The Reef

by Mark Charan Newton

  Menz couldn’t sleep. After he splashed his face with water, and changed shirts, he prepared to step outside. He was careful not to draw too much attention to his movements. Before he went, he whispered to Yayle, ‘I’m popping out for an hour or two.’

  Yayle waved a hand, said, ‘Yeah, knock yourself out.’ He turned over.

  As he stepped out of his tavern, a tide of people flowed by. Within seconds he was gone, holding a bottle of wine in the wave. People were singing, dancing, smiling, he couldn’t help but let the years fall away, and soon he, too, was singing with them. A young woman took his arm, led him away, smiling, not saying a word, and Menz did not complain as he ran with her past an alleyway in which a man was beating a drum. Menz looked up the side of the stone building where you could see people dancing on balconies, waving strips of coloured materials as they swirled. The woman next to him cheered. She was short, dark, her cheeks glistening with perspiration despite the cool evening. She dragged Menz into the main square where fires burned dolls that were twenty feet high.

  In another alleyway he could see men crowded round something. As they approached, Menz and the girl could see two large pterodettes, with their wings clipped back, and they were fighting, scratching in the dust. Menz saw gold exchange hands as one pterodette stumbled before the girl dragged him away again.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked, pulling him to a cafe.

  ‘Menz,’ he said, looking through a steamed up window. Inside was filled with smoke but quieter than the streets and the girl shuffled through and brought Menz and herself a cup of red liquid.

  ‘Drink it,’ she said. She tipped her head back whilst other men looked on and cheered. Menz, too, poured the liquid down. It seemed to both chill and burn his throat pleasantly. She danced him out of the musky cafe and out into the street again, back into the central square and Menz took a long look at the girl’s beautifully plain red dress. It aired as she turned and he watched the curls of her black hair bounce on her shoulders. All of this reminded him of something hidden inside that he’d never looked at for years. Some incident in his youth, something of those military days. That was when he had a life ahead of him, full of promise, not like now, where all he had was Jella’s mission. There was no one to coax him out of soldiering, to help him integrate with the world as it was without a musket and a sword. He’d seen so much evil in the world that it had effected him. He was glad to have met Jella, a youth with ambition, determination, and with their past being destroyed in Lucher, she presented him with something to focus on. It meant he didn’t have to sit in silence waiting to realise that he had nothing really to live for.

  Her chest heaved as she breathed in. Menz took another swig of the wine from the bottle he still carried. He looked around at the lanterns that hung on walls, tilted his head up as fireworks exploded and you could smell the gunpowder in the cool air. As he looked down, another tide of people passed him, spinning him and another girl, paler this time, looked him up and down, saw his tail and hugged him, kissing him on the cheek and ran off with the people.

  No sooner had they come then left, Menz found that he was on his own. He never had the chance to find the name of the woman. He sighed, smiled, turned to face the celebration. From where he was standing you could see old men holding pipes, women, playing flutes. Whilst they waved the instruments in the air, there was a six-legged dog, which he took to be Qe Palta, hopping in circles. It was watched by a tall, handsome man, an ugly woman on each arm and they both kissed him on the cheek, touched his chest, their hands under his shirt.

  It was over so quickly. Hours had passed, leaving Menz back up in the room, looking down on the square, except this time he was at least smiling. He knew the town would not sleep and it seemed that the air was filled with a charge, not unlike the night before a battle. It was something he was familiar with, something comforting. An old soldier at home with his feelings.

