by Joe Hart
“It was an accident, a terrible accident a hundred years ago,” I said. “Lots of people died. This is ... unreal ...”
Ellius nodded, a concerned look on his face. “Can you stand?”
I grabbed his offered hand. Even with shock still buffeting my senses, I marveled at the wood-like hardness of his palm as he pulled me to my feet.
“All right?” Kotis asked.
I nodded, and felt Scrim’s wing fan my shoulder. The bird flew out ahead of us as we walked down the sweeping drop of the valley. The wreck grew in stature with every step, and the vertigo from seeing it tried to pull me to the ground again. How? kept echoing in my mind, but soon I gave up trying to understand the principles of a world that defied logic.
We were passing through the ship’s shadow when we heard the voice.
“Hello, lovelies.” The words dripped with an English accent.
My head snapped to where the voice came from, and I saw a figure leaning nonchalantly on the closest railing near the top deck. It was wreathed in shadow, but I could make out a long, tattered overcoat with pearl buttons adorning the front. Black gloves covered the fingers wrapped around the railing the figure leaned upon, and dark hair hung to its shoulders, obscuring its features.
“What the flamin’ shit?” Kotis said.
“Come to look at my beauty?” the figure asked, bending perilously over the railing. Some of its hair shifted, and I saw talcum-white skin stretched across angular bones. Hypothermic-blue lips were pulled into a rictus grin.
“Don’t speak to it,” Ellius said, trying to guide me away from the wreck. “It’s just a wraith tied to the ship in some way. It can’t hurt you.”
“Oh, I’m much more than that, old soul,” the figure said. Suddenly it was gone from the upper deck. Movement near the yawning break in the hull drew my attention, and I took a step back when I saw the man dangling, monkey-like, from a shattered floor. “I created this, wonderful—” He vanished and reappeared on the ground at the edge of the ship’s shadow. “—sight,” he finished with a small bow.
I took another step back, shocked at the flickering movement. Up close I could see more of his features. Sunken eyes peered between the bars of stringy hair. The skin of his face was even whiter than I’d thought, and when he smiled I saw that his teeth were square and even. The smell of a waterlogged carcass floated to me, and I nearly gagged.
The man put out a hand and extended a gloved finger at Ellius. “You look familiar.”
“Do not speak to it,” Ellius repeated, and began to walk away with me in tow.
“Oh, but I want to tell you how I crashed this ship,” the man said in a cold voice.
I stopped and turned, halting Ellius’s progress. “What?” I asked.
The man smiled, his teeth now yellow and uneven. “I did this, my good friend. I turned that ship into the iceberg on purpose.”
Kotis got a hold on my other arm and dragged me backward.
“Killed the crew, I did. Nasty shades of red the walls became that night. It was meant to be, that berg floatin’ so pretty in the fog. What a sound it was, the rending of steel and the screams. I can still hear them.” The man cocked his head to one side, as if listening to something we couldn’t hear.
I found my feet and began to walk backward on my own, the horrible implications of the man’s words wreaking havoc with my thoughts. “Who are you?” I heard myself say, my voice coming from somewhere far away.
The man grinned, and now his teeth were split, some missing, their color mimicking the sulfurous green of the ship behind him. “Oh, I’ve had many names. My father called me John, and to some I was known as Pint. But I earned my favorite name in Whitechapel some years before taking this voyage.” The man’s smile stretched much too wide for any human. “You can call me Jack ... the Ripper.”
With a laugh that bubbled up from deep within his chest, the man flickered and was gone.
My stomach rolled and churned as I swallowed and turned away from the Titanic. I put my head down and stared at my feet, one step after another, until we rose up the far side of the depression and were out and away from the terrible sight. We walked in silence, and I tried not to let my thoughts roam back to the ship and the thing that inhabited it.
The land soon became rocky and wild, with several large trees dotting the hills around us. My feet ached from walking, and the shoes I’d deemed comfortable back home felt like they were full of tacks. Scrim returned to Kotis a short while later and told him that the way was clear to the river.
