by A. Evermore
Issa clawed along the pebbles to the sand and then tried to stand only to fall over. Her body had been horizontal and swimming for so long it had forgotten how to walk. Instead she half crawled half swam until she had cleared the water. She flopped onto her back and lay there gasping and grinning in relief, the glorious sunlight rolling over cold wet skin like warm honey.
When the blood had flowed back into her legs she carefully heaved herself up and in stumbling steps made her way to the building and the harbour wall. The building was just an old crumbling boathouse that had long since been abandoned and left to the weather and the sea. Issa moved on towards the towering harbour wall. There were narrow steps leading all the way up to a thick iron gate at the top. Hugging the wall she made her way up, her legs complaining at every step.
Wondering what lay on the other side kept her climbing. Maybe there were people going about their daily business and the havoc wreaked upon the rest of the island had not happened here. Bakers selling freshly baked bread, the stench of the fish coming from the fish market. Issa grinned at the thought. But there came no shouts from market callers, no children yelling or dogs barking, there was only the sound of rolling surf. No, it would all be gone, all blackened and destroyed like her home, everyone would be dead.
Panting for breath she reached the gate. Gripping the cold iron she peered through the bars. Her mouth fell open despite dreading what she might see. The once almost riotous harbour that she remembered so well, filled with boats of all sizes and painted in gaudy reds blues and yellows, was devastated.
It seemed every single boat, from tiny rowing boats to massive seafaring merchant ships, lay shattered and broken on the calm water, gently bobbing up and down against each other. There was not a patch of open water between the smashed debris. Blackened scorch marks covered everything that was big enough to float, the yellow, blue and red paint that had once brightly decorated the boats and ships was barely visible under the black scars.
Her stomach tied itself in knots as her eyes swept over the carnage. She leant her head against the cold iron bars, the salt on her forehead rubbed painfully but she only felt the loneliness closing about her like a thick smothering blanket and her throat constricted as she struggled to breathe. The flame of hope dimmed.
Had she secretly expected something else? Had she hoped there were people? There was no one, not a living soul walked the blackened cobbled streets that circled the floating debris. She strained to peer beyond the harbour walls but there were no ships upon the horizon, only debris slowly making its way out of the harbour to sea. Everything was terribly quiet, there were not even any seagulls crying their usual ear piercing screams, perhaps the Dromoorai had destroyed them too. A great wave of destruction had flooded over the land taking all life with it and leaving only devastation in its wake, and for a heart stopping moment she wondered if the whole world looked like this and if she was all alone.
Issa swallowed, again keenly aware of her thirst. She would have to go down there, even if there were bodies, lest she, too, die. The gate was bolted with thick iron but with no guards to stop her she could climb over it. Her back twinged at the thought and at the same time her stomach rumbled with a hunger she had never felt before. Thirst and hunger and the fading heat of the sun on her back spurred her on.
She stuck one foot upon the hinge and pulled herself up. Her arms were virtually useless now but inch by painful inch she hauled herself over the stone arch above the gate and flopped down in a heap upon the hard stone the other side.
Her eyes travelled over the rows upon rows of burnt-out crumbling buildings. She tried to take in as little in as possible until her eyes found the familiar storehouses. At first she couldn’t find the massive blue doors next to the slip way and then she saw a black hole where once the doors had been, now all blackened stone. Keeping her eyes focused on that space she made her way down the steps and along the cobbled road, not stopping until she got there.
She peered around the corner into the darkness of the storehouse. The left half of the roof had collapsed, crushing all the wooden crates and barrels beneath it. To the right was a mess of overturned shelves and barrels and crates of all sizes, as if a giant cat had chased a giant mouse inside, overturning everything in their path. There were many piles of ash from incinerated boxes and some partially holding together but their contents destroyed.
Issa all but ran towards the crates, her stomach leading the way, but her fingers could not open the lids for they were nailed shut. She looked about for some implement that might help prise open the crates and her eyes rested on a fire axe half hanging off its holder besides the entrance. The blade was blackened as was the hilt but other than that it was still functional, indestructible despite the fire.
Issa hefted the axe to the first box, her arms complained painfully. On the third strike she got the hang of it and the lid flew off as the side splintered. Her heart fell for inside there were only horses reins and bits. She came to the next intact item, this time a barrel and began hacking. Again she was disappointed for it contained only reels and reels of fish netting. She paused to rest, shoulders quivering, dreading the thought of surviving on raw seaweed.
As she leant upon the axe panting, her eyes fell upon the bolted door in the floor, hidden mostly by ash. Of course, there was storage underground because that was where the food went. She knelt on trapdoor and brushed the soot away. The bolt was too stiff to budge but with a few swings of the butt of the axe she knocked it free of its hold. It took some wedging and all of her strength to lift the door up. It fell back with a deafening bang sending clouds of ash into the air.
Issa covered her mouth and froze for several minutes, suddenly afraid the Dromoorai would hear and come for her again. But the dust settled and there was only silence. The sunlight falling through the door behind her was beginning to turn orange and she didn’t want to work in the dark.
