The Reef

by Mark Charan Newton

  ‘Right then,’ Santiago said. His chest was rising and falling sharply, as if he had raced across the beach. ‘I want you to tell me exactly what that device was, and exactly what the message was that you sent. Also, if you’ve sent any more, hitherto.’

  ‘It’s a communication device,’ Soul said. ‘There’s dozens of them. What we said was highly confidential.’ Santiago spun, kicked Soul’s shins. ‘You bastards. Just tell me, all right? Tell me.’

  Soul grasped his legs without making a noise. His eyes narrowed as he glared at Santiago. ‘What does it matter? We’re warning everyone of a hazard. Why is that so damn bad?’

  ‘Because it’s not a damn hazard.’ Santiago became calmer, held the pistol at his side. He sighed. ‘How can you be so sure?’ Calyban said. ‘It has to be removed or destroyed, one or the other.’

  Santiago thought about a new line of tactic. Obviously hard-man talk was doing now good. Perhaps if he could educate them. ‘Why do you think that? Why must you think it that simplistic way? They’re natural things. Come on, chaps. We need to be a lot more logical, eh?’

  Calyban said, ‘Escha is the nearest city to this place. It remains at threat, and therefore-’

  ‘Just leave it here until we return at least, eh? It’s not a threat.’

  ‘How can you be so damn sure?’ Soul said.

  ‘I am, okay.’ Santiago shook his head, smiled. ‘Now, please, just tell me, did the message get through?’

  Calyban shrugged. Santiago turned to Soul, who gave the same reply, then shook his head. Santiago was staring at him. Then he raised the pistol back and fired at Calyban’s face. With a crack the agent’s head smacked back against the wall, his mouth open wide, his face ruined, then his body slumped to the floor. Soul stumbled out the door. Santiago lurched after him into the doorway, looked out. He could see him running across the forest and up the slope.

  Santiago turned back to Calyban’s body. He walked over, looked down. The shot had entered at the corner where the eye and nose met.

  Santiago hauled the body up by its arms, began to drag it out of the hut. He stepped outside, and the body dropped onto the forest floor. Through the palms he could see villagers, black against the moonlit beach, advancing towards the edge of the forest.

  He dragged the body deeper into the forest, could hear the commotion echoing under the canopy. When he came to an area that was covered with undergrowth, Santiago dropped the body. He pulled at some ferns until he had more foliage with which to cover the body. He took a last look at the mutilated face before laying a fern on top. Then he looked up, across the forest towards the darkness. He had no idea where Soul would be. He heard the voices of the villagers again, and ran.

  For an hour or more he stumbled along the forest. He chased every path until he became breathless. Soul was nowhere, long gone. Santiago’s ripped shirt was stained green, and he was thirsty. He retraced his steps, and reassured himself that the body was still buried in the dark.

  Back at the hut he could see a group of villagers standing outside. The moonlight was reflecting off bald head of the doctor. Santiago reached inside his pocket and drew out a small silver box. He opened it, dabbed his finger in the white powder, brought it to his left nostril and inhaled. He widened his eyes and he swallowed. His nose felt as if he had a cold. He closed the silver box then placed it in his pocket.

  Santiago waited until he could feel a strange sensation in his gums as the cocaine kicked in. He needed the confidence boost. It was difficult to maintain such an energetic personality. People expected him to be a certain way, and right now he had to be true to himself. He caught his breath then jogged down to the doctor. ‘Forb. Forb, we’ve trouble.’

  Forb said, ‘Santiago. I know we’ve a problem.’

  ‘The agents?’ Santiago said.

  Forb nodded. ‘Well, I think so.’ He indicated the hut. Two village men were standing in the doorway. Another was crouched by the steps, looking closely. ‘Found blood in there, and a smashed up bit of machinery. Heard a couple of shots earlier too.’

  ‘Yes I know, that was me,’ Santiago said.

  ‘You?’

  ‘Look, they’ve called the navy. They were using a communication device, or something. I shot it to stop them calling the ships, but I’m not sure if I did.’

