by Jake Halpern
“Don’t worry baby Alfonso,” said Marta softly, “We’ll find you some sunlight soon enough.” She smiled. “Now that we’re above ground, you’re looking better already.”
The baby’s eyelids fluttered and he yawned tiredly. Alfonso was waking up.
Chapter 3: Kiril’s Decision
About a dozen miles away, an ordinary rowboat glided through the icy waters of the Sea of Clouds. Two men sat in the boat, but only one of them rowed. This man was blind, and the second man in the bow was staring at his blind companion with a mixture of concern and contemplation. Thanks to the blind man, the rowboat had become a vessel capable of speed and grace. The man’s thickly muscled arms maneuvered the boat skillfully and the boat sang as it pushed through the water. Despite his obvious skill, however, the blind man’s face was a mask of sullen resignation; clearly he was in the boat against his will.
Sitting at the rowboat’s bow, Kiril stared at the blind man and wondered again why he had saved his life so impulsively. He could find only one reason: instinct. It was the instinct of someone who had lived many centuries, and who had seen all manner of what humans could do to each other, and this very instinct told him that Bilblox, the blind longshoreman, might be useful in the future. After all, wasn’t he proving his worth at this very moment? They had made it across the terrifying Sea of Clouds in record time, and even though Kiril was at the peak of his strength and ability, there was no way he could have matched Bilblox’s easy mastery of the rowboat.
Kiril glanced up and scanned the horizon. Land was close – just a few hundred yards off the starboard bow. Good. They were making excellent time. Kiril returned his attention to a scrap of paper on which he was currently scrawling a brief note. He wrote hastily. As soon as he finished writing, Kiril leaned forward and removed his right boot. He fidgeted with the heel of his boot for a moment, until it came loose, revealing a hollowed-out space that served as a secret compartment. From this compartment he pulled out a silver ring that bulged in the middle with a fat ruby. He squeezed the ruby on two sides and simultaneously pushed down on the face. The ruby turned out to be false – it opened to reveal a small opening, just big enough for the note that he had written. He placed the note inside, snapped the ruby closed and placed the ring deep in his inside coat pocket. Kiril then returned his gaze to the coast. There was a pebble beach just ahead; it was a perfect place to land.
Bilblox could feel the water change as they approached the shore. The waves rose up to engulf them and abruptly died away in the shallows. Then the hull of the boat grated against the bottom. He looked up.
“Excellent work,” Kiril said in a conversational tone. “Rowing across the Sea of Clouds can be terrible, but it didn’t seem to affect you. Of course, we didn’t have much ice to contend with – that helped.”
The rowboat came to rest in knee-high water. Kiril easily leapt out of the boat, gripped it from the bow, and pushed it high onto the pebbly, ice-encrusted beach. He looked around. It was absolute wilderness – a shoreline of rocks slick with ice, driftwood and pockets of tidal algae, stunted trees rising up from the sea, and everywhere a covering of gray-white snow.
Bilblox just sat there.
“Let’s go,” said Kiril, his tone more demanding than before. “We have a long journey ahead of us.”
Us. Kiril’s casual use of that word startled Bilblox and reminded him of the strange journey he had begun ever since Kiril had saved him in the river surrounding Jasber.
“You can go to whatever hell is drawing you, but you’re going alone,” replied Bilblox finally.
Kiril noiselessly drew a curved dagger from its scabbard around his waist. It was a masterpiece of metal-working. Ancient hieroglyphs ran up and down the blade, and the mother-of-pearl handle shone like bleached bone. Kiril had stolen it from the armory in Jasber. He had taken it from that monk, the one that pleaded with him to take anything – anything at all – as long as he left behind the Jasber ash.
“And you’re just going to plod on by yourself – totally blind?” asked Kiril. “No, no, no, that won’t do – and we both know it.”
For a moment, Kiril grew silent. However, Bilblox’s hearing was excellent and he could discern the sound of Kiril returning the knife to its scabbard, and then fidgeting with his belt, unfastening a hook on a pouch or a pocket, grabbing something with his fingers, rubbing his hands together and sighing deeply. This whole episode lasted no more than five or ten seconds. It was a ritual of sorts, one that Kiril had performed once before while they were out on the Sea of Clouds.
