by Jeffrey Hall
“What will you do?” said Marli.
“Find Moso. Figure out what this other box means. Complete the job.”
“Your father died so you didn’t have to do this anymore,” pleaded Marli.
Wish shook his head. “He died so I didn’t have to do it for him anymore. He didn’t realize there was another reason to keep at it.”
“I won’t let you tear yourself apart on our accord,” said Marli.
“Just one more job and then I’ll be done. I promise you. I promise him.”
“One more job, or one more reason to go back into the jungle?”
He glanced at his father’s body and then at the forest beyond. It called to him, reminding him of the sanctuary that lay within. All he had to do was run and he would be free... Lasa gave a playful squeal and he closed his eyes.
I’ll be back for you soon, he said within his head to his father’s body.
He turned his back to the jungle and walked back towards the city.
“Ati? Where are you going?” Marli hurried to catch up with him.
“How did the jungle-diver know you and my father were there? How did he know about you at all?”
Marli shook her head. “Maybe one of the other priestesses told him?”
“The other priestesses are so caught up in the wings of the Great Bird they’d never see a way out.”
“Then who?” said Marli, bobbing Lasa on her shoulder.
“Who was the only other person that knew about you? About where I put my father?”
Marli thought for a moment and then whispered, “Moso...”
Wish nodded. He was starting to believe the jungle-diver more and more. He wasn’t sure what hole the Chassa had gotten himself into, but he was going to find out, and either try to pull him out of it or keep him in there. “I’m going to try and kick some of the dirty dens around here, see if he scurries out. I’d rather not to do this alone if I don’t have to.”
They walked across the tear in the southern wall. What was once a slit was now an avenue, a wound created by a thorkin or some of the other greater beasts that found their way into the city. On the other side he found a dozen other commoners still picking through the rubble, some in tears, some calling out to the missing in hopes of finding them amidst what remained.
He had not taken five steps within before a flutter from above sounded and Wings dropped down in front of him. “There you are.”
“I could say the same thing.”
“My apologies, we ran into some complications...” And as the Eclectun spoke, Wish noticed the wound upon his chest. Feathers were missing. A puncture wound had been sewed shut.
“What type of complications?”
“None to concern you with at the moment. Do you have the box?”
Wish took it out of his pack and handed it over to the bird. “You haven’t seen Moso, have you?”
Wings greedily turned over the box, examining the nooks and indentations of the carving with great interest.
“I said—”
“It’s not on me to keep track of your partner,” said Wings, not looking up from the box. “No, I haven’t seen him.”
Wish brushed past Wings.
“Where are you going?” squawked the Eclectun.
“To find my partner,” said Wish. “Come find me when you’ve deciphered the fourth box. You seem to be good at keeping tabs on us.”
Wings sucked at the top of his beak. “I already have.”
Wish turned. “Huh?”
“It’s in Squawk.” The language of the sky, a tongue familiar to any creature that made their way by the clouds.
“What does it say then?”
“At the top of the knot,
Where the hair has gone wrought,
You will find another there,
Within the blackest strand of hair.”
“The Tresses?”
The Eclectun smiled. “It would seem so.”
Wish looked past Wings up at the Crone looming over the city like a giant. Running over its side were dark veins, thousands of stripes of bush tunnels. The Tresses. A fathomless series of caverns formed by the unruly growth of underbrush and trees that strangled the mountainside, a pathway for countless creatures and monsters, some, Wish had no doubt, that civilization had never seen before. One long maze, where every turn could mean coming face-to-face with the jungle’s vengeance. The fifth box was at the top of it. Somewhere just below the white, snowcapped head of the mountain, the part that gave the great rise its name.
Wish and Moso had flirted with the tunnels before, but only taking feet inside, never fully climbing so high to where it ended. It would be a long, dangerous expedition. It would take them days to find the box. Perhaps weeks. Who knew if Marli and his daughter could even survive in the city for that long. But what other option did he have?
The Crone glared down on him, a menacing creature threatening to devour him completely.
Marli came behind him. “Is everything alright?”
He turned and there was Lasa, her arms twitching in the air like she was celebrating, welcoming the world and thanking it for all it had done for her so far. A feeling he’d never had, or a feeling he’d lost a long time ago and didn’t remember having.
“Well?” said the Eclectun.
“For two thousand lunars,” he said to himself, and this time it was no longer just a thing to say, but a promise. One he had made to his daughter. Words that would induce his dreams and give her eyes the thing they sought. One that would fulfill his own.
END OF BOOK 1
WANT MORE CHILONGUA? CLICK HERE FOR BOOK 1 OF THE WELKIN DUOLOGY
What’s Next
The second and final book of the Jungle-Diver Duology, The Mountain of Blood and Bone, will be available soon! Keep going to the end of this book and you will find part of the sequel, and continue with Wish’s quest to find the boxes and save his family.
Sign up for my mailing list at www.hallwaytoelsewhere.com and receive a free novella, Tilonga, the original story that inspired the world of Chilongua, and receive updates on when you can get your paws on The Mountain of Blood and Bone.
