Negative Film

by Leonard Petracci

  “But by water is going to be far quicker than by land,” Lola protested. “There’s no way we can drive a truck through the dense forest. We’ll be walking, and we’ll be walking farther.”

  “There are other ways,” said Zeke, flipping open his lighter again and letting the flames dance across where his fingers used to be. “Some of them that no one else would dare traverse. But they are quicker, and straighter shots, than what your enemies will take. And should they follow us, nature will fight our battle for us. Only fools fight nature.”

  Chapter 57

  I sat at the front of the boat watching the river slide by, listening to the ambient sounds of the jungle. To my right, there was a swish as something dove beneath the water from the bank, its dark shape rapidly hidden in the thin mud. Monkeys jeered from the treeline, shaking their fists as we passed, and Lucio was preoccupied with making faces back at them. Birds elicited every sound imaginable, from chirps to outright screams, and frogs croaked from down below like players in an orchestra pit. And behind me, there was the tssss as Arial applied another layer of bug spray that proved mildly effective at best at repelling mosquitoes.

  “This entire jungle is a breeding ground,” she complained, looking at her arms, which were covered with red polka dots. “I’m getting eaten alive.”

  “Sounds like you’re doing your part to keep the forest thriving,” said Slugger from the shade. “You’re quite the environmental activist.”

  “And how come you’re not getting bitten up?” she asked. “You should do your part too, right?”

  “Beats me. I don’t think they like the taste of sunburn,” he answered with a shrug and sat up so we could see his face was as red as his hair. Arial winced.

  “You’ll get used to the bugs. Besides, the river is narrow here. It isn’t so bad when the water is wider,” said Lola from her chair. Around her, mosquitoes constantly disappeared, forming a new cloud on the other side. But everywhere else, they were thick, the whining constantly filling our ears, our hands smacking away the horde of pests before they had a chance to bite. The candles lit around us managed to drive some away with their thick smell, but it was a losing battle, and the constant movement of the boat brought in fresh visitors.

  “Not all of us have built-in pest control,” Arial retorted.

  “Actually,” I said, and focused on the table in front of me. “We might.”

  I flexed my power, creating a light force point on top of it, just enough that the edges of Arial’s hair tilted forwards and I could feel a light tug on my skin. The contents of the table gathered around it, sheets of paper crumpling in the center, with a fork sticking out like a compass needle. And around us, the cloud wavered, condensing in around the table. Like miniature comets, the bugs fell to the orb of paper, specks of darkness that impacted on its surface and crawled in a wriggling mass. A few tried to launch back into the air but fell immediately, unable to muster the escape velocity needed.

  “That,” sighed Arial, leaning back to leave her legs unprotected, “is a million times better.”

  In moments, the others joined us around the orb, seeking refuge from the onslaught. Even Zeke stalked to the deck to investigate, nodding as he noticed the orb.

  “Some trick for a Watermancer,” he commented, his eyes on me.

  “You have your secrets, we have ours,” I said, meeting his stare and holding it.

  “No secrets here,” responded Zeke, spreading his hands wide. “You just haven’t asked the right questions.”

  “Such as why you’re guiding us into the jungle for next to free?” probed Arial. “I’m not buying what your brother said, and I’ve learned the hard way that strangers don’t always have our best interest at heart. In fact, usually, they don’t.”

  “Such as that, yes.” He smiled and sat on the rail of the rail of the boat. From inside, Darian steered, and Zeke made a sideways wave motion to instruct him to correct closer to the center of the river. We lurched left, and Zeke pulled a knife from his belt, the blade ground to a sharp polish, and absentmindedly started flipping it into the air. He caught the point between two fingers, flipped it up again, and continued, “But you’re right; strangers don’t have your best interest at heart. They have theirs. That’s nature. Survival.”

  “And since we know your brother is after riches, what are you after? You can’t expect us to believe that you do this in return for food,” continued Arial.

