by Lee Winter
“I’m a writer,” Lena said earnestly. “I hear your island is very beautiful. I plan to give it a big write-up. Lots of eco-tourists will come if I write favorably. That would be great for your economy. And it’d mean more local jobs.”
He gave her a cynical grunt. Their eyes locked for an uncomfortably long silence. Finally, he broke the staring contest and stamped her paperwork, shoving it back. “This gets you in.” He tapped her travel authorization from the Facility that made her untouchable at airports the world over. “Not your words. And, so you know, they don’t give these sorts of papers or issue fancy guns to writers. Now go. And get medicine, sahh?” he said, waving a finger towards her arm. “Be more careful with your knives.”
He flicked his gaze over her shoulder. “TĀLIN! NEXT!”
Lena swallowed in irritation. It felt like something acidic nesting in her throat given how unused to being doubted she was. She headed moodily for the exit. Definitely needed a holiday.
Lena needed to bum a ride and a group of newly arrived European scientists looked like a good target. It shouldn’t be that hard, Lena decided, as the head scientist turned out to be a tall, Slavic woman with considerable charm and bright eyes that seemed to like what she saw in Lena. Or maybe she was just being friendly.
Her name was Larsen. Anna Larsen. Doctor. They were the only two women in the terminal, so that had broken the ice somewhere between the baggage counter and the walk to the exit.
A little mild flirting never hurt anyone, Lena figured, especially if it got her into town without having to face the flea-bitten car rental counter, and a queue to rent a battered vehicle that looked older than Mrs. Finkel. Given taxis were non-existent, she’d suck it up and try a charm offensive.
She gave the scientist a bright smile and mentally flicked through her small-talk repertoire while she examined her quarry. Larsen was blonde. Legs up to her chin, although she’d wisely hidden them from the locals, who, Lena’s travel book noted, comprised devoutly religious goat herders, date farmers, fishermen, and a few enterprising types making the most of the eco-tourism boom as guides and trinket sellers.
Like Lena, Dr. Larsen wore a colorful cotton headscarf.
“You come here often?” Lena asked, voice light, as they matched strides.
“Every chance that I get,” Dr. Larsen replied, reaching for her backpack. She paused, as though examining her curiously over her choice of words. “And this is your first time here.”
“How’d you know?”
“You stopped on the tarmac to stare at the goats.”
“Oh. I guess you’re used to them then?”
“You get used to a lot of things out here. For example, soon I am to be enjoying a biosystem that has no match anywhere in the world. It is astonishing. ”
“You study plants?” Lena asked, as the scientist struggled to gather a second and third bag from the collection area. She stepped up to help. “Where to?” Lena asked, indicating the bags.
“My colleague should be waiting outside for our team. And do I ‘study plants’? What a question! What else is there to life but studying plants? Truly, nothing is more important.” Her pale eyebrows lifted, daring Lena to disagree, amusement on her face.
Lena shook her head and gave her an incredulous look. “I’ll have to take your word on that one,” she replied with a laugh. “But mark me down as a skeptic for now.”
They reached a white SUV which contained three men who seemed to be arguing across several different languages. Lena hefted Dr. Larsen’s largest bag into the rear of the vehicle then stepped back as the scientist put the rest of her luggage in.
Lena looked at her hopefully. “Care to give a skeptic a lift into town?” She rammed her hands in her jeans pockets and grinned.
“That depends. Do you think I could convert you on the road to Hadibo? About how plants are the meaning of life? And that is literally the truth by the way.”
“Never know your luck,” Lena said easily. “But, seriously, I wouldn’t hold your breath. Plants are nice enough, but give me a cold beer at the end of the day, and that’s everything I need in life right there.”
“A challenge?” Dr. Larsen teased. “Well, how can I miss this chance to convert an infidel. Yes? Climb in.”
And so Lena found herself with a quartet of scientists heading to some place called 20 Street in Socotra’s main town of Hadibo. The team wanted to stop to pick up supplies before heading off to one of the remote eco-campsites. They were in an animated, nerdy discussion for most of the drive. Lena tuned them out until Larsen, in the front passenger seat, turned to face her.