She peered down the stone steps into the darkness. There was a lantern just inside the door, hanging on a hook. A few twists of the knob and it clicked into life. She turned it to its lowest flame, hoping to conserve as much of the oil as she could. She tiptoed silently down the steps, the lantern swinging in her left hand and the axe held in her right, poised for any attacker, but there was only silence and the distant sound of waves breaking upon pebbles.
The lantern lit up a massive room that extended beyond the light’s reach and it was filled with dreams. Issa raced towards the six or so crates of reddish green apples and bit savagely into the first. Ma’s apples were bright green, she thought as she swallowed, but they were all gone forever now. As she munched, she scanned the rows upon rows of deep shelves lining the walls all the way up to the ceiling some seven or eight feet above her. There were thick ladders on rollers reaching up to the topmost shelves. She dropped her apple core and began to investigate each and every crate.
She found everything from jams and pickles to cheeses and hard breads and crackers to blackberry cordials, ciders, beers and even some fine Davonian wine. There was even a small section of tropical fruits from southern Frayon and possibly Atalanph. They were always far too expensive for her to buy so she didn’t even know what some of them were called.
She grabbed a banana and between that and mouthfuls of cheese and crackers and swigs of apple juice she felt a peace wash over her that brought tears to her eyes. For the moment it seemed all the hardship had come to end, the end of suffering and struggling and fighting to survive. She couldn’t stop the tears coming and now her belly was full she lay curled up on the cold stone floor and let them come.
Eventually it was the cold that made her sit up. There was only the faintest glow coming from the stone steps above. The sun must have set by now and surely there would be something here she could wrap around herself. She wiped her eyes feeling soot and salt and tears smear across her face and wondered how awful she must look in her tattered clothes. Good, she thought, it would hopefully scare anything harmful away.
She
picked up the lantern and axe and delved deeper into the underground room as weariness began to set in. There was enough food here to keep her alive for months but she needed clothes. On the right side of the room, opposite the food, there were various crates and boxes that, after prying them open, revealed cookware and utensils, all to do with food. But towards the end of the room she found a box of thick cotton aprons and in another a leather butcher’s jerkin.
She wrapped a couple of aprons about her and shuddered when she put the jerkin on. Her ability to heal animals and then knowing what the jerkin was for did not sit well. But it was warm and she imagined it as some kind of armour instead.
There were many coarse horsehair blankets that served as packing material. She picked up as many of these as she could and looked about for a place to make a bed. To the left of the steps she had come down was a dark cove and she put the blankets there. Anything coming down the steps would not see her and she would be able to escape more easily. Down here was more sheltered too. Though the bed was rough and itchy she could not stop the sleep that stole over her within moments of turning out the light.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Visitors In The Night
Issa’s sleep was long and restless. Often she awoke drenched in a feverous sweat and lights swam before her eyes. She could hear the voices again, the ones that had told her not to go into the black hole that was sucking everything into it. The voices were again dancing lights like fireflies, all purples and silvers, and luminescence trailed about them like ribbons.
Perhaps if it had not been so dark she would be able to see their true forms, but she seemed to be in black water, as if deep under the ocean. For some reason she trusted the voices. The dream faded and with it the voices.
There was complete darkness for a time and then Issa sat bolt upright and squinted into a brilliant light radiating before her. Either her eyes adjusted or the brightness dimmed and she could just about make out the tall form of a woman. No other features could Issa make out because the figure appeared to be made of light, though she was more solid than a ghost.
Issa’s breath caught in her throat, suddenly remembering the dark robed figure in the desert with the cloak of stars. But this being felt different, less divine. She could not be the same.
‘Issa,’ the voice was strained and came from far away as if the being struggled to maintain its presence. ‘Do not linger here, they will return,’ the image flickered briefly.
‘No, wait,’ Issa gasped, terrified the figure would disappear. ‘Who are you? Who will return? The Dromoorai?’ her mouth stumbled over the hated name.
‘Yes,’ the figure said and faded almost to nothing before returning much dimmed. ‘Seek the Seers or the Priestesses of the Temple.’
‘Where? On Bigger Kammy?’ Issa asked wide-eyed.
‘No, all gone, only Frayon…’
Issa barely caught the last word as the light faded for good and complete darkness closed in. She lay back down on her rough bed wondering who the figure had been, but her body was still so exhausted that sleep swept over her once more. She dreamed of running from a being whose form drew upon all the shadows in the world, his red triangular eyes burning into her soul as he hunted her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Goblin Scouts! The Fearsome Four
When Asaph next glanced back at Coronos he smiled, relieved to see that his father had fallen back to sleep and was snoring softly. He turned away from the sleeping man and peered between the half closed window slats. Above the canopy of the trees and roofs of the tree houses, the sky was beginning to brighten with the coming dawn.
He yawned wearily though sleep was far from him and, rather than disturb Coronos again, he quietly slipped on his boots and tiptoed out of the room, grabbing his pre-packed breakfast sack and sword (actually it was Coronos’s sword, though he had lent it to Asaph) on his way out.