  Twelve

  The day after the fiestre, they were on the road again. Jella wondered why Menz was quieter than usual, but at least he occasionally smiled, although it was an inward smile, the type you don’t share. They had been travelling for weeks, and more uneventful days passed. That was the nature of the desert: so little happened. Landscapes were identical, blurred, became one. Eventually it chanced again. The further west you went, the more farmland there was. Grasses appeared on the horizon, with cattle, sheep. There were old buildings here, ancient, half buried. You would see enormous rusted structures that cut so deep into the sand it was as if they had fallen from the sky. Skeletal frames leant this way and that, fallen, filled in by sand. Occasionally, you would see a human skull behind grasses, a remnant of some tribal conflict. All of these things suggested a time and a place Jella would never know. She wondered how many cities, how many civilizations had risen and fallen across Has-jahn. Today there were only remains that threw up more questions with no way of knowing. She wondered just how significant the rebellion against science was to all of this? Being the daughter of a marine scientist, she would never fully understand the desire of a continent’s population to collapse the existing infrastructure of technology. In this age, there seemed a need to look back to the past, because it was a time that was infinitely richer than the one exited. Governments could only dream of what the elder civilizations were capable of, which made the constant cycle of existence in Has-jahn all that more frustrating.

  One evening, they approached the coast.

  Jella spotted it first.

  ‘There, look.’

  ‘Ah, the sea, the sea,’ Yayle said. ‘You swim, Allocen?’

  Allocen did not move or say a thing. In fact, for the whole journey he had not said a word, or shown emotion of any kind. Yayle seem to find it amusing, although Jella began to wonder why they needed him. They had not been threatened in any way since they’d left Lucher, but it was a comfort-albeit a bizarre one-to have this creature on their side. He would just sit on his horse regarding the horizon, his hands never having once moved towards his scimitars.

  ‘Who’s got the map?’ Jella asked. Lula, who was behind Jella, leant over to open a bag, pulled out a chart. She passed it forwards it.

  ‘Can you read maps then, your lot, eh?’ Yayle asked.

  Jella turned, looked at Yayle. She did not say anything. The younger rumel raised his eyebrows. ‘Not a post-feminist, then?’ He wiped sweat on to his sleeve.

  She returned to look at the map as the horses sauntered towards the sea. Over this scrubland, beyond a few cacti, you could see the horizontal bar that contrasted sky from the sea on the horizon. The sea was dark and still, the sky a hazy pink, although clouds were fast approaching in long, dark streaks. The land became more uneven, and there were dips that suggested small, pleasant fishing villages, ones which possessed no concerns of the world, of its grief. For a moment, she imagined herself there, sitting on a dock, drinking wine. Out on the sea, you could see small, white triangles drifting in the winds.

  ‘The village we need should only be a mile or two southeast. We should get there by night fall. Then, all that’s left is to find a boat and buy it, or steal it, taking it up the coast,’ Jella said. ‘Of course, we have more money this time round, so we should be able to get a really good one. Hopefully, the craft we get up the coast should be perfect, if it came via the Qe Falta.’

  The sand was firm, darker, becoming more like soil. Allocen halted his skeletal horse suddenly. Jella looked back at him, and he seemed to be twisting his head, viewing the panorama. She suspected he was examining every aspect of the desert. Allocen’s head tilted then straightened.

  ‘Allocen, everything okay?’ she asked.

  He nudged his bony horse forward, pushed back his hood, to reveal, again, his fly-head. The Qe Falta appeared agitated as he joined them. She could see his proboscis, black as it formed a silhouette in front of the sun.

  For the first time on the expedition, Jella noticed that his hands were fingering the handles of the scimitars beneath his cloak
.

  They moved on. A trail formed in the ground, between the spindles of vegetation. The trail was only two feet across, but they took it to be the road they needed. After weeks of journeying, Jella was relieved to finally be following it. It lead down a steep slope, which curved to the left, revealing a settlement that looked as if it were hugging the land to escape the sea. Dozens of wooden huts veered away from the water, in the shade of cliff. In the middle of the main cluster of huts was a small harbour, in which several brown and white boats were kept. Their sails were unfurled, waving in the breeze.

  As they approached down the slope, you could hear ropes tapping the masts, the gentle slush of the sea. Menz and Yayle’s horse was in front, leading the way down to the harbour. Jella could hear the two men bickering again.

  ‘Notice anything strange, lad?’ Menz said. Yayle said, ‘Only the smell, but I put that down to you several days ago.’ ‘Comedian, eh? No, I don’t mean the smell, idiot. Take a look around.’

