The Reef

by Mark Charan Newton

  He appeared in a static image on all sides. Jella thought that it was as if, in Allocen’s eyes, the vampir moved at a painfully slow pace, walking like elderly with their hands out, ready to be severed. He hacked though bone, skin, slashed his blade through the vampirs’ throats, picked lines in their veins for his own amusement.

  Eventually, Allocen slowed. They could see him slicing the remaining vampir. A young female was spinning away, knowing she was defeated. The Qe Falta sliced a scimitar down her spine with the poise of an artist flicking paint at his easel. The vampir girl shrieked, she scratched the floor, then her eyes sparked out. Allocen stabbed both blades either side of her spine, brought them together, then twisted, generating a crack as he broke her back.

  The last vampir stood a foot shorter than Allocen. He held his scimitars out either side from the creature’s head. The vampir took one step forward, and Jella could see the glowing eyes become wide and bright as Allocen closed both blades around, through the neck, crossed his arms, and the body fell in fluxes, leaving the head in mid scream to balance on his two blades. Blood spat on Allocen, who stood there letting the liquid drip down his face, indifferent. The vampir’s eyes faded to black. Allocen let the head fall.

  Soon all you could hear was the rain hitting the floor and the remains of bodies. The Qe Falta creature stood still, his chest heaving and falling. He turned to face the group.

  Jella could just see bodies in the rain. Nothing moved amongst them. The wind echoed around the bay. Out on the sea, he foam on the top of the surf was intense. The rain fizzed on the ground by her feet.

  ‘I think he’s on our side, Menz,’ Yayle said. ‘No need to be so anxious about that anymore.’ Menz regarded Allocen, a look of wonder on his face. ‘How does he move so fast?’

  Yayle shrugged. ‘Have you ever tried to swat a fly?’

  ‘Look,’ Jella said. ‘Let’s just get out of here and to a boat, before any more of those things get here.’

  The wind strummed the masts and ropes and chains, tilting the vessel as it lurched out into the bay, and arced towards the north, the shore on their right. Menz stood at the wheel, and steered the boat through the ripples of foam that savaged the boat on all sides.

  ‘Keep her steady man,’ Yayle bellowed though the rain. ‘I’m trying to take a piss off the side.’ ‘Arch your back,’ Menz said, squinting through the rain.

  While the others were above deck, Lula and Jella were below, their clothes hanging to dry, and they were standing, warming in candlelight, semi-naked. The rumel dabbed the soft, human skin with rags that she had found and all the time they talked of places that they had been to as a couple, reminding themselves of warm cafes, pleasant walks, sunsets-anything to take their minds off what they had been witness to moments earlier.

  Lula told Jella that they would have dinner together one night, and that they would not talk of the mission. Jella held Lula close for several minutes, and for only a few of them could she feel the human shivering.

  Allocen stood at the front of the boat, staring offshore. He wiped his scimitars clean with oil, let the rain wash his torso. Drops of water turned pink as they hit the deck. He appeared not to be concerned with this. He held himself upright, pushing out his torso to be cleansed by the elements.

  Behind, Menz stared on as a sheet of lightening illuminated the distance, framing the creature’s unnatural silhouette. All this effort, Menz thought, not to be followed

  The boat weaved the surf, headed north along the coast.

  Santiago Speaking

  Voyage Diaries, Volume 8, The Trip to Arya. Day 2.

  The first time that I heard about Arya, I was earning coppers on schooners during my holidays. That was when coppers meant something. My job was, amongst others, to maintain the rope, & I walked, every evening, to a fishing supplies store for various materials. There, amidst the bric-a-brac & the basket traps, fisherman came to talk. One man was talking to another about his expeditions to the far seas, past the Sea of Wands, & further southwest, to a chain of islands. There were two boats that went out & only his returned. The other vessel disappeared after some precarious deep-lagoon fishing, using explosives. No one ever heard of it, or even why the devil sank.