“Feel better?’ asked Bilblox.
“Much better,” said Kiril, though his voice revealed just the slightest hint of surprise – as if he hadn’t thought Bilblox had any idea what he was up to. But Bilblox knew. He had guessed correctly that Kiril was using the legendary green ash from the Founding Tree of Jasber.
“I’m not going with you,” Bilblox declared sullenly.
In three or four steps, Kiril was at Bilblox’s side. The Jasberian dagger rested on Bilblox’s neck.
“Just going to let me walk away then?” asked Kiril jauntily. “Strange. I never saw you as the sort of chap to give up and die alone in the wild – blind and bitter – but then again you aren’t the same man you once were.”
“You never knew me,” growled Bilblox.
Kiril felt a sudden urge to slide the blade across Bilblox’s throat and be done with it. After all, it made no sense to keep Bilblox around. It was like keeping a wild tiger chained to a tree in your backyard – sooner or later the tiger will attack.
Kiril pressed the point of the dagger at an area of Bilblox’s cheek just below the ear, and paused. He stared at Bilblox’s hands. They were trembling, and what’s more, thick beads of sweat had begun to form on his neck. This wasn’t fear of the blade. It was something much more powerful. Suddenly he realized the man was in the awful pain of withdrawal. His body was craving the Ash. Seeing this gave Kiril pause. Perhaps Bilblox could be broken. This thought appealed to Kiril for a number of reasons. Kiril slid the dagger back into its holder and began unloading the rowboat. Within minutes, he had built a small fire on the beach and had begun to make tea.
Just as the tea kettle had begun to whistle and Kiril searched for some wild mint, he saw something that caught his attention. It was a gray bird with three dark green feathers on its tail. Kiril did not recognize the breed. It wasn’t ideal, a bit too small – an eagle would have been ideal – but this one would do. Kiril crept up to the bird from behind and in a blur of motion, grabbed it by clasping its wings together.
“Easy now my little friend,” whispered Kiril. The bird was struggling mightily, using all of its strength to thrash about and peck at Kiril, but it could not escape his grip. Kiril used his other hand to reach into his coat pocket and pull out the silver ring with the false ruby. This time, he pressed directly on the ruby without squeezing the sides. The ring sprang open into two semi-circles. Kiril snapped the ring around the bird’s foot. Still holding the bird securely, he took a small black handkerchief from his jacket pocket and placed it upon the bird’s head. Instantly, the bird, which had been struggling, became calm and focused.
Kiril drew close and whispered, “To Dargora.” His warm breath caused tiny water droplets to appear on the handkerchief. The bird trembled, but remained calm. Kiril opened his arm and removed the handkerchief. For a few seconds, the bird sat quietly on Kiril’s open palm. When Kiril began lowering his arm, the bird flew up in a steep climb. Within a minute, it had disappeared from sight.
Kiril returned his attention to finding wild mint that he knew was growing nearby. He discovered it a few minutes later. This pleased him – it had been a very long day.
As he later sipped his tea, Kiril stared at Bilblox, who was sitting in the boat. The longshoreman had not moved since their arrival on shore.
“How bad is your headache?” Kiril asked.
“Bad enough,” muttered Bilblox.
“You can stay shiver
ing in that boat for as long as you’d like,” Kiril said. “However, I’m not leaving quite yet and as you can tell, I’ve made a fire. Come closer and have some tea.”
For several minutes, Bilblox sat in the boat. He began to rub his temples vigorously and every few seconds, he sucked in his breath.
Sitting on a piece of driftwood, Kiril stared at the blind longshoreman. He was experiencing yet another of his headaches, brought on by his refusal to take any of the ash he had first experienced on his maiden trip to Somnos. For non-Dormians, taking the ash was a remarkably intense experience, but thereafter, the non-Dormian was doomed to a lifetime of increasingly powerful headaches. It had likely been at least a year, maybe two, since Bilblox had last taken the powder, and his headaches would likely be quite powerful.
The shuddering in Bilblox’s hands moved into the rest of his body, and he appeared to be having a seizure. Kiril walked to the boat and lifted Bilblox out with only a minimum of effort. He placed him on the pebbly shore beside the fire and held his head in his hands, like a concerned father with a sickly child. Feverish sweat trickled down from Bilblox’s head. The man was in serious pain.
