Interitum

by M. K. Matsuda

  “His ear, m’lord?” Gilman searches the floor.

  Esht opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out, revealing an empty throat. “Best meal I’ve had in a few years.”

  “I’ll keep asking about food for you, m’lord,” Gilman says, picking up the pliers and putting them on the nearby table.

  “Though I do enjoy the wasting of breath, stop, boy. Your concern is continually irritating.” Esht rolls his eyes, no longer entertained. There’s an authority in his orders that Gilman’s never understood but is ever-present.

  “Yes, m’lord.” Gilman agrees, with no intention of stopping his requests for food. He gathers the rest of the instruments from the table and returns them to the small adjoining instrument room. Mounted on each wall within are devices meant to tear skin, break bones, and bludgeon flesh to unnatural softness. A whetstone wheel sits still in a corner for sharpening, and a workbench holds other materials for mending the tools.

  Gilman retrieves a rag and wets it from his bucket. Esht watches Gilman approach, reaching up to clean his chest. The man jolts forward, snapping his teeth, and Gilman yanks his small arm back quicker than a heartbeat. A grin stretches across Esht’s face, and he clicks his tongue with a scolding look. “Better get the muzzle, boy. Do learn from the mistakes of others.” This is an order that Gilman is smart enough to obey. He returns from the instrument room with a black muzzle, watching Esht cautiously as he approaches with the buckles. Esht bows his head, allowing Gilman to fasten the clasps behind his ears and at the base of his skull. Gilman’s hands brush against thick scars that lace their way through the man’s white hair. “There. Feel safer, yes?” Esht asks through the metal mesh.

  “Yes, m’lord. Thank you, m’lord,” Gilman responds robotically. As he cleans Esht’s chest, his hands bump over scars and marred skin that never healed properly.

  “Alright, boy, I have a new game.” Esht’s chains clink. “I could throw you to a pit of snakes that would take your eyes out and live in your insides as they devour you slowly. Or, I could put rocks in your stomach, sink you to the bottom of the sea, and let the carnivores of the deep take you limb by limb.”

  Gilman sets to work washing the floor with his bucket and brush. “You do present a difficult choice this time, m’lord.” The door squeals open on its hinges, probably Burke coming to shout at Gilman to hurry along. He doesn’t look up, scrubbing faster. “But I’ll take the snakes. I don’t care much for the wat—”

  “Water.” A black cloak sweeps in front of Gilman, startling him. He rocks back on his knees, reflexively lifting his gaze. He drops his eyes down, but too late, he sees who has joined them in the cell. “Yes, that is how you came to join us, is it not?” The Ascendant’s voice is low and calm, not settling Gilman in the least.

  His chest swells with anxiety, slowing his breathing to quiet his presence in the room. “Ye—yes, Ascendant,” Gilman answers, keeping his head hunched. The Ascendant has only visited three times in Gilman’s tenure, and the last time was ages ago. He’s so impossible to look at, Gilman would never dare meet his eyes. Gilman’s never been so close to him, making the edge of his cloak more unnerving than ever. The dirt grinds differently under his feet. His presence is heavy immediately. Every other time The Ascendant has visited, Gilman either dismissed himself from the cell or simply glimpsed The Ascendant coming and going from outside. He’s seen The Ascendant speak to Burke before. It’s always memorable because even Burke shrinks before him. It’s the only time Gilman’s seen Burke turn small; his voice sometimes wavers, his hands fidget. The Ascendant’s voice carries with it power and threat enough to keep even Burke from raising his head.

  The Ascendant moves past Gilman to Esht. Gilman drops his brush into his bucket and silently crouches to his feet to leave. “Stay where you are, boy!” Esht shouts suddenly. The sharp volume freezes Gilman in his stead. “We hardly ever have guests down here, and rarely any as honorable as he.” Esht’s voice has become sharper, higher, the words spill out faster. He rocks his body, rattling his chains. “My, it has been a long while. Had you given some warning, perhaps I would have painted earlier.” Esht flicks his head at the drying essentia stain on the floor.

  “The boy is smart, muzzling you like the animal you are,” The Ascendant says. Gilman’s ears are tuned enough to the echoes of the cave to discern that he’s surveying the room, his voice tinted with disgust.

  “Perhaps you see him as an Educator one day,” Esht says. Gilman’s breath burns in his chest, heat beats in his ears. The thought of being an Educator makes him queasy.

