by G Sauvé
I glance around but see no other immediate threat. I take advantage of this to get my bearings. I’m now gliding along on my back, the rugged surface of the half-pipe surprisingly undamaging to my frail body. It would almost be fun if not for two small details. One: I’m hurtling along headfirst, which is both scary and dangerous. Two: Dozens of massive spheres speed by at random intervals. While the second is impossible to remedy, the first requires but a simple maneuver. I’m about to do just that when Jonn’s voice reaches me.
“Won’t!” he yells. “Watch out!”
I barely have time to look up before Kara slams into me. I grunt in a mixture of surprise and pain as her fist slams into my stomach, once again knocking the wind out of me. It’s thus with a complete and utter lack of oxygen that I do my best to put an end to Kara’s mad tumble. It’s not easy, but I manage to pin her against the half-pipe. As soon as she’s safely sliding along, I pull away and focus all of my attention on luring air back to my lungs. It takes a while, but I finally succeed.
“Thanks,” mutters Kara once I’ve gotten my bearings. We now slide side by side. Our feet lead the way while our arms act as balancing mechanisms. I’m just about to accept the fact that the immediate danger has passed when Jonn’s voice once again reaches my ears.
“Look out!” he yells. I barely even notice the shadow looming over us before Kara shoves me aside. The force of her push sends us off course just long enough for a black sphere to speed past us. One more second and we would have been flattened.
“Thank y—” I begin, but the exclamation dies in my throat when I spot the ball speeding toward Kara. I want to warn her, but my voice is gone. I want to save her, but I’m too far away. All I can do is watch as Kara unwittingly slides to her demise.
I fear I will lose the only girl I’ve ever cared about when a shape comes out of nowhere and knocks Kara out of the way just as the giant marble reaches her. Kara is safe, but Jonn isn’t. He tries to dodge the massive boulder, but he isn’t fast enough.
“NOOO!” Kara and I yell in unison as Jonn vanishes from sight.
For a brief moment I think he’s dead, but then the sphere rolls past and Jonn reappears. He’s alive but unconscious.
I breathe a sigh of relief, but the reprieve is only momentary. Jonn is comatose, and it’s only a matter of time before one of the countless balls that bounce along on their way down this seemingly never-ending slide flattens him. Both Kara and I struggle to alter our trajectory, but there’s no way we’ll reach him in time. I’m about to accept the grey-haired soldier is doomed when the most unexpected saviour of all appears.
Korri.
The small korrigan uses his super speed to slow his descent, kicking the stone half-pipe with unrelenting consistency. Within seconds, we have caught up to him. Jonn’s unconscious body now slides alongside the lava korrigan, his limbs bouncing up and down.
“Do something,” begs Kara.
I don’t have to translate for Korri to understand. Going against his natural instincts, the small humanoid jumps right into the path of an oncoming boulder. He scrambles onto Jonn’s back, and rides him like a sled, using his arms as steering levers. It takes Korri a moment to grow accustomed to the improvised controls, but he masters them just in time. He pulls hard on Jonn’s right arm, and both the human sled and its korrigan rider swerve out of the way just as the sphere speeds past.
I can’t believe it. Not only did Korri overcome his fear and act as only a true hero can, but he saved the life of the man who went out of his way to make his life a living hell. Few are those who would do such a thing. Fewer even are those who would continue to risk their lives for an enemy as Korri now does. He steers Jonn’s unconscious form left and right, avoiding sphere after sphere. I’m so focused on the korrigan’s bravery I fail to notice what lies ahead.
“Will!” yells Kara.
I tear my gaze from Korri and Jonn and focus on the beautiful blonde. She’s pointing straight ahead, her face a frozen mask of horror. I don’t understand why until I follow her gaze.
There’s a fork in the slide.
Korri and Jonn are heading straight for the right side, while Kara and I speed toward the left. I have no way of knowing which of the two routes is the safest, but the fact that every last one of the black spheres seems to be defying the laws of physics bodes ill for Kara and me. I watch as every last one of the giant marbles swerves to the right. Not a single one enters the left branch.
“That can’t be good,” I mutter as I try to alter my trajectory. Kara does the same, but neither of us succeeds. Perhaps if we had more time, but the fork is nearly upon us.
Korri angles Jonn toward us, but I yell for him to stop.
“No!” I scream. “Go right!”
Korri seems hesitant.
“Trust me!” I insist. “GO RIGHT!”
Korri swerves just as we reach the intersection. One second he’s sliding alongside us, and the next he’s gone.
Kara and I progress in silence for a moment before she finally speaks.
“Why did you tell him to go right?”
“All the spheres were going right. It seemed like the safest route.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Me too,” I mutter. I acted as I did in an attempt to spare Jonn and Korri from whatever fate awaits Kara and me, but the truth is I may have doomed them.
Kara and I slide along for another few minutes before finally reaching the lowest point of the valley. The slide gradually levels out, and we slow to a stop. I immediately regret telling Korri to go right.
“I’m sure they’re fine,” says Kara.
“I hope you’re right,” I say as I stand on shaky legs and offer her a hand. She takes it, and I pull her to her feet.