Lastly, thank you for following me into the jungle, Fellow Creature! I would greatly appreciate if you left an honest review of The Crumbling Kingdom and let others know what you thought.
A Glimpse at The Mountain of Blood and Bone:
Wish climbed the thin stairwell to the sound of splashing and a woman yelling.
“By the Jackal’s fangs, Craz! You touch those fish one more time and you’ll join them at the tank’s bottom.”
When he rose to the top of the stairs, the owner of the gruff voice was a Pangolian hunched over a ledger upon a table of polished, berry-bark wood, her claw black with ink as she scribbled numbers onto the pages with it. The only light in that place was a glow-blossom that grew up through the floorboard beneath the table and wrapped around its leg, providing a green light for her to see. It accentuated the golden chains that had been threaded beneath her plates, things that jangled as she wrote furiously into her book.
She didn’t raise her head as Wish reached the top step, but next to her, the sleeves of his white shirt wet and dripping as he stood over a barrel of living gush fish, her adopted son stepped back at the sight of him.
“M-Mim,” whispered the human youth, his long hair dangling in front of his face as if to hide him from the newcomer.
“What now? I’m trying to—,” but her chiding ceased when she saw the boy’s face. Instead, she followed the direction of his eyes and at last saw Wish standing there. Her violet, jewel-like eyes narrowed as she took him in.
“Is that you, Wish? Buried beneath all those wounds? All that blood and dirt?”
“Far-hand,” he said, addressing the Pangolian lady by the name she had become known by thanks to her prowess as a merchant and her influence across Chilongua.
“Has the jungle finally betrayed you? Or did you betray it? It’s a stubborn trit, that place. You b
reak its heart and it will make you pay. My caravans have known that for years, it’s about time you’ve learned.”
Wish brushed aside her comments. “The jungle is full of lessons. That one, I’m afraid, I learned quite early.”
“Mim?” The youth came to the Far-hand’s side.
“What is it?” she snapped, annoyed.
The boy leaned closer and whispered something into her ear. And she laughed, her long tongue slipping out of her mouth like a worm would its hole. She pointed her black, ink-ridden claw at Wish.
“You scare my boy. He thinks you are a leftover from the attack on the city. Something the soldiers forgot to cast back into the forest.”
Wish chewed his lip as he eyed the boy through his hair. The youth tried to meet his gaze, but quickly turned as if afraid if he stared too long Wish would poison his spirit, or worse.
“He’s no monster, Craz. He just sometimes forgets the proper ways of civilization. Things like bathing and sleeping or letting his wounds heal so his blood won’t dirty people’s floors when he unexpectedly walks in, unannounced.”
“Far-hand, I have needs.” Wish grew impatient. There were forces conspiring to find the next box even now, he was sure of it. If he didn’t move quickly then everything he had sacrificed to reach that point would have been worthless.
“Oh?” said the Far-hand, running her hand through her child’s hair as if he were a pet. “Tell me of your needs, great jungle-diver.”
“I need equipment. Fire-bellies. Baits. Rations. Traps.”
“Quite the expedition I see,” she answered. “May I ask where your adventures take you this time?”
“The Tresses.”
The Far-hand threw her head back with laughter, slapping her belly, making the chains that outlined her scales jangle and chime. “Everyone is trying to get as far away from the jungle, yet you’re headed right up its teeka. I admire you, Wish. I always have, but I can’t tell why anymore. I first thought it was bravery, but now I think its stupidity.”
“Do you have the supplies or not?”
The Far-hand folded her arms on the table and leaned forward, a serious look coming to her face. “I always have the supplies.”
“Then I need them. Everything you have. Everything I can carry without slowing me down to the pace of a Tortallan. And I need it all on credit.”
“Credit?” said the Far-hand. “Does this look like some under-city tavern you’ve stumbled into who deals with credit and loans? I run a respectable operation here.”
“I’ll pay you double what it’s worth. All of it.”
“I don’t bet,” said the Far-hand.
“I will get you the money. When have I ever not delivered for you?”
The Pangolian scratched her chin. “What about the time when you were supposed to deliver me a living vein-mire bush?”
“It was half-alive,” said Wish. They had pulled it from the mud of the Dead Pits that surrounded Ilonga Lake, areas where the red apes of the water buried their dead and unfinished meals. Wish and Moso had unknowingly severed a root removing it from the soil, and the plant had bled its translucent blood until it was a withered husk of its once plump self when they delivered it to the Far-hand’s doorstep. An error they hadn’t realized until it was too late.
“Half-alive isn’t living,” said the Far-hand.
“What did you expect from us? We’re not botamancers,” argued Wish.
“Nor are you a sure thing.” She leaned back in her chair, and her child stepped to be closer to her.
“I will deliver.” When Wish spoke, he allowed the anger swelling inside of him to seep into his words. It made him sound more forceful than he wanted. The Far-hand’s boy yelped, and scurried behind his mother.
The Pangolian reached behind her seat and wrapped the youth in her arms and tail. “There, there, little moon. Mim is sorry. I told you there was no monster here, and yet I went and found you one. I dug too deep, poked too hard, and what do you see, but a beast.”