  The Ascendant pauses and releases a breath that sounds almost like a surrendering sigh. “Let us not talk of such things today. It is a day for family.” There’s a dangerous curiosity in Gilman, a slight urge to look up, but his more sensible side keeps his eyes locked on the tiny rolls of dirt below.

  “Family?” Gilman hears Esht’s chest quicken with weak laughter. “I have no family.” Gilman’s not sure what happens in the next moment of silence, but the chains holding Esht up drop suddenly. Gilman gasps as Esht’s ribs swing down to hit the floor, knocking the breath from his lungs.

  “So dramatic.” The Ascendant steps back from the splash of wet dirt that sprayed up from Esht’s fall. The surprise causes Gilman to look up, just a little, to see Esht wheezing for a moment on the soaked stone. He pushes onto his knees and wrings the black cuff marks on his wrists where the shackles pulled. “Come, join me,” The Ascendant says. Esht looks up at The Ascendant, and Gilman catches his gaze, the twitch of anarchy in his eye. There’s an animalistic element in Esht’s form suddenly. His hands curl up, his back arches, articulating every bone in his spine.

  “Shut up!” Esht whispers violently, not to anyone in the room. His head seizes back and forth, Gilman’s hands tremble. Gilman’s known Esht to talk to himself before, and it’s never pleasant between him and the voices that occupy his head. Esht smacks his head with a clawed hand, his entire body quivering. “I said shut up!” He says that louder, like an order with a threat behind it. He snaps the muzzle off his face with one hand as if it was fastened by string.

  “Come now, stop this,” The Ascendant says, his lilt tired. He pauses when his words have no effect. “You know you want to see her.” With a roar, Esht launches towards The Ascendant, who is suddenly on the other side of the room. Gilman stumbles back, his back crashing roughly into the rock behind him. Esht changes course faster than Gilman’s eye can track, flinging himself towards The Ascendant’s new position. The Ascendant sticks one arm out, his palm meeting Esht’s chest with a spectacular crack. The force flings the man back, propelling him clear across the cell, and splitting the stone he collides with. Gilman slides down the wall, his legs shaking too hard to keep him standing. He clings to his knees.

  “I will kill you!” Esht screams, at a pitch that makes Gilman cringe.

  “Stop this now!” The Ascendant shouts, his voice booming through the room that Gilman suddenly finds much smaller. Esht lifts to his feet in an instant, his eyes burning, mouth foaming, snarling like a beast. He charges once again, flipping the tool table in the middle of the room. It splinters into pieces against another wall, and he swipes up one of the sharper shards. Standing to his full height, he is larger than Gilman ever thought him to be.

  With his path to The Ascendant clear, Esht’s hulking form crouches to attack again. “I will kill you, I will kill her, I will kill everyone!” he yells. The Ascendant pushes one foot back to create a stance.

  Esht hurtles forward, reaching him in what looks like one step to Gilman. The Ascendant dodges his attack swiftly, bending to the side and twisting the wood from Esht’s hand. Esht rebounds quickly, swinging a gnarled fist at The Ascendant’s head. But The Ascendant is quicker and slams the wood across his face, cracking his neck and sending him sprawling to the center of the room.

  The repercussion keeps Esht down on his hands and knees on the dark stone, panting. Gilman watches the whole scene, his shock completely overridi
ng his good instincts to look away.

  The Ascendant walks over and crouches down to Esht’s level. “I had hoped that your education might have bettered your temperament after all these years, but it seems only to have worsened.” The Ascendant drives the wooden stake down into Esht’s back.

  Gilman flinches, practically feeling the stab himself. Esht only grunts faintly, glaring up at The Ascendant. A guttural growl escapes his throat as he grasps the wood sticking from his chest. The Ascendant studies Esht’s face. “But I have not given up on you.”

  The Ascendant twists his hand, like turning a dial, and suddenly the stone below Esht liquifies. His arm sinks into the viscous black rock past his elbow. He takes in a sharp breath, betraying his complete shock. The Ascendant then flicks his wrist, and the rock solidifies in a second.

  “No!” Esht jolts his body up, trying to draw his arm back. It’s useless; his arm is one with the earth, solid and immovable. He keeps yanking his body so hard, Gilman’s sure he will tear out his shoulder. A panicked shriek grows from him as he pulls and pulls. “No! No! No!” Esht slams his free hand on the stone, trying to separate himself, but he doesn’t budge. “I have to kill you!”

