The Shadow of Nisi Pote

by H C Storrer

  ***

  “Do you like it?” Tigerlily leaned over and asked as she handed him a package of meat steaming within tied banana leaves.

  “What is it?” Jack’s eyes darted across the small group of onlookers.

  “It’s rockfish and coconut. I know it is not like your magic food, but it is a gift from the waters of Nisí Poté.” Tigerlily laughed.

  “Oh. Jack smiled, taking the food from her grasp, and unwrapped it, Tristan’s teasing echoing through his ears. He wasn’t a fool. He recognized her subtle signals and suspected what she wanted, however that, was a future meant for another.

  “Well, how does it taste?” Tigerlily bent her head to look him in the eye.

  “Umm…” Jack pinched a chunk of the white flesh and popped it into his mouth. “Mmm.” It was quite good.

  “If you like that, well… maybe… we could have it as much as you want. That is,” She paused, “Peter, you should stay here. With us.”

  That wasn’t so subtle, Jack thought. In a place without time, he wished he had a few more seconds. Instead his pause became awkwardly long. He lowered his eyes to her bronze hands and noticed something he hadn’t before: the red swelling around the green of a new tattoo—an emerald ribbon that circled her pinky like a ring. Tapping her on the finger, he changed the subject, “I have never seen that before.”

  “It’s new,” Tigerlily replied, pulling her hand from view.

  “New? The tattoos of your people have meaning. They give the wearer power or tell a story. What does this one mean,” Jack pressed.

  “It is only the mark of one who leads.” She blushed.

  “It means you are chief.”

  “Yes. It is a tradition, nearly forgotten.” Tigerlily disposed of the conversation, once again moving closer to her goal as she snuggled into Jack. “Peter, what I meant earlier is, well, do you like it here, with others of your kind? With us? I mean, with me?” A deep blush bloomed across her cheeks.

  Jack froze. She was beautiful, like a statue. Her features were perfectly formed and her manner delicate like a flower. Another face shot before his eyes. Yes, Tigerlily was beautiful, but she wasn’t Anna.

  “Well?” she pressed, gripping his hand.

  “I must be honest.” Jack turned, looking her directly in her large, almond-shaped eyes. “I cannot.”

  Like a kicked puppy, confusion and hurt began to pool at the bottom of her lids. “What? But you are happy here. You come and… you come and eat our fish, and spend time…”

  Jack felt like the assassin of innocence. “I’m sorry. My heart and my being, it belongs—”

  “In your England with a ghost-faced girl!” Tigerlily was to her feet. “You will see, Peter; there is no leaving this island! It is the Island of Never. One day you will forget that place!” Her pain filling with anger, Tigerlily turned and ran quickly into the dark.

  Without even realizing he had stood, he took a few steps after her then stopped, the eyes of every person in the village upon him. Taking his hat, he bowed his head politely, straightened his fine, royal-blue coat, and retrieved his gladius, wrapping it about his hip. He no longer wore rags, not with magic at his disposal. Taking a half step, he stopped and surveyed the gossiping onlookers, and then strode off the other way. He wanted to feel bad, ashamed, but upon reflection, he truly felt nothing at all. He had known it was coming, and like cleaning the bilge of the Faversham, once the foul work was complete there was no need to dwell on it any longer. His liberation allowed him to contemplate greater deeds. Before long, he was at the entrance of Rata’s abandoned hut, the waves pounding in a roar upon the cliffs below. Rata and his band lived in the woods now. The power that the council held, even over the wild men, was becoming sickening.

  Inside the hut, everything still remained scattered from his first night looking for the fairy dust. Without so much as a film of dust, again the evidence of lost time brought about a batch of fresh worry to Jack. The hut was like a totem of curses. A dark remembrance of the former chief—not just forgotten but shunned by the villagers. It was why Jack knew his most precious treasure would be safe here. Making sure he was alone, Jack climbed up the throne and pushed in the worn eye. Within seconds, he was standing before a small leather satchel suspended weightless in the hidden room deep underground, its golden light flickering like an eternal candle from deep within the brown leather that encased it. Without preamble, Jack snatched the pouch and retrieved a pinch of dust, tossing it in the air. To anyone that may have been hidden and watching, it was as if Jack had been there one second, and then in the blink of an eye he had vanished.

