Into the Light- Lost in Translation

by Michael White

A little while later he suddenly became aware of a noise nearby and startling, rose to see what it was. From the direction of the camp another small figure was approaching and he was about to shout his apologies again but thought better of it. It had not achieved anything the previous time, and so he did not bother, huddling himself instead into a tight ball to protect himself from the inevitable assault. Which did not come.

  After a minute of screwing his eyes tight shut and waiting for the inevitable beating to commence, he tentatively opened an eye and saw a different figure standing beside him holding what appeared to be a small dish. Through it was definitely of the same species - the height, ears and green skin colour ensured that was the case - this one was dressed slightly differently and somehow looked older. He also wore what appeared to be a tunic of sorts, and did not appear to be carrying any weapons. Unless of course the dish he seemed to be carrying was some form of obscure instrument of war, which judging by his previous sighting of the strange spiked frying pan, it may very well be. Paul thought that that this had been the creature who had hit him from behind when he was captured.

  The creature before him looked at him carefully, yet it was not a look of anger. More like a look of sympathy.

  “Barang.” he said, holding the dish out to him also, Paul noticed, keeping a safe distance at the same time. “Barang ap sloosh.” He smiled broadly, displaying a disconcerting set of large teeth. He then stooped and placed the bowl before Paul, withdrawing hastily. Paul looked at the dish. It seemed to contain a small amount of what looked like meat in a thick gravy. Steam rose from it and Pal’s stomach growled at the sight of the food. The creature stood before him smiled again and pointed at the dish.

  “Vish.” he said, gesturing to eat and Paul grabbed the dish and began to eat. It was meat. Rabbit probably, he thought. The gravy was sweet yet not too much so. He wondered if they had rabbits here too, wherever “here” actually was, and he thought that a rabbit was probably a rabbit anywhere really. He continued to eat and the creature before him smiled again, chuckling before making its way back to the camp. Paul ate greedily and soon the food was gone. He placed the dish on the ground before him, pushing it a little distance away so who ever came to collect it would not feel the need to be intimidated by him, or likewise the need to kick him either.

  He stared up at the night sky, and in the darkness he heard an owl hooting from somewhere nearby. He had seen small clumps of trees before the scrubland hit the sand and thought that perhaps it was from there. Trying to remember the view he had seen from the top of the lighthouse earlier he closed his eyes and slowly but surely drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  Morning came and Paul yawned, trying to loosen up his bunched up muscles. His legs cramped and he strained against the ropes trying to stretch himself, yet they were too tight and he could not do so effectively. The dish he saw was gone, though it had been replaced with another that seemed to contain what could only be a biscuit of some sort, surrounded by what looked like dried oats. Paul reached for the bowl and was surprised as he began to eat to find that the biscuit was strangely filling and tasted quite sweet. The oats were also chewy and not quite like any oats he had ever tasted before. After clearing the bowl of food he sat looking around. The creatures seemed to be getting ready to move by the look of it.

  He suddenly felt totally lost, for even now his dreams continued. He wondered when, if ever, they would end. The ground beneath him was hard and unyielding, the ropes that bound him equally so. All real; undeniable. There was a hard breeze blowing in from the sea and he smelt salt on the air, gulls calling from somewhere nearby but also equally far away. All real.

  As he watched several of the creatures were extinguishing the fire, smoke rising slowly into the air before being blown away by a stiff sea wind which rustled amongst the long grasses and shrubs that bordered the golden sand of the beach. The sea was as relentless as ever, roaring and rushing at the cliffs to the west and striding up the beach with long fingers of foam before receding back into the water.

  He saw the older creature standing in the centre of the camp, apparently supervising the extinguishing of the fire, whilst two more of them were walking around the perimeter of the camp and picking up what seemed to be small white rocks that seem to be placed at set intervals around them, before stowing them carefully into their backpacks.

  Paul did a quick calculation and saw that there were actually ten of the creatures in total and they were all as heavily armed as those who had caught him, with the exception of the older one who was not armed at all as far as he could see, the frying pan being absent.

  “That will be the cook then.” murmured Paul under his breath, and as he looked the older creature caught his eye and gave a cheery wave. Paul waved back, smiling as he did so, though when he turned to face south he saw that the biggest of the creatures was staring at him in a less than friendly manner.

  This creature was much bigger than the others, probably five feet in height, and bore a huge shield strapped to his back as well as the apparently obligatory weapons that all of the others seemed to carry. Oddly he was also chewing on what appeared to be the stub of what could only be described as a short fat cigar that he was moving around the corner of his mouth, an expression which improved his general look of disdain. This creature continued barking orders without the cigar being removed from its mouth at all, and Paul noticed that any of the creatures that caught his gaze suddenly increased the speed of whatever task they were performing considerably.

  “And that one’s the leader.” whispered Paul, being careful not to bring too much attention to himself.

  Eventually all of the creatures seemed to be done with their tasks and gathered in a small group at the head of which stood the leader. The smaller creature, the one that was possibly the cook, settled himself into the back of the group and Paul was wondering whether they had forgotten him when suddenly the leader barked a loud order and two of the creatures detached themselves from the group and headed towards him. Paul thought that it seemed like a very good idea to keep just about as still as he possibly could.