  Gilman can feel the bruises forming in his back where he’s pressed so tightly against the uneven wall. The Ascendant stands and turns away as Esht continues to wail, “I have to kill you!”

  “It seems you are not ready to rejoin us quite yet.” The Ascendant strides towards the cell door and snaps at Gilman to follow. Gilman’s hands, slowly steadying, collect his brush and bucket. The Ascendant waves him out and follows close behind. “We shall try again in a few centuries, brother.”

  TRES

  Sloane dreams of water. Warm water that rocks her gently and laps at her hair. She floats on her back, in the endless expanse, looking up at a cloudless orange sky. The water carries her soundlessly towards nothing.

  Except this time, it’s not a dream.

  Sloane inhales sharply as her body doesn’t register the proper weight of gravity. She’s really floating. Instinct takes over immediately, feet kick, hands flatten to paddle, her body rotates vertically. She looks around for anything that she can identify.

  Nothing.

  It’s not just that she can’t see anything; she can feel the emptiness of the water. The bottomless watery void quickens her heart. Distress constricts her chest, and her lungs refuse to take in air. The paralyzing panic sets in as her body convulses from the shortage, burning her chest. Her vision dims as she sinks lower into the water; her arms reach out for stability that isn’t there.

  And then there it is. Solidity swings up under Sloane, rough sand rolls under her knees and palms. As suddenly as it had come, the weight lifts and her lungs snap open, filling with air. She sucks in rich mouthfuls, crawling up the shore. Tiny hands probe her shoulder, and when Sloane flips onto her back, Ches’s face appears above her, his face flooded with panic. “Are you okay?” Sloane nods, setting off a fit of coughing to settle the discomfort in her throat. Ches’s wet brown hair is plastered down his cheeks. He scrapes it off his forehead. Sloane tries to steady her hands that are still reeling from the asphyxiation. Ches sits beside her, patting her back, his father’s shirt clinging to his body. Sloane’s breaths lengthen and deepen like her lungs are stocking up for the next shortage.

  As her body relaxes to a natural rhythm, she surveys their surroundings. A wall of stark white rock towers up from the beach, at least four stories into the sky. When Sloane was ten, her mom and Nolan took their daughters on a trip to see where they grew up. They made an entire summer of it, doing a few other countries in Europe before finding their way to the Irish homeland. Sloane remembers the White Cliffs of Dover on the ferry from France to England. Those cliffs resemble these, but she knows that’s not where they are.

  “I don’t recognize this beach.” Ches squints in both directions where the cliffs don’t end.

  “Me neither,” Sloane says, shakily getting to her feet.

  “The sun is setting, right?” Ches looks up at the sky. “We can’t see dusk on the horizon, so we must be on the Northern or Southern coast. But I don’t know of any geological features like these on Oahu.” Ches glances at Sloane for confirmation but doesn’t wait for it. “You don’t remember how we got here either?”

  “No.” Sloane shakes her head.

  “Concussions can cause post-traumatic retrograde amnesia,” Ches suggests.

  “Uh, yeah,” Sloane stammers, trying to reorient herself to his words.

  “Smart kid,” a man says behind them. Sloane grabs Ches and yanks him behind her, spinning around with him pressed firmly against her back. The man is leaning against the cliff face, his head cocked to the side. He puts up submissive hands at Sloane’s reaction. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He’s young, with warm umber skin and a curious grin.

  “You didn’t,” Sloane snaps back. His pitch-black hair falls in loose curls just over his ears, ruffled by the breeze. Fingers have combed the front back so it doesn’t fall in his eyes, but one rebellious lock grazes his forehead. There’s something uniquely large about his dark eyes, but Sloane can’t discern it exactly. His eyebrows slant up with amusement, matching the smile that seems to settle on him naturally. His lean arms are crossed over his black t-shirt, and his feet are bare, dug into the sand.

  “Who are you? Where are we?” Sloane tries to sound threatening, but it just comes out as loud.

  “I’m Erim.” Kind smile or not, Sloane is in preservation mode, every part of her prepared to attack or escape. The strange animal sitting next to Erim is studying Sloane with beady eyes. It looks like a fox, but its coloring is unfamiliar, almost alien. It has a black head, gray at its middle and white towards its back legs, presenting the full shade spectrum. The tip of its tail is so pale it disappears into the rock behind.