“I-I’m sorry,” said Wish, but it was too late. He could already see the fear in the child’s eyes. He was a monster, and his own daughter would see that too someday, so long as they were both alive to reach that point. He exhaled, trying to allow the frustration to escape. When he spoke next, he ensured that his voice was tapped of its anger. “I can leave collateral.”
The Far-hand’s eyes widened. “Oh? And what do you hold so valuable that you are certain will be worth coming back for.”
Wish thought of all the possessions on his body, all the equipment he already owned, but nothing was more meaningful to him than the box stuffed in the sack upon his hip. With shaking hands he removed it and placed it upon the table in front of the Far-hand.
The Far-hand slipped off the cover with one finger and looked inside. Wish spoke before she could.
“That is my mother. I made a promise to my father, before he died,” the words stung to say, in the back of his mind he hoped he was still alive, “that I would always keep them. Always keep them safe. I plan on keeping that promise.”
The Far-hand slid the lid back on the container. Her tongue escaped her mouth to lick the bottom of her chin as she stared up at Wish.
“You’re more of a monster than I thought to make deals with such currency,” said the Far-hand.
Wish had no answer. He knew what he was, but he also knew what he needed and why he did it. His daughter, Marli, they were still alive and upon the streets. His parents were dead, and though he held their promises, he still held the ones he made to Marli and Lasa tighter.
“I’ll give you supplies,” said the Far-hand. “Not many, but enough to at least give you a chance from ending up in the belly of a beast in that forsaken place.”
“Thank you—” Wish started to say, but the Far-hand raised her hand, cutting him short.
“You’ll pay double, as you offered. And once this deal is over, so are you and me. I have other means of getting things from the jungle that don’t involve giving my boy nightmares or holding onto the cursed bones of those who are responsible for rearing monsters.”
Wish grit his teeth. He wanted to curse the Far-hand for insulting his mother like that, but he kept his mouth closed. He was getting what he needed.
“Craz,” she snapped her fingers. “Get the man what he ordered.”
The boy stepped out from behind his mother, glanced at Wish, and ran to the back of the house.
“I didn’t mean to upset him,” said Wish.
“He’s an uneasy youth,” said the Far-hand. “Hard not to be when your own flesh and blood left you to the streets.”
Moments later, Craz returned with a sack slung over his shoulder, one so large that it dragged on the floor, its contents clinking and buzzing as he brought it before his adopted mother. The Far-hand brought the sack onto the table and unraveled the tie keeping it closed. When the cloth settled to either side its contents were displayed before him like the innards of a treasure chest.
In it there were bottles of living fire-bellies scurrying in small jars, their translucent scales difficult to distinguish from the glass, and beside them were clumps of hell-root, the stuff that when consumed by the creatures would make their insides glow and burn, providing a light that could penetrate all darkness. Next to it still were night-heads, mushrooms when thrown would burst into clouds of spores that once inhaled would cause disorientation. Then there were tongas and arvedousi, both types of predator plants that when stepped on would clamp down on their victims like traps and slowly digest whatever unlucky part they’d happen to catch with their acid-like saliva. And next to them were piles of totemic shards, a hundred nuggets of wood with faces carved in each as if they were a shrunken, body-less army.
“What do they do?” said Wish.
“This and that,” said Far-hand.
“This and that?”
“If I knew what they did then I would be much less likely to part with them. But no one wants totems that could explode in your hand.�
��
“So they’re junk totems?” said Wish.
“Not exactly. They’re experimental totems.”
Wish raised his eyebrow.
“There are countless secrets set in the flesh of trees, and we’ve only unlocked a fraction of them. How else do you think new totems are discovered if by not making a few mistakes.” The Far-hand picked up a small scrap of wood with the face of a lion on it. “I’d only use these if absolutely desperate.”
Wish nodded, and started filling up his packs. Within minutes his inventory was bulging, but still there was room to spare. He wanted to be mobile, not a walking storefront.
And for every item that he picked up, the Far-hand jotted down a number into her ledger.
“What’s the cost?” said Wish when he was done.
“Double what you’ve just taken? Twenty five lunars,” said the Far-hand.
Wish recounted the materials he had just taken, trying to identify which items he could part with to lower his cost, but could not spare a thing. He needed these supplies if he was to survive, and twenty five lunars would be a small price to pay if he were to receive the sum he was promised at the end of this job.
“You’ll have your twenty five lunars soon,” said Wish, adjusting his packs.
“Good,” said the Far-hand. “Don’t make soon too late. Otherwise, I might find a better home for these bones upon the piss-holes of the street.”
Wish glanced once more down at the box that held his mother, and felt the sudden urge to grab them and run, but knew that would be the move of a fool. The Far-hand was connected. Do something as stupid as steal from her and she’d have an army of bounty hunters marching after his teeka. And the last thing Wish needed was more enemies. Instead, he turned towards the door, but not without the Far-hand once more calling for him.
“It is barely morning,” said the Far-hand. “You would do well to approach the Tresses at the height of day when the beasts that prowl their forest are at their quietest.”