  Jella turned her head taking in the wooden town in its entirety. She looked up to the dark cliffs, which cast a bold shadow, and out to sea, where she could see boats in the distance, but they were moving parallel to the coast.

  ‘Nope,’ Yayle said. ‘Nothing at all. There’s nothing here but huts and boats.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Menz said.

  The wind stiffened a little, bringing the smell of organic matter from along the coast, the taste of salt. The ropes tapped repetitively on the masts of boats and those same vessels banged against the wooden dockings. You could hear a door shutting and opening, or a window. Clouds were massing in large patches.

  Menz pulled the reins on the horse, and the animal stopped before it approached the first of the town’s dust-streets. Jella and Lula’s horse walked up to his as he watched an empty carton blowing across the street. Dust pirouetted in tiny whirlwinds.

  ‘What’s up, Menz?’

  ‘Nobody here,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Look-’ he indicated the town, his palm facing the sky. ‘There’s no one here. Not a soul.’ ‘Hmm,’ Jella said. ‘I see what you mean.’ ‘What’s wrong?’ Lula said. Allocen brought his horse in front. The creature turned his head in a full circle, hardly moving his shoulders. His two half-globe eyes were scanning. The rest of his body did not move. Jella’s tail was twitching on one side of the horse.

  The street was lined with little huts, fishing stores, trade shops. Some of the doors were left open. Inside there was only darkness.

  The town, still under the shadow from the cliffs, was cast in further gloom by the nimbus clouds. On top of that, night was coming. Jella felt the wind, shuddered. They inched their horses forward towards a well that marked the centre of the town. It was made from brick, with a thatched roof. They rode nearer. Jella thought she could see something sticking out from behind the well and jumped off her horse.

  Menz and Yayle followed. Lula felt inside a bag, drawing out her musket, prepared a shot. Jella looked back up as Lula clicked the weapon, but Lula did not make eye contact; she was turning her head from side to side every time she heard the wind blow a door shut.

  Jella walked around the well. A boot was sticking out from behind. It was connected to a man wearing black breeches and a white shirt. He was dead, his shirt stained red at the collar. What the hell could have done this? The town was eerie enough without the corpse in the centre of it.

  ‘Stand back,’ Menz said. He walked to the body. The man’s eyes were wide open, staring up. His face was blue, withered, making the corpse look older than it ought to have been. Menz picked out a knife from his pocket and flicked it open, using the small blade to peel back the collar.

  ‘What can you see, Menz?’ Jella said.

  ‘Puncture marks. He’s been bitten by the looks of it. Although, there’s something that ain’t right. There’s no tearing or scratching to indicate an animal attack.’

  ‘What do you suppose did it?’ Yayle asked. ‘Some ghoul, I guess. I ain’t seen anything like this,’ Menz said, looking up at Allocen.

  No one said anything. Jella kept glancing all around, paranoid at every creak of the boat or of a door, at every time the water splashed into the docks.

  Menz stood up. ‘We should find somewhere to sleep for the night.’

  Yayle said, ‘Damn right. I don’t fancy sleeping around here, old thing. Not in the slightest.’ ‘I agree,’ Lula said. ‘It’s too creepy.’ Jella nodded. She turned to see Allocen off of his horse. The Qe Falta was pacing in a strange, lurching circle around them. His antennae gleamed as the moon surfaced from above the cliff top. The wind picked up, but did not move any of the protrusions from Allocen’s head. Jella marvelled at this man. Or fly, she couldn’t be sure which was the dominant species in his body. With his cloak flapping now, she could see that his hands were clutching the handles of his blades. Every time she noticed a door shut, she could see that Allocen’s head was facing it. She thought at first that she must have blinked to have missed his head turning so quickly, but she soon learned that it was a remarkable creature.

  Lula fingered her musket, glancing around her. ‘We should just take a boat and go now.’

  A light rain began to fall.

  ‘Aye, the lass is right,’ Menz said.