  Chapter 33

  T he gurgling of the waves from deep within the bowels of the cave echoed in ferocious growls from the salty dark. Jack, at the entrance, hands on his hips, stood admiring his handiwork. With the power of the dust, his trap was complete. Atop the entrance, camouflaged as just another outcropping of stone, lay a pile of boulders amassed into a pyramid. When triggered, the stones would cascade down into an impenetrable pile, sealing the entry of the cavern; it would be the monster’s tomb. Moremore had nearly taken his life. It was time to return the favor.

  Jack had chosen this particular cave with care. After it was sealed shut, he was sure the shark man would head deep into the dark to where the water echoed from the chasm. There, the beast could easily swim back into the ocean and safety. Jack was counting on it, having dug a deep pit at the cave’s darkest point. Within that pit, he had placed sharpened staves that stood on end like horrible teeth. To ensure success, he had coated the ceiling of the cave with a mixture of sulfur and pitch and had gathered several torches from the village, setting a slow, smoldering fire near a narrow portal in the ceiling. Once the fuse was ignited, his flaming paint would burn within the cavern, forcing the beast to the waiting trap at the end.

  “This had better not be one of your games, dark one, or we will smash you.” Rata’s voice carried like the braying of a hound through the jungle.

  The scratchy hiss of Fering’s tone was unmistakable. “I assure you he’s here. He wants revenge on Moremore, and the only way he can do that—”

  “Is by the power of the sparkle,” Rata replied, a smile in his voice.

  “Yes, but we must move quickly. If he uses that dust, none of us can stop him,” Fering replied.

  Jack’s heart skipped with fear that his adversaries had snuck upon him until he realized the natural funnel of the chasm had amplified their words; they were still in the rustling ferns a good way off. The king and his conspirators had been trying to arrive early. Jack sauntered forward confidently, still within the dark of the entrance, his heart giddy with revenge.

  His breathing fast and shallow he waited, the glowing, enchanted, leather satchel in hand, his Roman gladius in his belt. With his left fist clenched behind his back he took note of the sun for the briefest of moments when one of Rata’s warriors appeared at the edge of the brush, drawing his attention. “Where is Moremore?” Jack yelled out.

  “We should be careful what we wish for!” Rata yelled back. From the corner of his eye, Jack just avoided a well-aimed spear as it darted from the forest, catching his satchel from his hand and pinning it to the cave wall behind.

  “Now!” Fering screamed.

  Jack stepped back a few paces, drawing his blade from his waist as a handful of Rata’s men and the chief himself rushed from the greenery towards him. Like a general, the dark little fairy hovered just behind.

  With a grin, Jack sprinted forward, tossing a veil of golden flakes into his path. Just as he was bathed in the dust, he could hear the panicked scream of Fering, “NOOO!” the sound only catching up to him as the world slowed to a stop. Ripping the spear point from the rock, he retrieved the satchel and any of the dust that had leaked from the hole; he couldn’t leave an escape for his victim. Turning to his attackers, a solitary laugh slipped out at the old chief, his hand swinging his ironwood blade through the air at a snail’s pace. Over his shoulder, Fering was flying
as fast as he could toward Jack, but it seemed more like the soft beating of butterfly wings rather than the torrent of a bee.

  Racing from his dark cavern into the light of day, Jack gripped the tattooed arm of the closest warrior and hurled him into the wood, the far-off echo of splintering tree branches revealed the man’s fate. Intent on duplicating the attack, Jack lunged to a second warrior in a single bound just as an enormous limb whistled through the air, crashing into the black lava flow nearly smashing Jack as he slid to a stop. Where the warrior had stood, a sickening crunch and a spray of blood greeted the onlookers.

  It had happened so quickly that Jack only realized he was on his back when the leafy club lifted skyward before him. Looking up, the hulking, muscled figure of Moremore loomed above him, blotting out the sun. The creature’s eyes burned as his lips split in wicked mirth, his sharpened rows of teeth gleaming as streams of water fissured over his grey skin. Rolling from danger, Jack avoided a second blow and with a slash of his sword removed a large section of the wood and limbs. Leaping back several feet, Jack put some distance between him and Moremore to gather his wits.