  Reaching him the two creatures grabbed him under each one of his arms and despite their size begin to drag him towards the leader. Paul considered protesting that he was able to walk but again thought best of it and allowed himself to be dragged. He began to panic somewhat as he neared the leader though, for the other nine creatures were looking on eagerly, as if in anticipation. He began to wonder what was going on. After all, he had destroyed the lighthouse which had presumably caused the ship to sink and it was not a wild jump of imagination to assume that these creatures were the remainder of its crew.

  With disdain he found himself flung at the leader’s feet, where he remained, lying prone on the sand. He looked up and the leader was gazing down at him in disdain. Paul began to get even more worried when the leader drew a long, lethal looking sword, the blade of which seemed to be forged of some strange black metal.

  “Caresh varian.” began the leader, as if announcing a sentence and Paul felt his mouth go dry. “Varesh eventi. Scarus ad afinum bos Keel.” he continued, pointing a sword to where the lighthouse used to be. The speech lasted for at least a minute more and all Paul could do was lie gazing up at the upraised sword wishing he was anywhere else at all. Yet he was scared to run. He looked at the remaining creatures gathered behind him and they were also looking upon him as if he were some form of vermin, though he did note that the creature he had decided was the cook seemed to have a strange look of sympathy on his face once again.

  Suddenly the leader stopped, and moving the cigar quickly from one side of his mouth to the other slashed the sword down. Paul cried out in fear and closed his eyes, but after a second he felt the sword swish past his face and then he realised that he could move his feet. He opened one eye to start with, looking down at the now cut ropes that used to bind his legs, and then moved his hands experimentally only to find that those ropes had been severed as well.


  He felt dizzy; light-headed. Yet he soon became aware of the sound of what could only be laughter rising from all around him. He opened his other eye and saw that the leader was almost bent double, barely holding onto the short cigar in his mouth as laughter creased him up.

  “Very funny.” snarled Paul, attempting to stagger to his feet only to find cramps in his calves forced him back to the sand again. “Very funny indeed.”

  “Scorilo apt farm.” chuckled the cook, slapping him on his back and leading him off to the bushes to one side of the beach nearby. He gesticulated crudely at the bushes and Paul realised with gratitude that he was being allowed to attend to his ablutions. Gratefully he snuck off a short way into the bushes and began to pee,

  “Scorilo scorilo!” shouted the cook, and there was laughter from the other creatures once again. Screwing up his face Paul ignored the laughter that was obviously at his expense and finished what he was doing. As he left the bushes the cook was waiting for him and they made their way back to the now extinguished fire.

  The creatures had already formed themselves into a long line, the leader at the front and the cook at the back. The cook shuffled Paul into the line in front of him and waited for whatever was going to happen next.

  He did not have long to wait. The leader drew his sword again and raised it into the air.

  “South!” he shouted in a guttural voice and the rest of the group shouted it in return. Paul was startled at the sudden use of the familiar word and found himself shouting, “South!” too; though just a little late, and perhaps just a little bit out of time as well. The creatures chuckled to themselves and off they went, the leader setting a brisk pace as the line began to march away from the beach and into the scrubland that surrounded the beach. Eventually the harsh grasses and shrubs began to disappear and grass then stretched before them. There was a narrow path worn into the fields as if often travelled, and it was to this direction that that the leader struck out. It did not seem to be the most direct route as far as Paul could tell, for it wound itself across the fields in a seemingly haphazard manner, snaking to and fro as it went.

  Paul found himself struggling to keep up. Despite the advantage of his height they set a fierce marching pace, and he found himself breathing heavily after what must have only been a short distance. After a while he glanced up the line, the leader striding ahead and the remainder of the creatures and himself doing their best to keep up. He looked at the line of creatures, their long green ears bobbing up and down as they marched, occasional shouts of their strange guttural language punctuating their journey. Yet they did not shout or call out very often. It seemed the creatures were preserving their energy for the journey.

  Paul watched them descend a small dip in the fields, heading downwards a short way and struggled to keep himself from laughing. He pictured himself from above; the long line of small green creatures leading him almost skipping down the path. He could not shake the feeling from his head that if anyone he knew now saw him then they would think that he looked like an extra in a Disney film.

  Chapter Five

  The Road South

  Morning wore on as the long line of creatures wound their way along the worn path south. Paul eventually grew accustomed to the pace and after a while began to enjoy it. He was used to fell walking of course, and so was generally fit, but this was slightly different; there was more rhythm to a march he found. As they continued to march inland the roar of the sea began to fade from his ears, though if he looked over his shoulder (which he did frequently) he could still see a thin finger of dark smoke rising from the tower which used to be a lighthouse. Every time he did this he felt a quick pang of guilt and swung his head back to face the direction in which they were heading, as if by not looking at the destruction behind him it did not exist and he was therefore not guilty.

