by Coral Walker
The screen Brianna was looking at displayed a 3D model of the portal on a black background with the main tunnel coloured in red. It seemed to be dynamically monitoring the structure, and the gap in the red pipe representing the tunnel must be where the explosion had taken place and cut the tunnel in half.
“The tunnel is broken, but if we jump through the crack into the wormhole, surely it will take us to Taron, won’t it?”
“No, no,” muttered the Professor, gasping.
But Brianna was stubborn. “Can the hole take us to Taron, Professor?”
The pause was prolonged, and then the Professor spoke, his face frowning in reluctance. “Theoretically, yes, but look —” he pointed to a bar at the bottom of the screen, “the hole is approaching its final stage, and is very unstable. Plus, you need a vehicle ... I don’t see how ...”
“We do have a chance, don’t we?” said Brianna, encouraged.
“But, Brianna, you have no idea what a dangerous place Taron is!” cried the Professor in dismay, “and the hole could close before you even get there.”
“You are right, Jack,” he turned abruptly to Jack, his face burning with fervour, “they were crazy experiments. But isn’t everything we do a crazy experiment? We don’t know what the future holds, so we try our luck. But I assure you, from the very start, I wanted the best for you, and we still have a chance. Come with me, please. Let’s go back to Earth together before it is too late.”
“Don’t listen to him, Jack,” said Brianna pulling his arm. “We must go to Taron to find our parents. We must be with Bo. He needs us!”
Before Jack could say anything, Brianna’s hand slipped away. She broke into a run and dashed towards the tunnel. The rumbling sound from deep within the tunnel didn’t deter her. Soon she was lost in the dark smoke.
The dismay in the Professor’s face was obvious, but Jack started running too. The smoke in the tunnel enveloped and blinded him. He tripped and stumbled, and the next moment plunged down a hole. Instantly he was falling.
10
Hole
Jack was afraid, much more than he liked to admit, and perhaps he screamed, if only he could have heard it amid the confused rush. He was gaining incredible speed. In the distance, he saw something ahead he seemed certain to crash into, and every muscle in his body went rigid. With eyes tightly shut he waited for the impact.
There was none.
A long while after that, he found himself staring into an endless dark hole — the thing he thought he would crash into had disappeared like smoke.
There was a murmuring sound, “J-a-c-k-k-, J-a-c-k-k-,” strangely warped in volume and speed, like the distorted sound from a broken tape.
He shouted back, mimicking the sound he heard, “Bri-an-na-na-na!”
His voice was absorbed instantly into the dark hole, not a trace of it was left. Was Brianna at the other end of the tunnel hearing his call? Would the sound be twisted in the same way? The thought of Brianna’s possibly disgusted face made him grin, and he grinned more at the realization that he was making fun of a desperate situation.
He listened for a while, but nobody and nothing returned his call. The eerie silence made him uneasy.
The falling became bearable now that the anticipation of impact was postponed to the indefinite future. The anxiety of crashing was replaced with the luxury of boredom and slight concern for the eventual outcome.
It had been a long fall if his senses were still to be trusted. He began to doubt whether the tunnel would ever end, so it was with some relief that he sensed a slight and gradual change around him. Tiny particles started appearing on the tunnel surface, moving around, colliding with each other, and emitting sparks of green light. As the number of particles grew the whole wall vibrated and glowed with them. As the vibrations became wilder and more vigorous, the tunnel seemed to come alive, wiggling like a giant worm, with Jack inside bumping against the wall.
A series of thunderous noises rumbled down the tunnel from far behind. The tunnel started swinging around in big circles. Losing all sense of direction, he rolled and somersaulted. When the last thundering sound exploded behind him, his ears having already been deafened by the previous ones, he felt an enormous impact.
Falling backwards, he saw in horror the tunnel crumbling behind him. There was no debris to duck, just clouds, thick clouds with intense electric sparks that at one instant, threatened to engulf and electrocute him, and the next, disappeared as quickly as they had appeared.