  Jack’s cold eyes never left Moremore’s as they circled each other. Perspiration formed in beads across his brow as his heart began to beat faster. Knowing that his sweat would wash away the dust just as quickly as the driving rain, Jack launched an attack. Taking a running leap, he dove over the beast’s incoming swing and rolled across a patch of lichen-covered ground, his momentum popping him to his feet. Like lightning, his fist about the grip of his sword, Jack punched another warrior dead center in his sternum, sending him skittering across the stony ground into the black cavern with a thud.

  Spinning in a narrow arc, Jack dodged another mighty swing from Moremore, slicing his sword upward seeking to cut the bulging muscles of the creature’s back. Faster than Jack thought possible Moremore’s club knocked the strike away, the force of the blow splitting the great log in two as Jack’s arms reverberated from the clash. In another burst of speed, Moremore swung about, bringing his free hand up and connecting with Jack’s back. Grateful that the dust was still doing its job, Jack barely felt the blow as the force of it thrust him forward several feet. His pulse racing faster, Jack used every ounce of his will and dust to halt his momentum as he slid to a stop, his eyelashes brushing the obsidian tip of a warrior’s outstretched spear. Before taking a breath, sharp needles dug into his ears as he felt himself jerk backwards. With a single swipe, he snatched Fering and held him tightly in his fist. Even cursed, the dark fairy moved quick enough to be an annoyance against the power of the dust.

  Charging forward, he threw the dark fairy into the monster’s face as he parried what was left of Moremore’s club and landed a heavy blow across the behemoth’s jaw. The hateful fairy shrieked in agony as he and Moremore stumbled back. With disgust, the beast peeled Fering from his cheek and tossed the sprite behind him, hurtling into the wood. Rushing forward, Jack attacked again.

  This time, the brute anticipated it and caught Jack mid chest, tossing him back into the path of the spear he had evaded seconds before. In a fluid motion, Jack lifted one arm as he slid, letting the spear tip pass by his ribs. As he came to a stop, Jack clamped his arm down, locking the weapon in place. Turning slightly, he thrust his leg back, hurling the disarmed warrior deep into the cavern at such speed that the sound of his bones cracking lingered long after he was gone. In a single fluid motion, he wasted not an ounce of momentum and spun, launching the javelin towards Moremore’s heart. Spinning away from the blow, the creature howled as the spear sank deep into the flesh of his shoulder. In a sprint, Jack advanced with slash of his sword, slicing a deep gash across the beast’s leg. In response, Moremore twisted, knocking the boy away like a gnat with the back of his hand. Whimpering, the gray creature retreated a few steps, his arm hanging limp at his side, the purple gills on his neck shimmering into existence as his whole body shook.

  “Ahhh!” Fering scrambled from the woods, his wings beating faster than they had before. With the blow from Moremore sucking Jack’s breath away, he turned to the noise as the motion of those still standing slowly began to quicken. His dust was wearing away. Without hesitation, Jack flipped his dagger from his belt, let it twist in the space before him, and then caught it by the end of the blade. In a single swipe of his wrist, he hurled the steel through the air, catching Fering by the clear, ribbed portion of his wing, pinning him against the rough bark of a large mahogany tree.

  Jack focused his attention on Rata, who had begun to move forward from moments before, his lips still stammering mid command, “Get the dust!” Obedient, two more warriors moved as if running through thick porridge into the black of the cavern. Reaching for his satchel of golden sparkle, Jack’s heart sank. It was gone. At that moment, the chief turned, suddenly aware of how the world had changed. It only took him a second to sense Jack’s distress. Swinging his carved wooden sword deftly, he charged, his speed gradually increasing as the power of the dust waned. Jack parried the blow without so much as a look, and in the same movement disarmed the chief, sliding his blade up the man’s arm, carving back his flesh. All was quiet and still as Jack kept his sword pointed at Rata’s heart. In contemplation, he stared absently into the distance, replaying the entire fight back through his mind, desperate to find the satchel and the remaining morsel of dust. Seconds ticked by, then his head shot to the beast.

  There Moremore stood, the broken end of the spear still embedded in an arm that hung useless at his side. Hanging from his other outstretched hand was the little leather pouch, its faint glow flickering with the remainder of the precious dust.

  “Yes!” the chief crowed with glee, “Moremore! Give it to me and I will avenge our brothers!”