  “Riches? Artifacts, not riches,” said Zeke, the knife glinting off the sun as it wove through his knuckles. “After all, what is the point of riches? Slips of paper whose power disappears without warning. No, I’m here because I want to be, because this jungle is my home.”

  “As a Survivalist? Wouldn’t your instinct be to avoid it, if it’s filled with danger?”

  “Ah, but that’s the thing about danger. It’s addictive, and everyone wants more of it. Humans return time and time again to the vices that kill them— drinking until their livers fail, smoking their lungs out, going thirty over the speed limit. Hell, just the perception of danger is enough — roller coaster, skydiving, you catch my drift. And when you can feel it, when you sense danger itself, that addiction is multiplied tenfold.”

  “If you’re so addicted to it, there are plenty of places worse than here,” said Arial. “Why not just live in a warzone?”

  “Ah, but here, I’m productive. To my brother, or my family, at least. You see, when we were young, my grandmother had us give her a promise. She built her house to last because she wanted it to stand forever. Because she thought she would live in it forever. Legend is, there’s something in this jungle that could make it happen. As Survivalists, we can feel our own death coming— it’s like a sound forever coming closer, one inescapable to us. Or perhaps, merely almost inescapable.”

  “It’s a myth,” chimed in Lola from her chair, not even bothering to open her eyes. “If you’re seeking the fountain of youth, prepare to be disappointed. There is no such thing.”

  “Can’t know that without checking all the corners,” Zeke said, then quieter, his voice with an edge to it. “I’ve seen stranger things. That’s why we collect the artifacts— they’re clues. And there are many corners left unchecked.”

  “And they’ll get you nowhere. Dream about things that are actually possible, things with actual evidence.”

  “Evidence is fickle, but that is something I do have,” said Zeke, and he disappeared into the cabin, returning with a small wooden chest. Flipping the lid open, he showed us two objects beneath a pane of glass. Two stone carvings, both with minute details down to strands of hair, and each the size of a fist.

  “See these? I would say they are of the same woman, wouldn’t you? Look closely— same features on the face. Same stance. Same mole, right there, on her right cheek. Even the same clothes.”

  “Okay, sure, but what does that prove?” asked Lucio, taking a break from leering at the monkeys. “Sure, they’re the same person.”

  “Because these were made one thousand years apart, and both found deep in the jungle. That’s longer than any legend should last, especially among the tribes.”

  “Eh, they look the same, but that’s quite the stretch,” I said, looking to Lola, but she remained silent, averting her eyes from the statues.

  “It’s just one piece of the puzzle. We have more, plenty more.” He shut the lid with a snap, then leaned back, staring into the forest, the skin stretched tight across his face. “But that is what my brother wants, not me. They say that very water grants not only immortality, but healing as well.” He raised his hand, flashing his stump of a finger. “And there’s something I’d like to have healed.”

  “Then you wouldn’t use it to live forever?” asked Arial.

  “There are worse things than death,” he said, leaving then closing the cabin door behind him. “And I would rather embrace the night than live in an eternity of fire. And when you live forever, it’s bound to happen sooner or later. I feel it.”

&n
bsp; Chapter 58

  “And, action!” said Lucio, bent backwards halfway over the rail of the boat with camera in hand, his eye glued to its back. Zeke cast him a wary gaze, looking to the water ten feet below him, flexing his good hand in anticipation. Just a few minutes ago, at the close of “take sixteen,” he had yanked Lucio back into the boat by his collar. As he fell, Lucio had used the last of his balance to make sure the camera landed in the boat, and had gagged when Zeke had caught his shirt just by the fingertips, reeling him in like a cat by the scruff of his neck.

  “Cut, cut!” Lucio shouted as Darian stumbled on an uneven piece of deck. He mashed his knuckles into the side of his head as Darian climbed to his feet, releasing a sigh long enough to form an intermission.

  “Darian! You’re supposed to come in from stage left, left, not stage right! Now we have to do this again; let’s get it right.”

  “I agreed to this because I was bored, not because I wanted to be yelled at,” responded Darian, massaging his knee from where it had skidded during the fall. “There are other things I can do to keep myself entertained, you know.”