  It will take some weeks’ travelling to get there, so we have been quick to leave. I’ve once seen some islands just to the north of Arya, but they were a little far away from it, so I have never happened across the place. That was a few years back. When they told me what they found, I didn’t believe them at first, but I went to see it for myself.

  One must listen to the sea. That hypnotic noise that slaps the hull as the ship slices through each wave. The amount of nature below us is amazing. Only on these trips can I understand life. & I look forward to new lands-unseen places, to be the first!-because for me, seeing other things, the way other people live-that is life.

  To stay in one place is to die.

  It has been three days since we left, & three days since we left all our troubles behind. Well, almost. We still have those two bastards with us. Government agents. The mayor said that he didn’t trust me. I can believe that. So, I must put up with them.

  Arya is three months’ travel southwest, providing we stand on with the wind astern. I don’t know much more about the locale, except that legally it’s still property of the Escha, & moreover, the mayor’s responsibility. There has been some political wrangling over the island in the past, too long ago to make much of a difference. The mayor is keen to establish that there is no threat to Escha & her properties. However, I assume he wants to know what is there exactly, & this provides him with a most excellent opportunity to get me out of the city for a while.

  My Freelance Exploratory crew are called for, & it’s about time, too. I can’t say that funds weren’t running low. I nearly had to sell my third boat if it wasn’t required for a private expedition-something which was fine by me, at least.

  Hitherto, only three or four vessels are known to have returned from Arya. A small community was set up after a storm wrecked one ship, leaving it unable to leave, so history has us believe. But the island is not too small, according to the charts, &, I suspect there has been a fair amount of inbreeding with the natives. I don’t know what we’ll find there, with regards to its populace, but I do know they are being killed, & we’re going to find out why.

  A message from one Doctor Forb Macmillan reached us. The community of a species thought to be extinct, the ichthyocentaur, is alive-alive!-but threatened. An exciting day for science, but something from the sea claims them. Fifty have been taken this year, according to the note. There are humans on the island, too, & they are frightened (quite right). They are technically Escha’s folk-some legal loophole-so, we must investigate. I am rather interested in the other things mentioned in that letter. Doctor Macmillan suggests that the ichthyocentaur possess botanical knowledge, & that the island harbours great cures that may be of benefit to mankind. This is also something that the mayor is interested in, for Escha is famous around Has-jahn for her drug culture. The rest of the continent believes her to be rather a rum place, & I can’t say I disagree. I, myself have been an abstainer of the harder stuff, but there are others who cannot resist temptation. Perhaps the island holds the cure for damaging bodies in such a way. But, for now, we have left those problems aft. In all honesty, those deaths & that message provide a great excuse for us to map & sketch new territories, which can always fetch a shilling or two in the right circles. Information is, as they say, power.

  We’re one less in number. Tchad is on his honeymoon, we have decided to leave him to his new marriage.

  We number as follows:

  Myself, Manolin (whom I’ve a few concerns over. He is depressed), Becq, my daughter (whom has been suffering from terrible dreams of late-she keeps having nightmares about drowning. Not something to think of when at sea. She has brought her doll making kit with her dolls, I despair!), Jefry, Yana (whom I can certainly say has blossomed since the last trip, although I’v
e not succumbed to her womanly charms), & Arth.

  Yana has spent the last couple of nights chatting to Manny, trying to cheer him up. I’m not sure if she has done any good. Maybe she can open him up a little-woman’s touch. I’m not sure if it’s what the lad really needs. What he wants, me thinks, is to plunge into his work like a real man. He needs to grow up & stop worrying about his wife (ex) & start thinking of these new shores. New horizons!

  Oh yes, a matter of the addition of a Mr Calyban & a Mr Soul, as I noted. The two government agents are casting a critical eye over all that we say & do. They don’t contribute at all. They keep themselves to themselves, when we’re not up to anything interesting. I think they’re here to follow up a story that one of the Eschan navy vessels went disappearing in the area years ago-it’s a bit of secret, rumour perhaps, but more than a few ships have gone down in these sees. But, those agent fellows: I don’t like them.