Asaph moved on silent feet through the smooth carved wooden platforms between the tree houses. He glanced into the next house, whose windows were ajar for a little summer breeze to enter. Efar and her husband Fin were sleeping soundly. Their three teenage children in the next room were asleep too, thank the Goddess, he thought; they weren’t the quietest of children and always awoke an hour before Asaph ever did. Their screams of play and jumping on the beds seemed to go unnoticed by their parents though the judders shook his own bed.
Movement ahead caught his attention and his eyes settled upon the crouched figure of Gharupoha at the opposite end of their row. Even at his old age he sat cross-legged on the steps of his house, thin tendrils of white lintel weed smoke curled up above his head. Gharupoha was always up early, apparently, talking with the tree spirits when the world was quiet, though Asaph usually slept late and rarely saw the shaman. But this early morning Asaph would definitely be the first at the Meeting Tree.
The old shaman smiled causing a thousand wrinkles to bunch up around his cheeks, and lifted his slender pipe in greeting. He then held out his open hand with palm upwards, curled his fist, and tapped against his heart once in a swift fluid motion. Asaph smiled and held his closed hand forwards and opened it with fist facing down as if dropping something, thanking the old shaman for his wish of safety and good fortune in the goblin scouting today.
There were many such hand gestures they used, some long and very complex. It helped to communicate across the distance between tree houses and to those upon the ground. Sign language was invaluable when hunting silently or out-smarting a goblin war party attacking their home. Goblins were small but vicious and hardy and the Kuapoh were wise and experienced enough to know never to underestimate them or any foe, no matter how small they were.
Asaph could feel the shaman’s eyes following him as he silently made his way to the Down Rope and deftly descended, hand over hand, twenty-five feet from the wooden platform; jumping the last six feet to land with the faintest thud upon the soft earth. The old shaman was dear to him, like a Grandfather, and Asaph knew Gharupoha felt the same about this stranger who had come into their tribe, especially when he discovered the boy could see people’s auras.
Asaph had become somewhat of a student to Gharupoha, even learning a little of the shaman’s skill to travel with the mind and leave the body behind. Though he would never take the shaman’s place; only a Kuapoh could be a shaman of the Kuapoh people. Another thing that made Asaph aware that no matter how much this was his home, he would never fully be a Kuapoh.
There was more to their relationship though, and a cause of much thought for Asaph because he knew that the old shaman knew he was a shape-shifter and possibly even a Dragon Lord. Often Gharupoha had listened intently and quite unjudgementally to Coronos’s stories of their homeland far away. The old shaman held no such prejudices and superstitions as most of the Kuapoh people did. He was a shaman after all and open-minded by nature.
Gharupoha could speak goblin. Combine that with the ability to travel with just the mind, and Asaph figured that was how Gharupoha had come to know his secret. A long time ago Gharupoha had asked him about the bear he had saved but Asaph, a little boy afraid, had said only, “We both ran away”. Asaph could see it in his eyes when he looked at him, they said: ‘I know what happened; I know what you are... But I shall not tell,’ and that made Asaph respect the old shaman more than any other, forging a strong bond between them.
But despite his love of the old shaman and the Kuapoh people as a whole, loving their bountiful forest and kingdom atop the trees, he did not belong and this was not his home. There across the ocean, far away to the east, was a world waiting for him, his world, and the time was fast approaching when he would have to go to it.
Moving just his eyes Asaph scanned the trees and bushes for danger, mostly in the name of goblins. Then seeing all was still, he ran on silent feet through the forest up towards the Meeting Tree at the northern most tip of the village. It was called the Meeting Tree because that was where all the important gatherings occurred, either just amongst the shamans or involving
the whole village. The ground sloped gently down away from the tree and the clearing was large enough for everyone to sit. He didn’t need to be quite so wary of goblins but was getting into practice for the day long scout ahead.
Asaph ran so silently, a skill that was the envy of even the most experienced Kuapoh hunter, that the herd of rare white deer in the clearing before the Meeting Tree did not hear him. They stood grazing on the grass surrounding the fawn-coloured trunk of the tree. Its massive branches reached straight out above their heads like giant arms enfolding them protectively.
Asaph dropped to a slow walk, marvelling at their big brown eyes and massive ears swivelling backwards and forwards. Swiftly picking up his scent, their heads jolted up in unison as if they were all one being, but they did not run. Six pairs of eyes watched his slow approach and then they too walked casually away, coolly deciding it was time to move on anyway. Asaph watched their fluffy white tails flicking up and down until the last disappeared through the foliage. Only then did he laugh triumphantly for it was almost impossible to get this close to those deer.
A thump came from behind, a heavy footfall upon grass, and before he could turn something exploded into his back flinging him several feet forwards to land on his face. Asaph instinctively rolled but whatever massive beast had him in its strong grip, rolled too, and together they tumbled past the tree.
Asaph sighed in exasperation and became floppy, making himself heavy as possible as he lay face up on top of the bundle. Laughter came from the trees and muffled mirth from beneath him. After a moment he began to laugh too.