  “Ah, come on, Darian, don’t leave!” Lucio pleaded, panic flickering across his face. “Besides, we agreed that filming was still the best cover-up in case we get caught. And for that, we need footage, right?”

  “We agreed a bug documentary was the best cover up,” Darian answered and gestured. “I see plenty of bugs. In fact, I’m in the minority of not being a bug here. So you have enough actors to last you a lifetime.”

  “Come on, no one would believe a bug documentary. That’s ridiculous,” said Lucio and turned back to the scene. Arial strained as she hovered fifteen feet above with an enormous bucket of water meant to simulate a wave crashing on the deck, and Lola relaxed on the far rail, flower petals strewn around her that had been collected from plants overhanging the river. Slugger crouched off to the right behind a crate with his fingers under the edge, while I waited on the other end of the ship with a dozen objects heaped in front of me.

  “All right, take twenty-two,” said Lucio then glared at Zeke. “I’m not going to fall in again, and staring at me is just making me itch for the rail. Your boat isn’t big enough for me to stand far enough away for the proper shot. All right, take your positions! And ready, set, action!”

  Darian ambled across the deck to Lola, adding a sway to his shoulders, standing next to her as the petals blew across the warped wood.

  “Don’t you ever wonder,” said Lola, holding her hand up to her head and peering into the jungle as if it were an enormous sea, “what lies beyond the waves? What might be out there that no other eyes have seen?”

  “Lady,” said Darian, his voice unnaturally low and his back stiff, glancing too often directly at the camera. “I have traversed these waters, erm, I have traversed these waters countless times. What’s land is mapped. They might look mysterious, but there’s naught beyond the waves but waves.”

  “If you say so,” Lola answered, appearing unconvinced. “But how can anyone really know? Is it not arrogant to believe that all has been found, that man has conquered nature at its game?”

  Outside the scene, Zeke hid a smile. He’d helped Lucio write that line, while Arial peered over his shoulder to spell check him. And from behind the camera, Lucio raised then dropped his hand, which was the signal for the special effects of the scene to begin.

  Slugger launched the crate in the air as Lola and Darian fake stumbled, the wood box tumbling across the deck with a crash.

  “The engines!” shouted Darian as Lola executed a dramatic fall, her arm falling across her face. “The engines must have blown!”

  “We’re sinking! May the gods forgive us!” cried Lola, and above, Arial reacted to her cue, pouring the bucket in a stream over the two of them. But from my angle, it was evident that Lola received far more of the fake ocean spray than Darian. She sputtered as Lucio dropped his hand again, which was my signal, and I created a force point to drag the barrels, lengths of rope, and life vests in front of me across the deck. Lucio tilted the camera as they slid past, while Lola and Darian clutched at the rail as if they were being pulled sideways. Arial swooped above with another bucket of water, this time hitting only Lola with the spray, and Lola jumped to her feet, raising a fist at her and shouting.

  “Why don’t you come down here and I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine!”

  “And cut!” shouted Lucio, prancing onto the deck and beaming. “That was the perfect shot! And, Lola, the improvisation at the end there, declaring your personal vendetta against the gods, really sealed the scene! Wonderful, wonderful, this wraps up all the at-ocean scenes— we’re ready to start filming in the jungle, also known as our uncharted island. Slugger, get ready; you’re the barbarian in this next scene. We’ll be needing to really dress you up.”

  Lola still glared up at Arial, who stuck her tongue out at her, but the anger subsided as Lucio continued talking about the next scene. For the fifth time, Zeke confirmed he did not have gunpowder aboard for Lucio’s special effects, and Darian tried to produce the firewhip power, though it had faded to little more than fire threads visible only at night.

  As the rest of the group trudged inside, Zeke stayed outside with Lucio, picking at his teeth with the end of his knife and watching as Lucio studied the script.

  “Why do you care so much about this?” Zeke asked as Lucio crossed out two lines and rewrote them.