  I can’t help but think that because of their presence everyone is paranoid. Arth kept trying to persuade me that he saw me sending a pterodette off of the ship. He insisted on the fact, but became angry when I told him that it was the shadow of my hat on my arm. He stormed off, cursing those agents for making him suspicious. Much to my relief, of course, but that’s a feeling that won’t be expressed in these journals. That’s what happens when you bring people like that on board. Interested only in gain, & on expeditions like this, one must be communal. In life, in fact, one must be. That’s why I dabbled in politics.

  One last thing: the wine supply that I’ve brought-all cracking vintages, of course-is excellent. There are some delightful specimens. My only concern is how long they will last. I’ve calculated I should still be drinking by arrival, & for a day or two more.

  After that, I dread to think.

  Village Diaries, Volume 8, The Trip to Arya. Day 20.

  We were lucky to miss a storm last night-we’re still alive! I could see it on the horizon, just before sunset. The anvil of the cloud, which must have reached hundreds of miles up, headed inland adjacent to our boat, DeBrelt One. The sky was a dark indeed, but we missed it. DeBrelt One is a typical schooner, just like one used for fishing. We have no need for luxuries. It’s made from a rusting metal, painted grey. We have about four months’ supply of fuel, but I’ve had large sails installed in order to carry us farther.

  There were storms on the boat, too.

  Jefry cannot seem to do anything but annoy Yana. I think, & I’ve seen this many times before, that she yearns for other lovers now. Not that there is anything wrong with Jefry, no. He is a good fellow, but, perhaps a little too nice. One can see when things are running aground. That’s the problem with a rumel & a human. The differences are subtle, but as with differences in ethnic backgrounds, & I do only mean in one or two instances, it can be exciting at first-and why not?-something exotic that adds a fraction of spice to life, but when that goes one can only imagine the differences when comparing species. It soon evolves that that same fraction of spice becomes a friction. Love & hate are two sides of the same coin, after all.

  No matter how many tens of thousands of years that we’ve been co-evolving, which is in itself an interesting aside (I have no time here), there are some things that just cannot click. Basic feelings just aren’t there, no sir. Not being able to have any fertile children may be another issue. There are other issues, too. I’ve been at a theatre or show with Jefry & some others, & Jefry will always have the spare seat next to him. Old ladies even, they’d rather stand for a while than take that spare seat. Some of that sort still goes on & that can highlight an incompatibility between the species, even when she herself may have forgotten any differences. I can see the pain on her face clearer than these weather patterns, although in both cases, one has to know what to look for.

  When women-and men like myself, I hasten (very much so) to add-reach a certain age, they get to think about what they have done in life-things to pass on, & all that. She’s a beautiful lady, too, & Jefry has let himself slip in recent years. Men do not seem to make that extra effort with age, & it’s no surprise when a woman jumps ship, if you ask me. They’ve been together for years, & maybe it’s the plague of the human mind-that capability for illogical & self-destructive thought which makes her want to go. But look at it from her view: she exercises regularly & eats well, & he drinks each night, getting quite a paunch on him I might say. He can see that she still makes that effort, but what greater sign of complacency is there than that? His rumel hide has expanded, & he has become vulgar. I know people love each other despite that, but good manners & good physique buy a lot. If no other woman wants him, why should she?

  I’ve decided I’m not going to sleep with her though-even if she offers. I’m not the sort to do that to friends. I can see she wants me though, or at least, thinks it. But, if it isn’t me, it will be someone else.

  Manolin is still an enigma. I hear him crying some nights, through the cabin door. He has left her, I can see that, although it’s not difficult to see. He has brought a bottle of whiskey with him & when he wakes up I can’t tell what has made his eyes red. I think Becq is rather worried about him, although she has her sleeping problems. Last night she told me that she dreamt she nearly drowned again. The omens are not good. Manolin tends to ignore her, but I’ve told her not to take it personally, he’s depressed, & depression is merely anger without enthusiasm. Yana has had a stab at mothering. Not entirely sure if that has had any effect whatsoever.