  ‘The navy?’ Forb reached out and held Santiago’s elbow. ‘Did they get through? Where are they now?’

  ‘I don’t know, I simply don’t know. They both ran off into the forest and I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t find them. Neither of them. They ran along near the edge of the beach to the north of the island. That much I did see. I tried to stop them Forb, I really did.’ Santiago could see the whites of the doctor’s wide eyes.

  ‘I don’t want the navy here,’ Forb said. ‘They can’t come.’

  ‘I know,’ Santiago said. ‘I know, but we have to stop them both first. What if one of them leaves the island? He could take a small boat and drift on the currents back to the mainland?’

  ‘It’s possible, but he’d drift for miles. He wouldn’t know how to get back anyway.’

  Santiago said, ‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’

  ‘Look, we’ve really got to find them tonight.’

  They searched for the better part of the evening. Santiago had steered Forb away from where he had covered Calyban’s body, suggesting they looked in further places. Forb called off the search eventually. After the initial panic had subsided, he and Santiago stood by the lagoon. Santiago reassured him that the navy would not come if they found the agents.

  ‘They cannot be allowed to leave,’ Forb said. ‘Well, we can have a better look when the sun’s up,’ Santiago said. ‘We’d be better off having a sleep now.’

  ‘You’re right. I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep though.’ Forb looked up as a cloud covered the moon, and the island became darker. The wind had become stronger in the last hour. ‘It’s not going to be the best of days tomorrow. It’s not going to storm, but it’ll make the search a little easier. It’ll be less intense. Cooler. After my surf and breakfast, I’ll organise the villagers and we’ll arrange a thorough search.’

  Santiago nodded. They both went their separate ways.

  Santiago pushed a raft onto the lagoon, jumped on it then rowed to his stilted hut. He was tired. His body ached. He secured the raft to his hut and climbed up. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark. Being careful not to wake Manolin, he pushed himself up and perched by the door. He looked out and could see the stars bordering with the sea, where there was clear sky. Directly above him, the clouds were gathering.

  His vision settled on the reef, and was staring for some time.

  Forb stood next to his surfboard, staring offshore. Wearing only a pair of short breeches, he looked across the purple and grey horizon. The day was overcast, the sea rough. Three gulls arced out over his head, out to sea. White tips of the waves broke past the reef. The sea had lost a lot of colour. As he waited for the sun to rise behind the clouds, he examined the wave patterns. Behind him he could hear the movement of the palms, which were as loud as the tide.

  After a few minutes he picked up his surfboard, placed it under his arm. He walked towards the sea, then into it. He waded out until the water was waist high, could feel the high energy of the day’s surf. He placed the board flat on the water then pushed his body up on it. He felt lethargic, his triceps weak.

  Laying flat on the board, he paddled out for several minutes until he was past the reef where the water possessed more energy, vaguely wondering if any sirens would come. The wind cut across him, spraying salt in his eyes. Further off shore, the waves were high. He steered the tip of the board towards the biggest waves. He swam out, ducking and diving under the oncoming waves. The water sent a shudder through his body. He glanced back to the island. It seemed quite small from where he was. He paddled west, through the rough waters.

  Turning around back to the island, he could see a small boat. A figure was pushing it off
the beach. Forb frowned because knew the villagers wouldn’t be up for another hour at least. He was always the first up.

  His eyes widened.

  The agents, he thought. That must be them trying to get away.

  His heart raced as he ducked through another large wave then shook his head to remove the water. He tried to focus on the boat and remain on his board. The figure was wearing a blue shirt. Another wave struck him before Forb realised it was either Calyban or Soul perhaps the other was hiding in the boat. They were escaping. They would bring naval ships to the island.