One look at our surroundings reveals the trail which ended at the entrance of the half-pipe starts up again at its conclusion. There’s nowhere else for us to go, so we decide to pursue our journey up the mountain.
We’re about to depart when something bumps into my foot. It’s the satchel. Jonn must have dropped it during his tumble and it slid the rest of the way down on its own. I grab it and we head off.
It’s the first time Kara and I are alone. Under different circumstances, I would welcome such intimacy, but I’m consumed with guilt. All I can think about is the moment when we’re reunited with Jonn and Korri. Hopefully, they will still be in one piece.
Memory 63
W e walk in silence. The jungle is eerily quiet. All I hear is the crunch of our steps and the occasional sigh that escapes Kara’s lips. She would never admit it, but I can tell she’s worried about her father.
I’m about to apologize for Jonn and Korri’s unknown fate when the sound of cracking branches reaches my ears.
I freeze.
Kara slams into me, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She makes her way around my fallen body and marches on. I hesitate, but the cracking of branches has stopped, so I scramble to my feet and hurry after my distraught friend.
“I’m sorry,” I say once I catch up to her. “I shouldn’t have told Korri to go right.”
It takes a moment for Kara to emerge from her dream state.
“You only did what you thought was right,” she says.
I can’t believe it. Her father is missing—or worse—yet she still finds the time to comfort me. For some reason, that makes me feel worse than if she had yelled at me.
Desperate for a distraction, I ask the first question that pops into my head.
“Why do Atlanteans only have one name?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” I say, “everyone from my time has two names. My full name is Will Save, but people just call me Will.”
“Things are slightly different where I come from,” explains Kara. “Atlanteans have four names.”
“Four? How do you remember them all?”
“We don’t,” admits Kara. “We take the first letter of all four of our names and use them to create a new name
.”
“Like an acronym?”
“Exactly. Take my name for example; Keera Avalon Ra Aline. That spells K.A.R.A. Kara, for short.”
“You’re name’s Avalon?”
“Avalon isn’t her real name,” reminds Kara. “It’s Avva.”
She’s right. An avalon is the Atlantean equivalent of a chameleon.
“What’s her full name?” I ask
“I’m not sure. All I know is that it spells A.V.V.A.”
“And Jonn?”
“His full name is Jakk Oro Nix Neer.”
It sounds weird, but who am I to judge? My name is Will Save. It doesn’t get much weirder than that.
“What if your full name doesn’t spell anything?” I ask.
“Parents are careful when choosing their children’s names,” explains Kara. “But sometimes they mess up. I once knew a kid whose name spelled out P.U.K.E.”
“Puke?” I ask.
Kara nods.
We stare at each other for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. It doesn’t last long, but it helps evacuate the stress that had built up within me.
“What was it like growing up in an orphanage?” asks Kara after a while.
“Lonely,” I say. It’s not much, but that one word describes my life up until a few weeks ago. Sure, there were some good times, but my childhood was, for the most part, a series of disappointments intercut by spells of boredom and the occasional moment of despair. The one bright spot in my life was Grace. She was the closest thing I ever had to a mother. Just thinking of her brings tears to my eyes.
“Don’t worry,” says Kara. “You’ll see her again.”
Was I speaking aloud this whole time? Dammit!
“Did you have any friends?” asks Kara.
I shake my head.
“Most orphans only remain a short time before they get adopted. Those who don't grow resentful and make poor friends. In time, most become bullies.”
“You’re not a bully,” points out Kara. “You’re a great friend.”
I’ve never had a friend before. At least, none my age. It’s nice.
“Do you remember your parents?” asks Kara as she begins walking once more.
“I never met them,” I admit. I pause for a moment before adding, “I was about to meet my mother when Avalon showed up and ruined everything.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
Kara hesitates.
“It was my idea to corner Avalon and Uncle Arko in the subway station,” she says. “It seemed like a good idea. I didn’t know what would happen. I didn’t know you would be there. I didn’t know…”
I take a moment to process the information. I have every right to be angry at Kara, yet I can’t bring myself to do it.
“It’s not your fault,” I say.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Neither of us speaks for a while.
“Don’t worry,” she finally says. “You’ll meet your mother. I promise.”
I’m not sure why, but I believe her.
“How was your childhood?” I ask. “It couldn’t have been easy growing up with Jonn as a father.”
Kara chuckles but then grows sad at the mention of the grey-haired soldier.
“Jonn loves me,” she says. “Perhaps a little too much. After my mother died, he took it upon himself to keep me safe. At first, he was very protective of me, but he eventually realized he wouldn’t always be around to watch over me.”
Kara stops talking and stares into space, no doubt lost deep in thought.
“What did he do?” I ask.
“He trained me. He taught me to fight, to defend myself.”
That explains why Kara is such a badass warrior.
“My childhood was spent training,” she continues. “Sometimes I felt more like a soldier than a kid, but deep down I knew my father loved me. Whenever I complained, he would remind me he was only trying to protect me, to keep me safe. At the time I didn’t understand what he was protecting me from.” She sighs. “Now I understand all too well.”