  “Because as long as we’re doing nothing but waiting, we might as well create! There’s a film festival at home, and we’re going to win it. It’s going to be spectacular.”

  “Spectacular for who?” Zeke prodded, and Lucio looked up, confused.

  “Why everyone watching, of course. Who else?”

  “And why would you care about what they think?”

  “Because that’s how a film gets big, Zeke. That’s the point of making a movie, so other people can enjoy it.”

  “Is it?” Zeke said, starting to walk back towards the cabin. “Or is it about making something you think is spectacular? Say this movie of yours were to fall into the river at the end of our journey and no one were to watch it for a dozen years. Would you change anything about it?”

  “Of course I would! I’d have to know the trends of the time, what they care about, the styles! It would all change based on them!”

  “Maybe that’s your problem, then,” Zeke said, nodding towards the camera. “Make a film like that, and it will be forgotten in ten years. Is that what you want?”

  “No, no, of course not— it’d have to be remembered,” stuttered Lucio, then he shuddered. “Being forgotten would be the worst.”

  “It is,” said Zeke, after a long pause. “It absolutely is. And if I could give you another piece of advice, I’d say being forgotten by your friends is far worse than being forgotten by your fans.” He nodded towards the inside of the cabin, and continued. “And the surefire way to be forgotten by your friends is to forget they’re your friends in the first place.”

  Chapter 59

  Zeke woke me that night to take third watch, and I stumbled out to the wheel of the ship, blinking sleep from my eyes. Over the last day, as we had wound up the river further and further from civilization, the boughs overhead grew thick, closing in from the banks to strangle out the sky. But even with the interference, never before in my life had I seen so many stars.

  The other nights had been cloudy, obstructing a smattering of light pinpricks across sky canvas, but tonight, the weather was clear. My breath caught as I stared above, a feeling stirring deep within me. A peaceful yearning, as if I could reach up with my hands and gather them like fireflies, and they would welcome me into their ranks. As if I could become one of them.

  “I acted the same way the first time my grandmother took me out here,” said Zeke, following my gaze.

  “You really don’t get these in the city,” I answered, still looking up, “I didn’t even know you could actually see the Milky Way from t
he ground.”

  “Way it’s meant to be,” he said. “Heavens bestowing light, not darkness. Even at night. Wouldn’t you say?”

  He stared at me, and I shifted, feeling the dark orb I had stashed in the pocket in space above my wrist. It was larger than most, with plenty of sunlight bundled inside it. But if I were to cast it into the sky, it’d look the opposite of the stars, even though it held more light than them all combined.

  “Sounds about right. Haven’t ever seen it work the other way around,” I said.

  “You would think so,” he said, leaning back. “But there’s plenty you can’t see, even though it’s there. Sorta like that power you’ve been keeping hidden— there’s few that give me the willies like that. Screams danger, screams it. Surprised the jungle hasn’t taken notice yet; that’s usually something it’s attentive to. But the crickets still chirp, and the birds still sing.”

  “Maybe they just haven’t heard of this type of danger.”

  “Eh, danger is a language that all living things speak, or they’re doomed to die out. Perhaps they can sense that you mean them no harm. But by my experience, that doesn’t mean much.”

  “What’re you trying to say?” I asked, shifting, memories pulling at me that I pushed away.

  “The thunderstorm means no harm by its lightning— it is simply what the storm is. The earthquake does not plan to tear apart foundations, rather the broken foundations are an aftereffect. And you mean no harm by your power, but that doesn’t matter, does it? I can feel it; it has destroyed before, hasn’t it?”

  I swallowed, my thoughts turning back to Larissa’s missing arm, my orb consuming her muscle and bone with no regard to its source. I’d hoped to leave the memory at home, but it still followed me now— and I shivered, thinking back to when Blake had held Lucio captive. Had I really not used my power because Lucio was in danger, or was there another reason? Was I scared that it might kill? Even Peregrine still haunted my dreams, and I would kill him again given the chance. But could I live with killing Blake, whose mind had been twisted by Siri? Was it really Blake’s fault that he had become, well, Blake?