The tunnel wall became thinner. Warm, dazzling orange lights penetrated through it. Soon the wall was behind him, and he could see the entrance of the tunnel, looking ridiculously insignificant like a mischievous cloud formed in the shape of a mouth.
He was falling, without the comforting reassurance of the tunnel, to the ground.
The realization panicked him, and in desperation, he struggled to roll into a face down position.
A sharp-pointed rock stuck up like a dagger in the centre of the vast land below. He was heading straight towards it. As he got closer, he could make out the crack that split the top of the rock in half to form the sinister head of a crocodile. The surrounding land wasn’t a thick carpet of grass but was covered with some ugly brownish patterns that were infinitely detailed and constantly changing.
+++
Perhaps his final one and a half somersaults had saved him from crashing into the rock, but Jack wished he hadn’t done that.
Face first he smashed into a pool of wriggling and hissing things. Snakes! Or what would you call them? Snakes with claws?
He was terrified and reacted with a mad movement, shoving, kicking, and managing to scramble to a semi-standing position. The creatures, distressed from his violent beating, made a temporary retreat.
Wherever his eyes fell, there were the snake-like creatures, thick as an adult arm, with sharp claws under their belly. Such a vast plain of them! The unvarying scene stretched all the way to the horizon, except in one direction, where a long row of cliffs thrust out like soldiers guarding the higher plateau beyond, too far away to think of reaching it.
“Brianna,” he shouted. His voice, reedy and shaking, tailed off. Brianna? What did he expect?
Unnerved by a sudden dismal thought, he glanced around searching for signs of her existence. Parts of the ground were covered so densely with the tangled creatures it was impossible to tell what was beneath them.
An intense pain shot through his body, as a creature sank its razor-sharp teeth into the flesh of his calf. He jumped, stamped, pulled out his belt and thrashed with it until the creature let go and wriggled away into anonymity with the others. But before he knew it, another one was on his shoulder, hissing into his ear. With a yell, he seized its head, yanked it, squeezed it and bit it with his teeth.
Soon he lost track of the creatures that were attacking him. Part of his body was numb from the bites, and the numbness was spreading.
A few yards away stood the rock with the crocodile head, blissfully bare. Without a thought, he plunged towards it. The creatures he trampled on squealed in pain.
The rock, he must get to the rock!
A couple of yards away, he leaped. He aimed for a high ledge that jutted out from the body of the rock. To his utter amazement, he jumped much higher than he thought he would and had to scramble for handholds. The part of rock where he landed was too crumbly to gain a grip. Down he slid and didn’t stop until his hands were caught in a crevice.
The crevice he held onto was now crumbling too under his hands. His body was trembling violently. Nevertheless, he started climbing. As soon as his mind was focused on the task the trembling stopped. It wasn’t much relief to him. As his body dangled from one handhold to another, he was aware of how little strength was left in him.
He inched upwards with his arms. The monkey bars he had played on countless times with Brianna were finally serving some purpose. Brianna, Brianna, the name mingled in his mind with the wriggling bodies of the creatures. Perhaps he sh
ould call her again.
The last bit of climbing was gruelling but without incident. When the pointed top of the rock came within his reach, he sprawled his body over it, eager to relieve his arms. The rock jabbed into his chest, and he yowled with pain.
With hands shaking, he held out the belt. Dark brown with interlinking patterns, the belt, which used to be Dad’s, was long enough to make a generous loop around his chest. After a few failed attempts, the clasp of the buckle was pushed into the farthest hole on the belt. He uttered a painful groan as he lifted his chest to tuck one end of the belt into the crack below. Satisfied that it was secure, he relaxed his body and let it slip. The loop of the belt tensed, edged down the crack under his weight and stopped.
The big orange ball overhead in the blue sky shone brightly on him.
Warm.
Warm.
He closed his eyes.
11
Cici’s Mission
Cici was bored. Everywhere she looked, boring people were doing boring things and making boring noises.