  Forb steered the board towards the boat, which was heading to come out around the reef, then he caught a large wave and pushed his body up, distributing his weight to stand up and steer towards the agents and he could feel the wind whipping his body and the cold thrill of riding the wave. The island became large and dark again in the background as he sped nearer the boat. He shifted his weight, lifting the front of the board to his left then he could see the clear shape of the figure inside, and the fedora, so, with his arms wide for balance, he aimed to where the small boat was steering. Within seconds he was on it, the wave coming low and fast and Forb, now seeing that there was definitely one agent, waited until the last second before he lifted the front of the board and crashed through the centre of the boat with a loud crack.

  Forb heard a garbled scream and could see strips of wood falling in the water before he fell under. Daylight become a blur. Seawater filled his mouth. Something was moving under the surface, so he grabbed it. It kicked hard. Forb held his breath, clutched what he realised was a flailing limb until it stopped kicking. After a while, it became still.

  Forb released his grip then swam up to the surface. He gasped as he came to the surface, and spat out water. His chest ached. He felt agony as he reached out for what was left of his surfboard, but was now a splintered segment of wood.

  The tide pushed him back and forth, up and down and he struggled to hold on in the strong surf. Breathing heavily, he drifted nearer the reef, hunched over the wood.

  Another wave came and pushed him off, then he fell back and his head struck a raised platform of coral. Blood spat on his face. His eyes closed as he drifted onto his back, catching and spinning in the currents and channels caused by the reef, and felt a strange sensation that he was pushed back, towards the island.

  Darkness took him.

  Arth Speaking

  I thought I was dead too. The particularly interesting thing is: I’m not-I was never even born. I can’t explain it that well, but it’s only when you’re here that you realise what’s going on-what’s been going on for all this time. It’s like a one big secret is revealed; a massive twist in a play or book you’ve been reading all your life and to be honest it’s very exciting, I have to say, from a personal angle, I’m of a mind to suspect that these big picture things are never especially big once you get here. All that stuff about Arrahd and other gods is a complete pile of arse and I’ll hear no more about it. Anyway, this is all just confusing, and irrelevant, and it requires a bit of a leap of faith! I never found out who it was that killed me. Apparently, it’s not for me to know. Not that I really care now.

  But, here I am-hurrah!-and let’s leave it at that.

  Here is a strange place. I have been told to wait in this limbo. I can see what awaits me: there are stone walls, green hills and gorse bushes. It looks colder, and there are shaded paths that lead to a rocky shore. I can see the waves foaming around the rocks; the water looks muddier than any I’ve seen, and there are gulls circling. There are small cottages and people wearing strange clothes. They are to be my family. The place is rather like Has-jahn, but there is something slightly odd about it. There are no rumel, so I’ve been told that I’ll become a human. Not quite sure how I feel about that. Apparently I’ll forget almost all of what I know anyway, but it won’t be a bad thing. Again, I can’t say how I really feel because there’s little point in worrying. Everything does seem to be reassuringly calm though. And I like the sensation.

  So I want to talk more about Manolin while I still can. Now, there is a young man who particularly fascinates me at the moment. Here am I with a handful of regrets and wishes (I have been informed that these will wear off after a while) and I can see him in a very enviable position. The lad’s had his fair share of troubles, I’ll not take that away from him. That wife of his was a tad on the mad side, but there’s some of that in more people than you’d think. (In fact, one thing I have discovered is that everyone has their issues, even if they’ll tell you otherwise.) So, Manny is at a particularly interesting stage. He’s growing up faster than he thinks.

  I remember when I met him for the very first time and I thought now here is a bright young fellow. And he’s polite and kind. (Easy to see why that wife clung on to him. He was her rock to which she grasped when she needed stability.) I think Manolin is the type of lad us elders can relate to; one which, if I’m honest-and there’s not point me having secrets anymore!-one which we all wish we were more like.