“We’ll be able to rest there and fill up on water,” Ellius said, urging us on. After another half-hour of walking, we saw it.
The river ran between two sweeping banks of gray stone. Pictures of Alaskan beaches immediately came to my mind as we started toward it. The river was dark and flowed at a quick pace, but didn’t even come close to matching the speed of the one we’d crossed at the border of the mist. But what it lacked in speed it made up for in size. It spanned at least a quarter mile, the opposite bank climbing up and ending in a short cliff. A few trees lined the other shore, and I felt relief at knowing Ellius could continue with us.
We stopped at the river’s edge and waited while Fellow filled three water skins. When he handed me one, I drained it almost immediately, feeling the icy water chill the skin of my parched throat. Fellow grinned at me, and returned a minute later with more. I drank half of another skin before dropping it to chest level. Water dripped from my chin and soaked my T-shirt.
“I know it’s too late to ask but, this water’s safe, isn’t it?”
Ellius smiled. “Yes, it’s safe to drink.”
“Why is this water okay and other water isn’t?”
“It’s just like anything here, Michael. There is always some good within evil,” Ellius said. He turned his head and gazed downstream. “We’ll be able to see the bridge soon, it’s not far.”
The river ran fairly straight, with only a few jags to the left and right. At first I thought the relatively level beach would be easy walking, but soon found that the smaller rocks twisted beneath my shoes. Kotis and Fellow didn’t seem to have a problem since their feet were bare and oversized, while Ellius moved with the grace he always possessed, never faltering or running short of breath.
I gazed past Kotis’s lumbering form and strained my eyes for something that would tell me that we were close to the bridge. I was rewarded with what I first thought was a large boulder but soon saw was a rounded pillar mortared together with many smaller stones like the ones that littered the banks of the river. There were two of them standing like sentries, and when I looked across the river’s expanse, I noted two more adorning the opposite shore. The space in between them troubled me.
“Where’s the bridge?” I asked as we stopped a few yards away from the pillars.
Ellius walked forward and laid a hand on the stone structure. With a tip of his head, he motioned me closer. I stepped up beside him and looked through the gateway formed by the two pillars.
“It’s there, Michael. Can you see it?”
I looked at the flowing water, and was about to shake my head when something caught my eye. Beneath the surface I saw a line, and only after following it did I realize what it was. The bridge’s walkway was about three feet below the water. It was composed of large cobblestones, and the reason I hadn’t seen it before was because there were no rails on either side. It was merely a walkway a few feet wide that a man would be swept from if he tried to wade in.
I faced Ellius. “This is the bridge? How do we get across?”
“The river ebbs and flows, like your oceans but at a much greater depth. In a few hours the water will recede and drop until it reaches its lowest point, several miles below the bridge.”
I started. “Several miles?” I asked, sure that I’d heard him wrong.
He nodded. “This river sits in a chasm that drops straight down. In some places the bottom cannot be seen when the river is at its lowest.”
The thought of a river miles deep was staggering, but the impatience that had been building during the last two days was about to spill over. “How much farther to where my family’s being held?” I asked.
“It is not too far,” Ellius said.
“Can’t we cross now?”
“We’d be thrown downstream by the current, Michael, it’s not safe.”
“I need to get to my family!” I shouted, and was surprised by the vehemence in my voice.
Ellius grimaced and looked at the ground. His expression made the striations of bark stand out on his face, and for the first time I wondered how old he really was.
“I understand, Michael but we must be cautious.”
I thrummed with anger at the feeling of utter helplessness that coursed through me. Never in my life had I been filled with so much angst, not even when I thought my fear of storms would drive me insane. The worries that I tried to hold in check broke through a dam inside me, and I felt tears flood my eyes.