She wasn’t even sure whether the game, which was supposed to be packed with real blood and terrifying death, could compensate her for all the effort she had made to be here and suffer this boredom.
The hall was partially covered, spacious with nothing to stop the public wandering around. Her presence in the hall raised more eyebrows and attracted more attention than she was comfortable with. The whispering perturbed her, but she could do nothing about it. It was, after all, not a time for her class of Baran to be there, but for peasants and workmen who, too poor to afford proper seats, came at the crack of dawn to grab themselves cheap standing room to watch the game.
“Did you say you found him in Death Canyon?” She heard herself asking, stifling a yawn.
“Tartu and his son, my Lady, found him together.” Bagi, the ringmaster, gestured to a scruffy, bulging-eyed man behind her, who, emboldened by the gesture, edged forward. A foul air wafted from him. Cici frowned.
The bulging-eyed man, evidently Tartu, made a distasteful throat-clearing noise before he spoke. “I swear m ... m ... my Lady, I saw him falling from the sky.”
Bagi thumped his arm and scowled at him, “There’s no such thing as people falling from the sky. Only targar people do that. But we’ve seen the last of them.”
Tartu turned purple. “I swear ... he dropped from a strange cloud.”
Cici waved her hand, gesturing him to move on. She, of course, believed him. Not that she had seen such things before herself, but being Lord Shusha’s daughter, with a sharp and flexible mind, she had a natural penchant for believing the unbelievable.
Tartu was pointing at a white-skinned youth, sitting shackled to a far wall and surrounded by a small crowd. “He dropped straight towards the Crocodile Stone and almost hit it.” He licked his lips and swallowed hard as if he were watching the scene again.
“My Lady, you should have seen it,” Tartu continued, “The commotion he raised. What a sight! Like water boiling — thousands of bokwas jumping and tearing at him. Look at those bites he received.”
Cici was only half listening. She was eyeing the white-skinned creature. Along the long wall, a dozen Rionean youths were shackled. The white-skinned captive was the last one, and the only one shackled in a sitting position. With his shoulders slumping and his head drooping he looked like he was still suffering from his injuries.
If only he had crashed onto the stone and got himself killed. It would have saved her from the trouble of overseeing his death herself. In any case, this white-faced lad must die.
+++
Jack jerked his head to the right. The soft light through the slits of his loosely shut eyes was inviting. If only he could open his eyes. The noise all around him was no longer a monotonous humming but transformed into a disturbing mix of laughing, jeering and shrieking.
Water, a big bucket of it, splashed down all over him, soaking him. His body, awakened suddenly, jolted upwards. The cold, hard metal thing around his neck almost choked him.
He groaned, and half opened his eyes.
Towering over him, peculiar blue-skinned people were staring at him. What a curious colour they were! Muddy blue smudged with yellowish green.
Instinctively, he struggled to stand up but failed. It took him a while to comprehend, and then he realised. With his hands and neck bound by cold metal bands attached to the wall, he was as trapped as the bricks in the wall against which he was leaning.
He managed to smile at a man with a stubbled chin. The man, frowning with disgust, turned and left, leaving a gap.
Friendly gestures didn’t seem to work.
A chubby man, wrapped in a stiff, dull-green uniform with a white belt, stepped through the gap. Attached to one side of his belt was an important-looking ring that held many small rectangular boxes with buttons, like remote controls of some kind. Tucked on the other side was a menacing whip. With a hand he waved back the crowd.
The widened space was for a young woman. Pretty and delicate in a striking red garment, she had a demeanour that commanded respect and was received well. Silence fell immediately at her appearance, and some of the crowd curtsied and bowed. Her eyes swept coldly over him before she turned to the chubby man.
“So he’s the lad.”
If her youth, her fine features, and the sweet lilt in her voice had raised a wisp of hope in him, her cold tone swept it away.
With his arms stretched taut above his shoulders and his neck firmly held against the wall, Jack was in the least comfortable position possible. Already he was in pain from the stiffness of his body, so he wriggled and kicked to alleviate the discomfort. The crowd took his movements as the start of a long-awaited show and responded with finger-pointing and cheerful whispers.
