortable.

  The floating arm tapped Pryvyd on the shoulder and pointed to the tide pools.

  “Righteous will go get the reeds,” Pryvyd said, as the arm drifted off.

  “Wily, do you have any tools left that have not fallen victim to the salt fog?” Kestrel asked.

  Wily pulled the various wrenches, a screwdriver, and a hammer from his belt. It didn’t take long to examine each.

  “No,” Wily said. “Everything has rusted.”

  “But I do,” Roveeka said. “Mum and Pops are as sharp as ever.”

  Kestrel raised a curious eyebrow. Then whispered quietly from the side of his mouth, “Has she gone mad?”

  “They’re the names of her knives,” Wily said as Roveeka handed Pops over to him.

  “Oh, that makes sense,” Kestrel replied. “I used to name my wrenches when I was a kid.”

  Wily found the thought of the Infernal King doing anything of the sort bizarre. He is an evil tyrant! There is nothing relatable about him.

  “Start cutting this bark in strips this thick.” Kestrel held his fingers a small distance apart. “Then we will fold the pieces together.”

  Over the next hour, Wily worked constructing the mechanical butterfly as his father barked orders. He hated every minute of it.

  * * *

  KESTREL LED WILY, Righteous, Pryvyd, and Roveeka through the jungle holding the newly built machine in his still-bound hands. Wily was surprised by just how familiar his father seemed to be with the island, for having spent such a short time there. How had his father built traps, come up with a plan of escape, and explored the island all in about one day? Was he really that industrious, or was there something Wily didn’t know?

  Kestrel stopped by a palm tree and pulled one of his eyeglass lenses from his pocket. He put it up to his eye and examined a set of markings on the side of the tree.

  “This way,” Kestrel said, making a turn to the right.

  The underbrush grew denser as the air grew sweeter. A powerful fragrance wafted through the tangle of leaves. It was as sweet as sprinkled sugar on the top of a cookie but with a much fruitier aroma, like a peach from the palace orchard that had been left out in the sun for too long.

  As they walked closer to the smell, Wily could see an oversize melon hanging from a tree branch. Its prickly outside was cracked slightly, letting its golden center twinkle in the light. It appeared delicious.

  “The sundropricot looks like the tastiest fruit you’ve ever put in your mouth,” Kestrel said as he gestured to the hanging fruit. “And it is. Of course it is also bait for the horsetrap plant. Beneath is the largest pair of teeth you’ve ever seen.”

  Just then, a furry tree rat went bounding from branch to branch. Wily watched with trepidation as the rodent approached the area with the sundropricot. As soon as the furry tree rat spotted the golden fruit, it took off as fast as it could in the opposite direction. “Even the tree rats are far too smart to try to steal fruit from the horsetrap plant.”

  “Then why are we?” Roveeka asked fearfully.

  Kestrel ignored her. “Now, do you see the white flower sitting just past the fruit? That’s where we need to get the mechanical butterfly to.” Wily’s father bent down and began setting up the butterfly and the bellows. The bellows (which was kind of like an accordion crossed with a foot pump) sent air through the two thin reed tubes that ran along the sides of the kite string up to the wings of the mechanical butterfly.

  “It would help greatly if you untied my hands,” Kestrel said, looking up to the others. “Just until we get this pollen.”

  Pryvyd looked to Wily, who nodded his approval. Pryvyd leaned down to loosen the bindings on Kestrel’s wrists. Once freed, Kestrel was able to manipulate the butterfly more easily.

  “I will pump the air to the wings,” Kestrel said to Wily. “And you will need to fly the butterfly like a kite.”

  “I’ve never flown a kite,” Wily answered pointedly. “I was too busy being trapped in a dungeon feeding crab dragons and imprisoning adventurers. Plus, there isn’t a lot of wind in tombs.”

  “Not true,” Kestrel said. “There are cave drafts. I’m surprised that Stalag didn’t teach you how to fly a kite in one of the bigger caverns. I explicitly instructed him to treat you like his own son.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think he read the scroll with that instruction on it,” Wily snapped back. “Or he has a very different conception of raising a son than anybody else. I was treated horribly by him.”

  “All the more reason to get our just revenge on the brittle old mage,” Kestrel said, pretending that Wily’s anger wasn’t directed at him. “Now hold the string and allow the wind carry the winged machine back and forth. If we let the string out grad
ually, the plant shouldn’t realize it’s not a typical insect. Then once we get the butterfly to the flower, the tiny wooden blade should snap the stamen off and we can quickly tug the butterfly back with the pollen.”

  “Won’t that hurt the plant?” Roveeka asked.

  “Very possibly,” Kestrel said. “Which is why we’ll all want to be prepared to run away very quickly. Who knows how long the plant’s vines stretch?”

  “This seems very risky,” Pryvyd stated as Righteous gestured in agreement.

  “If you have a better way to get off this island,” Kestrel replied, “I am happy to hear your suggestions.”

  Pryvyd remained silent as Kestrel rhythmically stomped down on the bellow, sending puffs of air shooting through the long, thin tubes. The butterfly’s wings began to flap just like those of a real one.

  Wily held on to the string as the mechanical insect took flight. With each pump on the bellows, the butterfly bobbed forward. As it neared the fruit, Wily thought that for a moment he could see the leaves begin to shift. But if the horsetrap plant was there, it did not show itself. The butterfly passed by the fruit and got closer to the flower. Wily delicately attempted to steer the machine onto the edge of the blossom. With some careful flying, he thought he would be able to land the butterfly directly on a petal.

  Then, almost by sheer chance, the butterfly found its target. The curved stick jutting out from the butterfly’s head was just a few inches from the stamen of the flower.

  “Now, son,” Kestrel said, “snap the stamen off and get the pollen.”

  Wily took a deep breath and pulled a secondary string. The small wooden blade at the tip of the tongue stick sliced a clean cut, lopping off the delicate center of the flower. The pollen fell into the small receptacle attached to the front of the butterfly.

  At once, all the vines around the flower and fruit began to writhe as if in anger and pain.

  “Pull the butterfly back in!” Kestrel yelled. “We can’t lose the pollen!”

  Suddenly, it seemed as if the whole jungle floor had opened up and become a giant mouth. Huge green, thorny teeth chomped upward, trying to snag the flying contraption out of the air. Wily tugged on the string hard, no longer concerned about whether it fluttered gently like a butterfly. The jaws missed their target but only by a finger’s length. The horsetrap’s eyestalks followed the butterfly.