“You don’t understand, they’re mine. I was supposed to protect them. Jack’s only six and Sara’s eight. They’re terrified right now, and I need—” My breath hitched in my chest. “I need to find them,” I said, choking. Fellow approached and stood a few paces off to my side.
“We will find them, Michael, I promise,” Ellius said. I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand, feeling weak and ashamed.
“Sometimes all you can do is wait,” Fellow said. I sighed and nodded.
“Let’s get a fire going, but a small one. We don’t want to attract anything,” Ellius said.
The sun ran its clockwork path around the horizon. The steady wind abated somewhat, and the constant chill that came with the fall air dispersed a little with the heat of the fire that Kotis made. We sat around the flames and ate a mush that Ellius concocted from a few berries, some dried leaves, and river water. It tasted like bitter oatmeal, but my stomach welcomed it even if my tongue recoiled. When we finished, I watched Kotis shift on the ground. For the first time since I’d met them Scrim dismounted from his perch on Kotis’s shoulder and didn’t fly away. Instead he settled onto a stone warmed by the fire.
“Fellow, give us a story, you were always good at that,” Kotis said as he tried to get comfortable.
If Fellow could blush, I think he would have at that moment. “I’m not a storyteller by any means,” he said.
“Oh, bollocks on your forehead!” Kotis chided. “You’re the best I’ve ever heard.”
“Then you haven’t heard many,” Fellow said with a smile.
Kotis leaned toward me. “He used to entertain us for hours at night when we were just little shits. He’s shy, that’s all.”
Fellow’s smile widened a bit. “What would you like to hear?”
Satisfied, Kotis lay on his back, his huge hands interlaced behind his head. “Oh, just go with it. You always do quite well.”
Fellow looked at the fire and his orange eyes reflected the dancing flames. “A very long time ago, in the forest where we come from”—he motioned to Kotis—“there was a sentinel of the trees. He was the largest tree of the forest, and if truth be known, he originally spawned the entire woods that surrounded him with his massive roots that grew off in every direction. He stood a thousand feet tall and spanned an entire field with his branches outstretched.
“One day a woodcutter came to the forest. It was a massive beast that ate nothing but trees, tore the bark from their trunks and gnashed their knots into paste. Although woodcutters were rare, if one came to a forest, no tree would be left standing. The sentinel watched the cutter approach, and when it was close enough, he spoke to the beast. He said, ‘Stop, woodcutter, for I know your only purpose here. These trees are of my flesh and they are not to be harmed. Go away in peace and leave this forest be.’
“Well, the cutter looked up and sneered at the sentinel, since it too was old and powerful, with long jaws that could clip a full-grown tree off in one bite. ‘I’ll tell you what, wooden heart, you let me pass and I let you stand, since you and I are kings of our kind. Let me eat my fill, and you can spawn another forest here someday.’
“The sentinel was appalled. The forest was his children, his friends, his family. They were part of him, and he wanted no harm to come to them. But he saw that the cutter was powerful and terrible, so he said, ‘Come back tomorrow and I will give you my answer.’ The woodcutter wasn’t pleased about waiting for his meal, but he agreed, knowing deep down that the old tree had no choice.
“For hours and hours the sentinel thought deeply on how to save the forest. They could not pull up their roots and move. They could not rightly defend themselves against such a threat, and had no other mighty allies to call upon. The sentinel was about to give in to despair when an idea struck. He pondered on it for a long time, and realized that it was the only way. He then spoke to the animals in the forest, the small creatures in the ground and even the wind. He held council with them because he was ancient and wise.
“They then left him and went to work, though none could see what they toiled at. Time passed, and soon the ground shook with the woodcutter’s approach. It stopped in the sentinel’s shadow, just like the day before, and looked up with hateful eyes. It said, ‘What have you decided, tree of the forest?’
“The sentinel looked down upon his foe, and said, ‘I choose for you to take my life and to leave my children be, for their time has only begun and mine has long since passed.’