  ‘Okay,’ Jella said. ‘Let’s see if there is anything left at the harbour side and take the first one we come to. We only need to travel a few hours up the coast anyway.’ They walked to their horses as the spots of rain became globules that slapped the ground spitting up small clumps of mud. As they were about to jump on their horses, a shrill cry pierced the sky.

  ‘What the fuck was that?’ Yayle asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Jella said. Their eyes darted around between the columns of rain. It was pitch black. AlIocen had drawn his scimitars and stood with his legs apart, facing up the street that linked the centre with the harbour side. They took out muskets from their bags and loaded, waiting to discover the cause of the scream.

  ‘Just bring one horse with us now,’ Jella said. ‘Put all our belongings on it and let’s just get to a boat as quick as possible.’

  They led the horse between the wooden buildings, towards the harbour. The wind rattled; the rain drenched their hair and clothes. Allocen walked in front, his cloak waving around his body. He was spinning his scimitars, weighing up the blades as if they were an extension of his arm. Menz walked at the rear with Yayle, glancing from side to side, their muskets held ready.

  Another high-pitched scream.

  Wooden shutters on the buildings banged closed before opening again in the wind. Jella looked at one building to her left. She saw that the window had been smashed. The rain was relentless, but through the columns of water she could see there was definitely something inside.

  ‘Lula, look. In there, I saw something. Two eyes, just…glowing.’ Lula stood next to her, looked. She couldn’t deny that there was a pair of eyes inside. Allocen had already turned. ‘Shoot at it,’ Jella said.

  Lula lifted up her musket and stared down the barrel of the weapon. She followed the tip, lining it up with the break in the widow. Pulled the trigger. A crack sounded, a scream erupted from the building. The eyes could no longer be seen. Lula lowered her weapon and reloaded.

  A cacophony of screams filled the air.

  Jella looked up as streams of water vibrated in the air, almost fizzing as if every drop had exploded. The group huddled around the horse, steering it towards the harbour. Allocen was walking faster, pacing, waiting. His head was nodding all the time in some strange primitive ritual. Jella couldn’t discern where the screams were coming from, and she screwed her face with pain as the volume of them increased.

  Then all sound stopped.

  ‘Something’s not right,’ Menz said.

  ‘Well done,’ Yayle said. Despite the strong wind, the doors were no longer opening and closing. ‘Look!’shouted Lula. ‘The doorways. Look at the doorways.’ ‘What the fuck is this?’ Jella
said. Figures were simply standing there, dozens of them, holding open the doors, becoming drenched in the rain.

  ‘Look at their faces,’ Jella said.

  They walked out into the street, their eyes luminescent. There must have been at least twenty, clothes were ragged, tom. They groaned audibly as they came nearer. Their mouths were open, revealing canines.

  ‘Vampir!’ Menz shouted. ‘I’d say now was a good time to shoot the fuckers.’

  But, before they could raise their guns, a blur shot past them, circling them and all that they could see was a streak of metal in the air through the rain, and the displacement of water as Allocen sped through. A head fell at Menz’s feet, blood spat up on his breeches. He stumbled back in disgust as the vampir’s eyes faced him, cold, lifeless. The canine teeth must have been two inches long.

  Again the blur raced by, blood arced through the air. Rain vibrated. They began to fire their muskets where they could whilst edging the horse forward to the end of the street. Allocen carved the vampir, hacking and slicing at a speed that dazzled, amazed. So impressive was his display that Jella couldn’t tell what where the rain ended and the blood began. Vampir still lurched at them, clawing, but all that came close was a severed arm falling at their feet.

  Allocen had formed a physical barrier. When he did pause, his held scimitars out wide, dripping with blood. He possessed a sheen that was neither sweat nor rain. His head flicked from left to right as the ragged figures clambered at them further, groaning. The vampir screamed as they fell, in ones, twos. The Qe Falta hacked and slashed, kicking, spinning, flexing into impossible forms and at improbable speeds whilst body parts were scattered and the floor became with blood. Lula aimed and picked at one or two of the vampir, but Allocen frequently beat her to it, leaving strips of the ghouls at her feet.