The amusement in the crowd irked him. “Hello!” he shouted, looking into the face of the young woman. “I am Jack. I am not supposed to be kept like this. It must be a mistake.”
The chubby man turned, his face twisting with disgust. He strode over and kicked him on his sprawling legs. A sharp pain shot through his body, and he let out a cry.
The young woman cast the man a sharp glance and moved closer herself. She hunched over, and at once, Jack felt her fingers pressing against his cheeks.
Still frowning from the frustration and pain, he was face to face with her. Her large eyes, smouldering red and set deep in her fine blue skin, were examining him intently. For a split second, he seemed to see a sparkle in her eyes. When he searched for it again, in its place, a pair of cold eyes was glaring at him with unmistakable aloofness.
Jack managed a grin, hoping for another gleam.
“Er ... tharan,” she whispered, unlocking her eyes from his.
“What?” Jack asked, but the tight neckband made it sound like “wa ... o ... t?”
She looked away, oblivious to the half-frozen grin on Jack’s face.
+++
Typical wounds inflicted by bokwas consist of four holes surrounded by dark patches. Bokwas that inflict four-hole bites are less venomous than three-hole ones, but with legs covered with so many bites as him, Cici hadn’t seen anyone who had survived more than half a day. He must have a body that is resistant to bokwa venom.
“Look at these.” Tartu took out a bag and shook it upside down. Two brown bokwas with dull orange rings flopped onto the floor with a thud. The crowd squealed in fright and recoiled.
Tartu grasped one and waved it ostentatiously in front of Cici. “Here,” he pointed, “my Lady, a bite, his bite.”
On its cylindrical body, right above the first pair of claws, was a bite mark.
Tossing the slimy body of the bokwa to the floor, he stepped forward, grabbed the boy’s forehead with one hand and his jaw with the other, and forced his mouth open.
“Ha, the same teeth!” he cried triumphantly.
The boy’s teeth were pearly and smooth. Fine material for a necklace, Cici thought. Her casual browsing eyes met his unexpectedly. Quickly she looked away, but
the sight of his eyes lingered in her mind. With their finest blue, pure and profound, his eyes made her heart pound.
Bagi interrupted. “Alright, alright, Tartu, you’ve made your point. The Lady is waiting to know what happened next. Tell the Lady how he jumped onto the Crocodile Stone.”
“He ran and jumped onto the Crocodile Stone and hung himself from it,” Tartu said dryly.
“Good grief, Tartu, that wasn’t what you told me. Well, it was true that he jumped, but it wasn’t an ordinary jump, was it? Think about it, my Lady, the stone is almost the height of two men.”
“If it was that high, how did you get him down?” asked a white-bearded man in a green robe.
“Well, that was my son’s idea. He was clever. Once the bokwas retreated for their nap, we tiptoed to the stone. My son is light, so he got onto my head and then got onto the rock and climbed the rest of the way to get to him. Luckily, he wasn’t conscious at the time, so he tied him up with ropes and dropped him down.”
“Luck always strikes twice.” Tartu grinned, baring his large brown teeth. “After we dragged him out of the Canyon and put him onto the cart, we heard a scream from the woods. I sent my son to look, and he came back to say there was a white-skinned girl upside-down in a man-eating tree.”
There was a stir from the back of the crowd and people turned their heads to look.
A white girl in a long dress, hands fettered, led by a man in green, was trudging past behind the crowd.
“That’s the white-skinned girl we caught in the man-eating tree,” Tartu declared.
The body of the boy jerked violently upwards. “Brianna! Brianna!” he cried.
The girl turned. Her gaze flickered wildly over the loosely knit crowd and fell on the shackled boy. When she caught sight of him her eyes dilated with dread, and her lips trembled as if to speak but failed to utter a sound. The green-uniformed keeper gave the chain a forceful tug. The girl stumbled and trudged on.