  “No!” Fering threw his voice into the fray. “Creature! That belongs to me!” The dark fairy stretched for the pouch, despite being pinned to his tree twenty feet away. “Give it to me, you demon!”

  Jack gauged Moremore, seeking the best way to attack and retrieve his lifeline. “Give me the dust!” Rata began to shout again as Jack stepped closer and with the butt of his hilt, striking the chief across the back of his head, sending him to his knees. Giving a mighty grunt, Moremore stepped forward, flinging his wounded arm at Jack like a club. Without the dust, Jack made sure to duck the slow-moving blow, then attacked, swinging from the ground and striking with his blade, removing the ends of Moremore’s fingers before backing away to a safer distance. As the two squared off, a flash of intuition crossed Jack’s thoughts; the creature was enchanted to the speed and power of his challenger. With the dust, it seemed Moremore moved like lightning. Without it, his motions were no faster than Jack’s. It was little consolation, however, knowing a blow without the power of the dust could prove fatal.

  In a great roar, Moremore shook his pale gray skin, his gills appearing and then disappearing as he hobbled forward to crush Jack once and for all. Sprinting headlong into the attack, Jack slid to his knees, just able to avoid another blow, this time from Moremore’s good arm. Swinging up, he thrust his blade into the soft flesh in the joint of the great beast’s bicep and shoulder. With another howl, Moremore flung wildly in a circle, the little satchel that had so precariously dangled from his index finger flicked high into the sky, its golden sparkle disappearing into the dark of the forest miles beyond.

  “Noooo!” Jack, Rata, and Fering screamed in unison. Before Jack could recover his wits, Moremore connected with a hard blow to his chest, hurling him back into the brush.

  “Finish this, Moremore!” Rata hissed. “Kill him now!”

  With a wicked grin, the beast turned about, spying a long wooden shaft, half buried above the opening of the cave. Rata moved to the cavern, gleefully calling into the darkness for his warriors. Jack stumbled to his feet, shuffling in the soft dirt in which he had landed. Still reeling from the pain, he watched as Moremore tugged at the long wooden post that held the avalanche at bay. Having only seconds to realize what was happening, his mind fla
shed to Tigerlily. Banished or not, Jack knew she cared for the wicked chief and his thoughts flooded with sympathy.

  “Rata! Get out of—” He broke off his warning mid yell as Moremore wrenched the post free and faced Jack, his grin filled with jubilation. In a rumbling groan, one, and then another boulder began to settle and roll off the hill. Swinging the heavy wooden shaft as a weapon, Moremore paused as a light sprinkle of gravel bounced off his shoulders. Inquisitively, he turned, forcing his eyes skyward as the rocks gave way to a torrent of boulders, the largest stone catching him square in the face. Hurtled to the ground, the beast lay upon his back as the mountain of basalt crashed over him. He only remained visible for a moment longer until the cacophony of rock entombed the creature. Jack watched helplessly as the last boulder skipped and toppled from the edge, drawing a vine that carried with it the smoldering sparks of a faintly lit torch. In an instant, a fountain of flame raced skyward from the little opening that led into the dark cave. There were no cries, no screams for help—only a smoking inferno.

  As billowing black clouds and the stench of brimstone wafted over him, Jack stood dumbfounded. Gagging against the taste of sulfur and flesh, he held his shirt to his nose to block out the noxious fumes of torturous death. It wasn’t until the smoke finally cleared that Jack finally lowered his gladius. The only thing left of the great ‘taniwha’ were three fingers visible between the crushing rock, still clutching the wooden tree that had meant his doom. Silence reigning over the tomb, Jack stood with his hands upon his hips for a long moment, gazing at his handiwork in disbelief. As the adrenaline waned, Jack doubled over from the pain in his chest. He was sure the beast had left an indelible mark with that last blow, but after assessing his situation, Jack knew he had been lucky the beast’s final attack had not broken his mended bones. Turning away, a streak of black against Moremore’s gray skin drew his eye. Stepping closer, he paused. Etched into the creature’s flesh, a band of whirls leading to the face of a lion circled his smallest digit. Stunned, he stood there for more than a moment contemplating how it matched Tigerlily’s newest tattoo exactly. He was about to take a step closer to examine the marking when a faint voice broke the stillness.