  I despair.

  Had a thought: they say that women are more irrational than men; but to be irrational is a major factor in separating humans & rumel from nature-we are irrational species after all-so does this mean that women are more human than men? Are we males more animal-like? That would explain a few things anyway. Just a thought.

  What a sorry-looking bunch I’ve employed. Not to mention those two government agents. They have not joined us for supper, ever, & they spend most of their time in their cabin. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they batted for the other team, but I fancy not.

  I wonder how Tchad is getting on. Ah, to be married! I loved weddings. My own weren’t much to talk about, but they lose their effect when you have too many. Well, we’ll crack on without the fellow. I’m sure we’ll do just fine. He wasn’t one for sailing, anyway. Besides, he liked Escha too much.

  That, I struggle to understand.

  I think it best if I read my zoology journals & see if there is anything that could explain what has been happening on Arya. I’ve recently discovered, from a very old article, that the island was discovered & claimed for Escha over two hundred years ago. There is a reef system in the local waters & fascinating palm forests. There was a small colony of humans, in addition to what were referenced as simply ‘strange folk’ who utilised plants in a previously unseen way. They must by the ichthyocentaur. Ethnobotany is Manolin’s speciality, so that ought to take his mind off matters. Pigs were introduced once, & a boat set sail with rabbits as little as ten years ago, but never returned. I suspect both provide the staple diet, running wild around the island & its palm forest.

  Who this Doctor Macmillan is, however, remains a mystery. We will find out.

  I drank a vintage red, from Rhoam, last night. It was delightful, full bodied, a great colour & packed a powerful punch. It rather reminded me of my second wife.

  And I shall not make that mistake again.

  Voyage Diaries, Volume 8, The Trip to Arya. Day 55.

  More thoughts, ramblings.

  One or two things I need to think over, for future reference. I’m just getting this straight, in my own mind, before setting to work. DeBrelt’s is a cutting-edge operation. We do not need sophisticated equipment, but we do require sophisticated minds. We observe nature, her biological, chemical, geological, mathematical aspects as one whole science. We do not reduce, but adhere to the philosophy of ‘systems’, that is, nature is a system & not a ‘thing’ to be broken down. She is a process, an interdependent mechanism. She changes
through time. She is a web. The human & rumel species are not outside of her power. We study not each fraction of science on Arya, but conduct a wide, holistic survey, to understand nature accurately. This was Manolin’s suggestion, initially, & I think it’s a good one, although I must confess that the old ways do set in often. Only then, will we find clues as to whatever affects the ichthyocentaur &, more importantly, how it fits in to the bigger picture.

  Always look at the bigger picture.

  According to the charts we should be near the volcanic island chain, of which Arya is the largest. I hazard a guess at two days’ sailing. The weather has been good; the health of all on board has been fine. Well, physical health that is.

  Manolin, I think, has stopped crying himself to sleep. He talked things over with me two nights ago. As I suspected, his wife had an affair & he caught her-starkers & legs akimbo-with another fellow, a tall chap apparently (it makes a difference to a man, let me tell you). Manolin left immediately, distraught.

  I, myself, love women too much to hate them. You could tell she was the sort: self aware & loved attention from all. Manolin was perhaps too weak a character for her. But alas he was bewitched by her looks. We’ve all been there. We’ve bled tears to satisfy their whims.

  But, by Arrahd, we’d do it again in a heartbeat.

  I think Manolin needs a girl with a good heart, who won’t try to compete with him, & who will earn trust over time. Someone not so concerned with glamour, but what the stars mean at night. He would treat her well, I know it. He wants a girl to provide for, who won’t become bored with his attention. He would like a girl who, after reading a good book, looks at their reflection in a mirror & frowns rather than brushes their hair. There used to be a saying that the nicer a woman is to a man, then the worse he treats her. I suspect it works just as well both ways, these days.