“We amuse you, do we not?” Her voice was accented, light; the tone curious.
Lena sighed, already over being sociable. But the price for the ride was right, so… She smiled politely. “Not at all.”
Well, it was the truth. Boredom and amusement were poles apart.
“Ah, so we bore you with our fascination.”
Lena met her eyes in the rear mirror, startled.
“Of course, you are wondering why this dreary topic is so interesting to us. Hmm? So, Lena, do you know what endemism is? Or endemic species?”
“I think I missed that class.” She fidgeted and glanced out the window, hoping Larsen would get the hint.
She did not.
“Endemism,” Dr. Larsen repeated the word appreciatively as though she was savoring a fine wine, “is a species found in one place only. And this island is bursting with hundreds of such species that never spread to the mainland. A third of the plants here you will never see anywhere else on Earth. Out here you can see giant trees that defy gravity. They have bulging trunks and hang off the sides of steep cliffs. The shapes, the roots, the bark, they look very foreign to Western eyes. Socotra is called the most alien-looking place on earth for this reason. It is our scientific mecca and why we are so very excited.”
She paused for a breath and smiled. “Not just us. You should talk to the anthropologists. Many Socotrans ignore Arabic and speak their own tongue, Socotri. It’s ancient, and so poetic and lyrical, but it drives us all to madness.”
“Madness? Why?” Lena asked in spite of herself.
“It has no written form. Imagine it. Try working out place names when every foreigner phonetically guesses at the spelling, each flavored with their own nationality. The result is that everything here has nine or ten or even twenty spelling variations. It makes all the scientists and tourist operators tear at their hair.”
The other scientists laughed in recognition.
“But I’m sure you’ll find that out for yourself,” Dr. Larsen said. “Occupational hazard? Ja?”
Lena’s eyebrows shot up.
“I was behind you at Customs. You are a writer?”
“Yes,” Lena said tightly. She turned away again to stare out the window and this time Larsen took the hint.
The vehicle rumbled past cream-colored sandstone buildings. The storefronts were crumbling and worn, the streets white with sand, and drowning in rubble and dusty piles of trash.
Market stalls, wooden structures with a few umbrellas and bright sheets pinned up to shield customers from the sun, were lined along the street. Local men, many with headscarves, milled around in their futas, wraparound, calf-length cotton skirts in colorful checked prints. Several women in longer, ground-scraping skirts and blouses stopped to haggle with the vendor selling chunks of pink, freshly killed, goat meat.
A hotel they rattled past looked in better condition. Its old, arched stone window frames reminded Lena of a style she had seen in Morocco once.
Their vehicle came to a stop and the doors sprang open as eager scientists piled out. The smells instantly assailed her—a mix of spices from a nearby eatery, the dark, earthiness of raw meat, rubbish which was getting nosed through by stray goats, and more ever-present dust.
Lena jumped out along with the scientists.
“No sightseeing,” Dr. Larsen called to her colleagues. “Get just your essential sup
plies. We leave for base camp in thirty minutes.”
A boy scampered past in worn jeans, rolled up at the ankles, and a white, short-sleeved shirt. He paused to spin around and pull a silly face at the scientists before running off, his clopping brown feet barely staying inside his overlarge leather sandals.
Lena grinned at the back of his head. Cheeky.
She tried to imagine the six-foot-tall Shattergirl striding about this chaotic, dirty street, with her regal bearing and aloof, thousand-yard stare. Even hiding herself under a traditional headscarf, Lena couldn’t picture it at all. Which made sense. Who runs away to the most alien backwater on earth and then stays in town? No, Shattergirl would be far from here.
“You could continue on with us,” Dr. Larsen suggested, as she dropped her own backpack on the ground and locked up the vehicle. “You’ll see much more beyond the tourist stuff.”