There’s a moment of silence as both Kara and I think of Avalon and how much she impacted both of our lives.
“For the longest time I enjoyed my training,” says Kara, “but I eventually grew weary of it. I skipped classes and spent my days volunteering at hospitals and retirement homes. I helped the less fortunate, something my father often claimed was a weakness. He said all weaknesses could be exploited, no matter how justified they are. He was wrong.”
I’m surprised. Jonn and Kara often disagree, but this is the first time I hear her openly criticize one of his core beliefs. It doesn’t make sense until I remember Jonn’s memory. Anna was about to die, yet all she could think of was her loved ones. She refused to let Jonn even attempt to free her until their child was safe. Then, once it was revealed she couldn’t be freed, she insisted Jonn save himself and take care of their child. She even gave him her locket so he would have something to remember her by. Only a truly selfless person would do such a thing. And, from the looks of it, Kara has become just as altruistic as her mother, if not more.
I always considered the ability to put someone else’s wellbeing before yours a virtue, but what if it’s a flaw? Being selfish—like me—is bad, but being overly selfless can be just as damaging. What if there comes a day when Kara must choose between saving herself and rescuing another? Will her instinct of self-preservation kick in or will her desire to be like her mother push her to do something senseless?
I’m debating whether or not to broach the subject when we emerge from the jungle. Before us stands a small clearing throughout which a dozen massive trees are scattered. Beyond them towers the most peculiar cliff I have ever seen. It’s roughly thirty metres tall and black as charcoal. Its polished surface is reminiscent of glass in both appearance and brilliance and stretches in both directions as far as the eye can see.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” mutters Kara.
We follow the meandering path until it comes to an abrupt halt at the base of the cliff.
“That’s odd,” I mutter. I glance right and left, but there’s no sign of the path. All I see are dozens upon dozens of angular stones jutting from the ground. They look oddly familiar, but it’s not until I look up that I understand why.
“Oh no,” I groan.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I found the way up.”
I point upward. There, zigzagging its way up the smooth surface of the cliff is a staircase. Well, it used to be. All that remains now are a dozen stone steps. They jut from the cliff at various heights, defying gravity with their unwillingness to collapse. While impressive, the sight fills me with a sense of defeat.
For the umpteenth time since the start of our adventure, the way forward is blocked.
Memory 64
W e’re trapped. I should be used to it by now, but the revelation hits me as hard as ever. I stare at the smooth stone wall, shoulders slumped and a look of utter defeat plastered across my face.
“Any ideas?” I ask.
Kara shakes her head.
“Should we go back?” I wonder.
“There’s nothing to go back to.”
She’s right. Retracing our steps would lead us back to the bottom of the stone half-pipe. Since it’s too steep to climb, returning to it would achieve nothing.
That leaves only one option.
“We must climb,” announces Kara.
I gulp. The mere thought of scaling the cliff makes my hands shake. Beads of cold sweat appear on my forehead. My knees wobble, and it takes all the strength I have just to keep from collapsing.
“We can’t,” I say.
“You’re right,” agrees Kara.
“Maybe we can go around,” I offer, desperate to avoid the cliff.
We glance left and right, but the stone wall seems to stretch on forever.
“We could climb one of the trees and use its bran
ches to reach the top of the cliff,” suggests Kara.
“I don’t think that’ll work,” I say as I nervously eye the trees. The trunks are massive and the branches far too high for us to reach.
“Maybe we could—” begins Kara, but I cut her off before she can finish.
“There’s no way up.”
“There’s always a way.”
Kara takes a step forward and starts inspecting the wall. It doesn’t take long for her to notice the dozens of vertical lines that riddle the cliff’s shiny surface. Each one is roughly a metre in width and appears to have been painted on using some sort of see-through goo. It dried long ago, yet it’s still a little sticky to the touch.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” admits Kara. “Perhaps—”
Her voice trails off when she spots something behind me. I hesitate for a moment before turning around. What I find is so unexpected I don’t know how to react.
A black sphere.
It stands a dozen meters away. I have no idea how it got there, but its presence bodes well for our friends. Perhaps Jonn and Korri are still alive. But I forget all about that when two more giant marbles emerge from the jungle. Only, they don’t roll along as balls normally do. They slither forward atop gooey red masses. It’s such an odd sight I don’t immediately recognize the spheres for what they truly are.
“Oh my god!” I gasp. “They’re snails.”
Now that I’ve identified the giant prehistoric mollusks, I find it difficult to see them as anything else. Their shells are more spherical than modern snails, and their bodies are the brightest shade of red I have ever seen, yet there’s no denying what they are. Their eye stalks—more commonly known as tentacles—are as big as my arms and their eyes as massive as my clenched fists, but they’re otherwise identical to the snails I used to play with as a kid.
“What’s a snail?” asks Kara. I’m surprised until I remember she grew up in an underwater city.
“They’re land mollusks,” I explain. “We have some in my time, but these are way bigger.”
“Are they dangerous?” asks Kara as one of the giant snails starts moving toward her.