  Erim pushes off the cliff to stand up straight, stretching to his full height. He’s at least a head taller than Sloane, forcing her to crane her neck to watch him. He motions to the animal. “This is Cumulonimbus.” The name seems to spark a relevant memory, and when he speaks again, it is to himself. “It seemed like a clever name at the time, but five syllables is actually very impractical. Everyone just calls her Nim.” Sloane feels her frown deepen. “Don’t worry,” he adds quickly, “she doesn’t bite.” He glances at Nim and amends his statement. “Often.” He winces, seemingly uncomfortable with the accuracy of that revision. He begins again. “She doesn’t bite, unprovoked.” Erim nods, content with his final statement.

  Sloane can’t tell if that’s meant to be a threat. Her eyes dart between Erim and the fox, trying to calculate which could be more dangerous. There’s a strong case for either. Erim takes a cautious step forward, peeking at Ches, who is content to stay behind Sloane. “It’s Chester, right? I wasn’t expecting you to bring a friend.”

  “Don’t talk to him,” Sloane warns loudly, stepping back.

  Erim obeys, remaining distant. Nim growls, threatened by the raised volume. Erim signals for her to calm, and she quiets but doesn’t retreat. Erim’s smile fades, and he sighs. “Can I tell you a secret? I’ve never been very good at this.” That doesn’t seem like much of a secret to Sloane. “I probably haven’t put you much at ease.”

  “You could say that.” Sloane nods.

  “I know you’re confused, but we help people here. Neither of you are in any danger.” His eyes are adamant.

  “It’s ‘neither of you is in any danger,’” Ches whispers without looking up.

  Erim breaks into an uncomfortable chuckle. “My mistake.” He squeezes the nape of his neck, looking back up at Sloane. “Please, if you come with me, I can explain everything.” He turns towards a part of the wall where the cliff pulls deeper inland. A shallow stream flows from a wide crevice to the sea. Sloane quickly scans for other ways off the beach, but there’s nothing. Unless she and Ches can suddenly transform into professional free climbers, they won’t find a way past the cliffs.

 
; Nim waits for Sloane and Ches to follow Erim and then trails behind them like a guard on a prisoner transport. As they get closer to the tall opening, Sloane steps into the little river flowing out of the entire width of the entrance. The water rises to just barely cover the top of her sneakers. The floor of the stream is soft, powdery white sand that pulls slightly at Sloane’s shoes. Before Erim steps into the cave, Sloane stops him, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t try anything. I’m stronger than I look.”

  Erim fixes pensive eyes on her and nods. “I don’t doubt that.”

  Sloane wants to keep her hands free, just in case. But when they enter the darkness of the tunnel, she keeps a tight grip on Ches’s hand as her eyes strain to adjust. The passageway is single and short, nowhere for ambushers to hide. Erim leads silently, having abandoned all attempts at small talk, which is probably for the best. Sloane’s ears tune in the white noise of their steps faintly splashing. She pulls Ches forward to walk in front of her, preferring to be between him and the carnivore. The tunnel brightens as the exit approaches, but the end is more heard than seen. A waterfall cloaks the outside of the exit.

  Erim sticks his hand into the falls, pulling the water aside like a curtain. Ches gasps dramatically at the violation of physics laws, and even Sloane is astounded. Erim holds the water open for them, but Sloane pauses, unable to see out. She crouches down to face Ches. “You want to see what’s out there?” She asks. He pulls his wide eyes away from the waterfall, uncertain. Sloane can read the question on his face; he’s wordlessly asking what she thinks. “We’ve got this, right Blackbeard?” She dusts some sand off his cheek with her thumb.

  Ches nods, swallowing any protesting nerves. “His real name was Edward.”

  “Then I’m ready too.” Sloane takes a breath before stepping under the water and into the light.

  Sloane’s eyes take a moment to adjust. When the view clears, her breath leaves her. The cavern is massive, stories tall and stretching off into the distance. Intermittent holes of orange skylight shine through among the stalactites reaching down from the ceiling. The stone walls are a more natural color, peppered by vibrant fireworks of flowers. Waterfalls, big and small, wind their way through the rock. Trees of every height and type are rooted everywhere, some linked by hammocks. Waxy plants, flowers, and berry bushes litter the ground. Small streams, like one they entered on, serve as paths that spider out across the carpet of grass on the cave floor. Some of the foliage even climbs the walls in some places. Small craters form the edges of crystalline pools that collect the streams of water from the walls.