  The mountains to the south seemed to be their destination generally, though the twists and turns of the path and steadily encroaching sets of trees about the landscape made their destination at best vague. Still, he marvelled at the fields that they were crossing. As the sun rose high into the sky and midday approached the temperature rose steadily. Birds and insects seemed to float almost lazily across the lush green grass that surrounded them. The white capped mountains ahead rose majestically as they drew slowly near. Yet he knew that they were still some distance away, but their soaring peaks were magnificent; rising from the ground, thrusting high into the sky before them.

  The path both rose and fell and just before what Paul thought by the height of the sun must be noon they rose up a steep hill and now he could see the path skirting down across further fields, crossing narrow streams and flowing water before angling away from the mountains and heading further south, dropping down out of view as it seemed to descend a hillside far in the distance. Half way through the morning the leader had shouted a command and he had stopped, yet the thin line of creatures continued marching, moving past him as he stood still by the side of the path. As Paul approached him the commander fell into step with him and inspected Paul’s boots carefully before grunting.

  “Varesh!” he concluded, kicking Paul up his backside as he did so. Paul yelped and the rest of the creatures laughed heartily. The leader doubled his pace and was soon back at the head of the line as it continued to snake south along the path.

  Shortly after the leader gave another harsh shout and they stopped suddenly, all dropping to the ground just off the path to rest their legs. They all began rummaging in their packs and Paul was grateful when the cook behind him tapped him on the shoulder and gave him one of the biscuits he had eaten earlier in the morning. Yet he was surprised at just how filling it was, and after a swig of cold refreshing water from the cook’s water bottle they were off again.

  Paul became used to the pace much quicker this time. As the afternoon wore on the sun began to drop behind the mountains that now towered up before them. The air was a little chillier here; though Paul was not sure if this was down to the mountains or the slowly setting sun. After fording one small stream that ran away to the north the leader drew to a halt and gave a loud shout. Paul could only think that it was time to rest for the night.

  Paul watched as two of the creatures almost instantly pulled bows from their backs and detached themselves from the others and began to head into the fields. Shortly after he saw them loosing arrows and not much longer after that a small brace of what looked like rabbits was being cooked by the creature who was also simultaneously supervising the lighting of a small fire. At the same time some of the other creatures were making a small spit from twigs that they had found amongst the trees, erecting it over the now lit fire. The rabbits were skinned and mounted on the spit to slowly cook.

  Paul could not help but feel completely useless as the obviously experienced creatures set up camp. The two others he had seen picking up small white stones encircling the camp were now he noticed placing them at regular intervals around them once again, forming a large wide circle about where they sat. Paul felt the eyes of the creatures upon him from time to time and whenever he did, he would return their stare only to be greeted with a look of suspicion. He felt guilty about the ship and the lighthouse of course, but at the same time he had enjoyed the march tremendously and had felt a rare form of camaraderie with them which he was disappointed to now find appeared to be not universally shared.

  This was emphasised somewhat when he noticed two of the creatures hammering a small stake into the ground, which once they were satisfied was secure a small length of rope was tied to. He was not surprised therefore a little later to be led from the camp by the leader and tied to the pole by his foot.

  “I am not going to try and escape.” protested Paul, “For a start I don’t know where I am and have no idea how to get home.” The leader scowled at him, his large yellow eyes seeming to drip with malice. “There is no need to tie me up.” The commander only glowered at him before starting to mumble in his own language under his breath. He cuffed Paul across the head
and returned to the fire.

  Shortly after the cook brought Paul some rabbit in what looked like to be the same small bowl he had eaten from the night before and Paul ate gratefully as the small cook bobbed and bowed his way back to the camp. By now it was dark and as he stared at the slightly distant campfire and looked up at the stars he found himself drifting back to sleep once again to the sound of owls hooting from somewhere nearby, his dreams filled with the thought of cigarettes and a nice cosy bed.

  He slept easily and although the night was much colder than the day he felt warm enough, despite the snow topped mountains that were by now not far away at all. During the night he dreamt hardly at all, but at one point he was startled awake, the remembrance of what sounded almost like wind chimes tinkling through the breeze.

  “One way in, one way out.” he heard the impossible woman say across the table at the work canteen and her eyes seemed to appear in his mind, staring at him intently. He returned her gaze for a while in his sleep and as she faded he dismissed his dream and with the sound of wind chimes in his head he fell soundly back to sleep again. The hooting sound of a lone owl sounded out across the cool clear night, a single note echoing amongst the trees and between the hills before flying away lost into the mountains that were hidden by the night. Then he stirred, turning in his dream, and as the sound of the single bird faded from his mind sleep took him again.

  ***

  The next day camp was broken in the same way as the day before. Paul sighed. It looked as if his dream still continued. He was beginning to come to terms with his predicament, going with the flow of each day, approaching each dawn as best he could. Yet each morning he expected to wake and find himself back home yet each day he was disappointed. He thought that he was not accepting that what was happening to him was real as such, but on the other hand he had decided to play along with it as much as he was able until he got a chance to return back from where he came. Essentially he had no choice.