“It’s all right,” whispered Kiril. “I can help you. I have ash from Jasber. It’s better than the kind you’ve had before. I took some myself and as you can tell, I’ve never felt stronger.” He paused and drew nearer to Bilblox’s ear. “You’ll be in a better position to help everyone – especially yourself.”
Bilblox shook his head and silently mouthed a determined “no.”
Kiril tried another tactic. “Are you sure you don’t want to know what happened to Alfonso? I’ll tell you, once you’ve joined me in taking the ash.” He could tell this had an effect, even though Bilblox tried to ignore him.
Kiril reached into his overcoat and withdrew a cut glass vial from an inner pocket. The Jasber Ash inside seemed to leap up as if alive. Kiril carefully pried open the glass stopper.
“Take the ash,” he whispered again. “Take it, and the pain goes away.”
Bilblox closed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut. He turned away from Kiril’s voice and tried to remain motionless, but the tremors in his body continued.
“I won’t force you,” said Kiril at last. “If you wish to die here, blind and alone, I won’t stop you. I’m giving you a chance for real life again – with vision. Nothing is predetermined; there is no rule that says we must be enemies forever.” His voice was calm and friendly and despite his hatred of the man, Bilblox felt drawn to that voice. The old rasp of elderly vocal cords had disappeared after Kiril had ingested the powder. He was young again, and Bilblox knew it could be the same for him.
They faced each other in silence. The wind off the Sea of Clouds was louder and colder than Kiril remembered. He shivered and saw he had two, maybe three hours of daylight left. He sighed. So be it. If Bilblox wanted to stay here and die, that was his decision. Instinct would only carry Kiril so far, and then reason kicked in.
“I’m leaving,” Kiril announced. “And if you don’t want to die tonight, you’ll come with me.”
Bilblox slumped in a heap, his body trembling. He said nothing, but knew that if Kiril left him now he would die. However, what upset him more was the thought that, once again, Kiril was getting away. Bilblox knew that Kiril had plans for the ash that he was carrying. Prior to arriving in Jasber, Bilblox and Alfonso had painstakingly pieced together a number of clues and deciphered Kiril’s plan. Kiril was, they believed, intent on bringing the ash back to Dargora to help grow a Coe-Nyetz Tree or a Shadow Tree as it was also known. According to legend, this was a powerful and deeply evil tree whose roots killed everything for thousands of miles in all directions. The other remarkable thing about this tree was that – unlike a Founding Tree – if burned, it would regenerate. This meant that it could, in theory, produce an endless supply of ash. This is why Kiril and the Dragoonya wanted it. Bilblox and Alfonso had tried to stop Kiril from getting his hands on it. They had chased him down the Fault Roads, across the Sea of Clouds, through a labyrinth, and into Jasber itself; but, in the end, they had failed.
Bilblox wished that he had his vision back. If he could see, even for a few minutes, then he might have a chance of fighting Kiril, besting him, and taking the ash. As a blind man, however, Bilblox didn’t stand a chance. He had already lunged at Kiril several times in the boat and Kiril had easily eluded him and then wrestled him into submission. What else could he do? He had to do something.
“Wait,” yelled Bilblox. “Wait!”
But it was too late. Kiril had already left. With a heaving sigh of exhaustion, Bilblox stumbled towards the rapidly dying fire. He groaned from the vise-like pain of his headache and stretched out next to the fire, hoping for unconsciousness. He had lost. It was over.
Several hours later, Kiril passed through a forest of spindly pine trees. Their brittle branches covered in snow, the trees looked gaunt and terrified, and many appeared dead. He was breathing hard, after climbing steadily up since leaving Bilblox behind on the shore of the Sea of Clouds. Kiril wondered whether the longshoreman was dead, and at that moment, he felt a sudden dizziness envelop him.
It was happening – again.
The dizziness grew worse. Ten seconds later, he was sprawled on the ground. He knew that he was about to have another series of hallucinations. This strange phenomenon had just started happening. As far as he could tell, these hallucinations always occurred within a few hours of him using the ash from Jasber. Some of the visions were from his childhood – images of himself sitting in his mother’s lap or of splashing about in the water with his older brother; but sometimes, the images were of him sitting or walking in some unknown place, and Kiril suspected that these were glimpses of the future.