“The woodcutter laughed at this, rolling on its bladed back until deep furrows were cut into the ground. When it finally regained its feet, it said, ‘You do not get to choose whether I eat you or all of your family, for you are a tree and I am a hunter. It seems you’ve made your decision, and I will feast upon you and then the rest of your woods.’
“The cutter stepped forward and prepared to bite the sentinel with its powerful jaws, but then the old tree spoke to the wind, and the wind answered. It came across the fields and hummed in the branches of the forest, and when it touched the sentinel with its strong embrace, the old tree toppled and crashed down upon the cutter, killing it beneath its weight. For, you see, the sentinel knew there was no way to save his family, so he asked the creatures of the forest to dig in the ground and weaken the hold his massive roots had in the soil. He asked the wind to help push him to the ground when called, so that he would die and his forest would live.”
Fellow paused and gazed at me across the fire. “It is said that the sentinel’s trunk and branches became the mountain beside the forest that we’re from and that its soul still watches over the family it perished for.”
Silence draped over us, except for the popping of the fire, and I looked down at my feet, absorbing a story that no other human being had heard before. I was about to speak when Kotis beat me to it.
“Well, aren’t you a cheerful fucker?” he said, propping himself up on a thick forearm to look across the fire.
I glanced at Fellow, who scowled at the giant for a few seconds, and then watched as his lower lip began to quiver. A few seconds later the smile he held back burst onto his face, and he leaned forward as honking laughter poured from his mouth. The strange sound elicited a chuckle from me, and when I looked at Ellius, he was also laughing.
It felt good to laugh after so many hours of solemn contemplation. In fact, it felt good to laugh without the aid of liquor. I couldn’t remember the last time that I’d laughed because I was truly happy; my anxiety and fear were constant companions even when the skies were clear. I sat for a few moments, in awe of the fact that I felt freer than I had for many years. The craving for a drink was still there, prodding at my mind intermittently, but otherwise I felt better somehow.
“You live close to each other?” I asked as Kotis and Fellow quieted.
Kotis nodded as he sat up. “Grew up together, me on the side of the mountain he spoke of, and Fellow down in its shadow.”
Fellow’s eyes became distant as he looked into the shade of the evening light. �
��The forest is wider and longer than any we’ve seen so far. It’s beautiful in its own way, as everything is.”
“Fellow there’s got a nice little meadow all to himself, with a brand-new bride. I think he built his home there just so he can have extra time alone with her, if you know what I mean,” Kotis said, raising his eyebrows.
I smiled, then faltered as I turned to look at Fellow. “You’re married?” I asked.
He smiled shyly and nodded. “Over a year now, I suppose it is.”
I was appalled. I swung my gaze back to Kotis. “But you aren’t, are you?”
Kotis looked at the fire and smiled in a way I hadn’t seen before. “Oh, yes I am. Got a little son too, he’s seven now and cranky as his mother.”
I dropped my chin to my chest and shook my head. I heard Ellius shift in his seat, and felt their eyes on me. “I didn’t want this,” I said.
“What, Michael?” Ellius asked softly.
I raised my head to look at them in turn, their faces framed in the light of the fire, each watching me without anger or resentment, which actually made me feel worse. “I didn’t want you to leave your families for me. You’re risking your lives to come with me, and it’s not your battle.”
“But don’t you see, it is our responsibility, for our family, for everything,” Fellow said, gesturing to the surroundings. “Ellius says if your family is harmed, our world will fall as well as your own. I owe it to my wife and myself to do what I can.”
“As do I,” Kotis said.
“And I as well, even though I have no other kin,” Ellius said. “Michael, we want to help you, not only because of the gravity of what may happen if we don’t but because it’s the right thing to do.”
I felt tears spring to my eyes again. The sheer selflessness of their words and the good they embodied, cast against the backdrop of such evil, left me speechless. I could only smile at them, imparting gratitude through my eyes.
I looked to where the pillars sat, two monolithic molded casts, and watched the water level. It looked lower, and I willed it with all my being to move down faster.