Lena shifted uncomfortably. Her throat constricted at the idea of spending extended time in company. The job was so much cleaner and easier when she didn’t have to think about civilians.
“Come,” Dr. Larsen goaded her with a smile. “I promise you no electricity, no shower, no bathroom, no phone reception. What is not to love? You cannot write your masterpiece from Socotra’s main street. You may as well be back home.”
“Maybe later,” Lena suggested diplomatically. “I want to get a feel for the area first. Mix and mingle.”
Dr. Larsen nodded. “Later. When you are tired of civilization, then you come and stay in the one-billion-star hotel. Out there? Under the heavens? That’s the real Socotra.”
Lena couldn’t disagree, but she had work to do. She pulled up the Arabic translator app on her FacTrack, gave the scientist a wave, and headed up 20 Street, hoping that at least some of the locals knew one of the new-world languages and not just Socotri.
She strongly doubted her translation device extended to unwritten languages.
After twenty-eight minutes, Lena knew her instincts had been right. The locals she’d spoken to had looked at her like she had two heads when she showed them Shattergirl’s picture and asked if they’d seen her. Only one local woman had said anything useful, and even then it was a tenuous lead at best. Nope, town was not where Lena needed to be.
She ran for the SUV, which was now crammed to the gills with chattering scientists about to head off again.
“So,” Dr. Larsen said, rolling down her window as Lena approached. “You feel daring after all?”
Lena shook her head. “That depends. Where are you going?”
“To Mars.”
“To…Mars?”
“Well, it may as well be.” Dr. Larsen smiled. “We’re off to Homhil Plateau. There’s an eco-camp there, and a few interesting biodiversity clusters among the Dracaena cinnabari that Karl is most anxious to get his equipment on.”
Lena stared. “Okay.”
“The dragon blood tree,” Dr. Larsen said. “Around here they use its red sap as a panacea for medical conditions. If you cut the trunk, it bleeds. Violinists prize the resin for varnish. It is also used as toothpaste and—”
“Sorry I asked,” Lena cut in. “But before you go, I wanted to ask about something an old local lady just mentioned. She says Socotra has a protector, a hermit, who lives in the caves, is a bit scary, makes a lot of noise if people intrude into its space.”
The car exploded into conversations of various accents.
Dr. Larsen gave her a pained look. “You had to start this debate again? Is it real, is it not? Socotra’s Iblis?”
“Iblis?”
“Generically, a genderless devil figure, a smokeless fire. An all-seeing demon.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Socotra’s Iblis, specifically, supposedly rains boulders bigger than buildings down on people disturbing it. We have trouble keeping guides who avoid the area for superstitious reasons.”
“Boulders?” Lena felt a surge of hope. “So it’s real?”
“That depends on who it is you ask,” Dr. Larsen said.
“Where does it live?”
“Again,” Dr. Larsen sighed, “everywhere, nowhere. It’s likely not real. A myth.”
Lena opened her FacTrack and brought up the topography of Socotra. “Looks like most of the caves are in the middle of the island and some are to the east. So can you narrow it down for me? Where does the demon supposedly make the most noise?”
“Central,” came a German accent. A scientist in the back seat behind Dr. Larsen leaned out the window and beckoned to her. “There.” He pointed to an area on her map. “Around the Dixam Plateau. Three main caves around there, next to a wadi.”
Wadi. Lena thought back to her notes she’d read up on the flight. A valley or ravine.
“Most of Socotra’s scientists lose guides around here,” his finger shifted left, “and especially here.” He tapped the screen near a swirl marked “Marshim Cave” and scowled. “I was trying to get to the area last expedition, eight months ago. Never got close. Too many sudden rock falls. Which was not right at all—the area is geologically stable.”
Lena squinted at the sun and tried to get her bearings. “Are you guys going anywhere near there?”
Dr. Larsen shook her head. “No. We’re going east. As you can see, you need to head almost due south. I hope you’re a good hiker.”
“I’m okay.” Lena prided herself on her fitness.