By now, Kiril knew better than to fight what was happening. Instead, he lay in the snow, staring at the tattered branches and one by one, visions invaded his mind.
“So beautiful,” he rasped, as he saw an image of his mother’s face basked in the warm light of a candle. Other visions soon followed – one of his father chopping wood, another of his grandmother playing chess, and yet another of himself digging a shelter in the snow. Where was that last one from? The past? The future? Impossible to say. All together, the visions were a collection of smeared snapshots, some bizarre, others quite normal. There was a tropical scene – perhaps in ancient Travancore or Tenochtitlan – filled with trees and wildlife and tangled creeper vines. Kiril also had a brief glimpse of Nartam, stroking his face affectionately.
The final vision was of a very slender, shy girl standing on the edge of an abyss. He recognized her at once. It was the girl – the one he had taken in and cared for. Kiril would not go so far as to say that she was his child. They were not related. Nothing connected them officially, although he quietly dreamt of a future where they would be reunited. Kiril had saved the girl, brought her in from the cold, much the way that Nartam had once done for him – the only difference being that Kiril wanted and expected nothing from the girl. He simply liked the way that she sighed after drinking a cup of warm milk. He liked the peaceful look on her face when she slept and a sliver of moonlight illuminated her face. The girl lived in Dargora, where Kiril lived, but he had not been home in years. Would she be waiting for him? Would she be angry with him for being away for so long? Had anyone looked out for her? Was she even still alive? In the vision, the girl looked older than he remember her. She must be alive, thought Kiril. This had to be a glimpse of the future. Kiril had no way of knowing this for sure, but he felt it must be true.
The vision of the girl lasted longer than the others; and the final sequence of the vision was electrifying. The girl was dressed in furs and standing on a snow-covered platform, which jutted out over the edge of an old wooden sailing ship. Snow swirled about in the wind. The girl ran forward. She appeared to be rushing to help a large man who was wounded and lay on his stomach. As the girl ran to help the wounded man, a hand reached out and shoved her. Kiril could not see who
se hand this was. Whoever it was stayed hidden in the shadows. The hand itself had blood on it – and an open-wound along the wrist that was in the peculiar shape of a crescent moon. The girl lurched forward, toppling into the abyss. Yet at the very last moment, the large wounded man – who had been lying on the ground, on his stomach – grabbed the girl’s ankle and tried to pull her back to safety. The dream ended before it became clear whether or not the large man succeeded in saving her. The large man never turned around and Kiril never saw his face; but it didn’t matter. Kiril recognized the man at once by his shape and size.
It was Bilblox.
Kiril’s eyes flickered open. His head ached, his limbs tingled, and a metallic taste lingered in his mouth. He sat up, fighting off a feeling of dizziness. He took a breath, gathered his focus, and rose to his feet. A minute later, he was running back through the snow, retracing his own footsteps, racing back to the Sea of Clouds. If he was lucky, he’d reach Bilblox before the longshoreman froze to death.
Chapter 4: Shipwrecked
Leif Perplexon arrived on the shores of the Sea of Clouds almost two weeks after Kiril and Bilblox. This particular morning, he awoke with an aching jaw from sleeping too long on a rock. It was just minutes after dawn and the world around him was bathed in a gentle, murky light. He stood up, blinked his eyes, and surveyed his surroundings. To his left and right was a rocky shore, occupied by a smoldering campfire and the remains of a badly damaged rowboat. Directly in front of Leif was a forest comprised of enormous trees whose bark was as black as coal and whose leaves – despite the fact that it was mid-winter – were a fiery red. And behind Leif, as far as the eye could see, was a vast expanse of freezing-cold water; this was the Sea of Clouds, a ferocious body of water, nestled high in the Ural Mountains. The sea’s currents, fog, and ice were legendary for destroying boats and marooning sailors. In fact, this is precisely how Leif had ended up on this godforsaken beach. He had been shipwrecked here, almost two weeks ago, and once again he found himself in a dire situation – cold, starving, and alone.