  I’m not surprised old Yana slept with him. I think deep down we could all see her problems, it’s just that it was never our right to actually say anything. (And I know Jef can be a wee bit neglectful at times-who isn’t!) I’m not saying that she’s bad, or Manny is either, and I certainly am not justifying any actions-even if they are not of a wholesome nature, but the thing I have to keep reminding myself (and it’s very easy to see these days) is that shit will happen to people. Groups split up. There is something about the lad which scares Santiago, too. I’ll say no more, as it’s not my position to say anything-never a gossip-but it’s easy to see why one would not only like Manny, but how one could be jealous. Relationships fade. People drift or clash. It seems to be the only one thing certain about life: things will always fall apart, and everything does, inevitably, end in relationships breaking up. (Death comes along at the end, just to make sure.)

  You can either be bleak about it, or get up of your arse and just accept that that is what life is about-crack on with living!

  Manolin is aware of this, and that is why I’m jealous. He always used to go on about science and how he was part of a new, modern thinking. It requires a little explanation, and here it is in its simplest form.

  There are two ways of looking at the world. One is to break everything down and study its component parts. Break life down into the small things, study it and find answers. That’s very much Santiago’s way of thinking. Manolin is a fan of the new paradigm. Basically, it’s all well and good breaking things down, but you can’t really get a look at the world unless you look at things from a system level, from the highest perspective. One can see the emergent properties something has, which is greater than the sum of its individual parts. Breaking things up doesn’t tell you much about the whole. Santiago would spend his time studying a particular species, whilst Manolin would spend his time looking how that species fits in to the wider community. That’s all very basic, of course; and I think they’ve worked well as a team so far. It was Manolin that convinced Santiago to have complete biological, geological, geographical surveys, because one cannot understand a system by its parts.

  Manolin’s science is good. It’s different and exciting. It seems to encompass life. That lad will really go places. His way of thinking does not just apply to study, but his whole life. He’s always looking at the bigger picture, whereas Santiago, Mr Rational, is always breaking things down for logic, logic, logic. Just look at him taking Yana’s urine sample, I mean really. That was quite appalling, but only a true classical thinker such as Santiago DeBrelt could’ve had such a clear mind whilst doing that. Santiago’s problem has always been that he’s not thinking of the bigger picture.

  I worry about Manny at times. He thinks too much. There’s no point, believe me-and I really do know. He’s always sitting on the beach looking out to sea (he does do it far too much). Thinking gets you nowhere. If you think, you’re dead.

  Get out there, go and do things, don�
��t wait, seize every damn opportunity, that’s what I say. I want to shake him and make him do this!

  Do not fall on one’s knees and look upwards for any answers. There are none to be given. By all means have some faith, if it helps, but everything that is needed is down there. And even afterwards, it’s not all that bad.

  Twenty-Three

  Manolin and Myranda sat next to the doctor’s bed. He had lain there, unconscious, for nineteen days now. By the window, an ichthyocentaur was holding a cup of water that had been mixed with a herb so that it was tinted red. The creature held the cup over Forb’s mouth, its hand as steady as coral, then dripped the mixture inside. Manolin had long ago realised that whatever the ichthyocentaur were doing, it was keeping Forb alive.

  Sunlight, came through the shutters, casting beams over Forb’s resting body.

  Manolin thought that he would’ve spent much of his time reassuring Myranda about the doctor’s health, the last couple of weeks, but she seemed almost unaffected by her husband’s accident. She was calm, rational. Even Lewys, who was often out playing with Yana and Jefry, seemed fine. The only possible reason, Manolin suspected, was that they must have been aware of the doctor’s disease, that they were prepared for his death.

  As the ichthyocentaur left the hut, it held the door open for Santiago, who bounded into the hut. ‘Ah, how’s the patient?’ The old man rubbed his face free of sweat with a handkerchief.

  ‘Still the same,’ Manolin said.

  Santiago nodded, looking at the doctor. ‘He’ll be up soon. Good breeding, that one. He’s made of tough stuff.

  Manolin turned to Santiago and said, ‘How’s the profiling going?’

  ‘Oh, fine, fine,’ Santiago said. ‘It’s not an easy job, with the sheer diversity of it all, but we’re getting a good idea. I suspect most of the species are endemic to this place.’