“You’ll need to be.” Dr. Larsen studied her. “It’s only twenty kilometers, but it’s rugged going once you leave the road.”
Lena nodded.
“One more thing.” Dr. Larsen leaned forward and gave her an intent look. “If you find this Iblis demon, tell it to stop scaring the dritt out of the locals. It’s important the work we do and we need their help to do it.”
Lena snorted. “But what if this Iblis has a good reason to scare everyone away?”
“What could be more important than science?” Dr. Larsen seemed genuinely perplexed. “It explains everything that we are. Everything we can be.”
The other scientists murmured in agreement.
Lena avoided her usual sarcastic rejoinder. If they’d seen half the crazy shit she’d seen—things that defied everything these people thought they understood about the natural world—they’d have to rewrite their textbooks. She exhaled. At twenty-six she was way too young to be this jaded.
Lena fixed a smile and stepped back from the vehicle. “Thanks for the ride in. Happy hunting your endemic, ah, things.”
A chorus of multi-accented farewells sounded, and the SUV started and then roared away in a cloud of white dust.
CHAPTER 4
Lena was staring. She’d been doing a lot of that the whole way along her journey, but this was insane. The trees were something out of a fevered fantasy-artist’s imagination. She passed another twisted monster. A riot of fat, chunky, intricately interwoven branches splayed out like a lace doily topped with spiky green leaves.
She was getting the Mars references now.
Her legs were starting to complain, but she was making steady progress and the scenery was incredible. Finding a waterhole marked on her digital map, Lena detoured there and stopped for a late lunch. “Waterhole” was not even the half of it. A moss-covered natural chute fed fresh water into a clear pool. It was breathtaking.
Lush, giant date palms dotted the area. The stillness was a little unnerving and the air smelled…she paused, searching for the word. Fresh. It always struck her every time she returned home how cities smelled of grittiness. Maybe Shattergirl had the right idea. Except Lena didn’t fancy living this far from the engulfing heart of a city. She liked being swallowed up into its bright lights. No one noticed her in cities. She liked that rather a lot.
She munched contentedly on the flatbread filled with cooked potato, carrot, onion, and garlic she’d picked up at one of the better-looking restaurants on 20 Street.
She could hear several birds and looked up, catching sight of one. She stopped mid-chew. Okay, vultures were generally creep
y no matter what part of the world you were in, but this one was ridiculous. Orange and white—like a bird of prey had been crossed with a chicken. Unbelievable.
Lena finished lunch, packed away her wrappings, and filled her water bottle from the stream. She consulted her FacTrack. Time to pick up the pace.
Flicking to a larger map display, she made a few calculations. She was only about two hours’ hike from where the scientist had pointed to on her map. With any luck, the infamous Iblis was exactly who she thought it was—and she could be reasoned with.
And if not? Well, the trek to Mars had been one she’d remember forever.
Dixam Plateau was vast. Rock faces bore stains of brown and purple, along with more of the strange dragon blood trees clinging to any surface, not so much defying gravity as spiting it.
Lena was picking her way along the bottom of a wadi when the first rumble sounded.
She glanced up in confusion. Her study of the clear blue sky was shattered by a loud crash just ten feet away. Rocks suddenly started hailing down out of nowhere, smashing all around her. Squeezing into a crevice in a nearby rock wall, Lena quashed her initial fear and held her breath.
She was pretty sure “rock rain” wasn’t a thing, and avalanches didn’t come out of thin air. Looked like Iblis had turned up to party. Lena’s adrenalin was spiking, and she forced herself to feel calm. When a sense of control filtered through her, she inched the FacTrack off her arm—challenging given her confined space—and slid it into her backpack. Nothing put an overdue offside faster than ID-ing you as a tracker the first second they got a good look at you.
She stuck her head out of the fissure for a better idea of the direction that the rocks were coming from. A boulder the size of a small car smashed a few feet away and she retracted her head swiftly.
“SHIT!” Lena had gone from dodging frostbite and wolf-beasts to flying rocks? Christ, she was getting a workout this year.