Deomans of Faerel Read online

  He was breathing heavily, but only from pure excitement. He looked down at his nakedness and once again marveled at his legs. As excited as he was, he did feel vulnerable. He had to protect himself.

  Broad-leafed plants were all around. With a sudden spark of invention, he plucked a few and gently tested them against his skin. Moderately satisfied he wouldn’t break out in hives, he gathered a good handful and then pulled down some stringy vines.

  With a twig he poked holes in the durable foliage. He then threaded the vines through the leaves and was eventually able to weave a modest breechcloth of sorts.

  He held the makeshift garment before him and grinned. It looked ridiculous. But when he tied it around his waist he found it actually served its intended purpose rather well.

  Despite the silliness of it all he felt much better. The sheer thought of being more restrained, of having at least a thin layer between him and the elements, gave him a much needed boost of confidence.

  He was eager to get moving again. But after only a few paces the sky opened up and a curtain of rain descended. At least it sounded like rain. Not much more than the sound of it filtered down through the dense canopy, actual moisture making its way through only in trickles and dribbles. Still, he was determined to endure and forged on.

  Hours passed and he had yet to see any signs of civilization. He pressed on. After several more hours his entire body was sore and his feet were calloused and bleeding. To make matters worse, his skin had developed a white crusty coating that he took as an indication he needed water, or to be in water. But he was far from the ocean now, and what little water penetrated the dense canopy was just not enough.

  He put his hand to his head. He was dizzy with hunger and suffered from a deep burning thirst that would not go away. He had to be careful. His mind was beginning to slip off kilter. He settled down into a moist cubby between the moss encrusted roots of a tall tree and shut his eyes.

  Jack woke with a start, all at once angry for having dozed off so unprotected. The overhead trickling of rain had passed and the jungle was left humid and dripping. At least it was more brightly lit now, the trees in this particular portion less dense. He supped what water he could from the leaves and rubbed some on his scaly skin. It felt good. Off in the distance he heard the unmistakable rumbling of flowing water.

  A river! he thought, practically mindless with thirst. Water!

  He dashed through the salad undergrowth. A curtain of vines obstructed his path, but he plowed right through them and nearly tumbled off the edge of a sheer cliff.

  Not far below, the waters of a wild river rambled and swept. The pure sight of it was almost overwhelmingly beautiful. Involuntarily drawn forward, he stepped from the edge with his arms spread wide and plummeted down into the rushing wetness.

  The sudden blast of coolness knocked him into a much more sober state. He struggled to remain afloat amidst the churning current, caught within the struggle of dogpaddling and greedily stealing gulps of the precious liquid. But then something took over and he submitted to new instinctual cues.

  He slipped under. His skin felt immediately refreshed and the thirst that had plagued him melted away. An oily slick developed over his entire body, oozing from every pore. More prepared for the shock of breathing through gills, he did just that. As he did so, he sensed a flap of skin snap shut at the back of his throat. Now breathing water, he righted himself and began paddling.

  So, this is all really happening, he thought as he chugged along beneath the rushing waters. It was all just too perfectly orchestrated to be false. Even if he were on some television show, or had been dumped off on a remote island, it wouldn’t explain the weird transformation his body had undergone.

  As he corrected his descent he became aware of a jumble of new sensations. Now capable of remaining buoyant and stationary, despite the strong pull of the current, he looked down at his hovering hands. In between each digit stretched an opaque membrane, an extra gathering of skin. He spied a similar webbing between his toes.

  No way. No way this is all a dream.

  A thin membrane covered his eyes, he suddenly realized, a second set of translucent lids which allowed him an unhindered and nearly telescopic view beneath the water.

  Nice!

  Feeling strangely detached, almost drunk with the stark realization that he truly was somewhere unique and magical, he took some time to explore the riverbed, gliding nearly effortlessly up through the effervescent current in showy chugs.

  There were fish down here. Big ones. And all sorts of colorful plants and mineral deposits. He surfaced and snapped his feet. He shot out across the river, eager to explore more of this strange new land. Alas, he climbed in a dripping mass onto the opposite shore.

  So, I’m a fish now, he processed as he dragged himself onto a patch of pumpkin-colored grass. But what had he expected? So he was a fish. A fish-man. So what. He was alive, young again, and in better condition than he could have ever imagined!

  He was mulling over the concept, tiptoeing across a narrow patch of moss-covered rocks, when he suddenly encountered the tip of the spear. Thinking it a reed, he swatted it aside but jumped back at the sight of the creature that determinably projected it back into place against his chest with a hearty grunt.

  Surely he had swallowed too much river water or perhaps finally gone completely insane.

  At the other end of the spear stood the most ridiculous creature he had ever seen. Deep red in color, and nearly a yard taller than he, the creature was man-like but with pudgy cherubic features. Naked save for a bundling of dark cloth around its waist, it glared down at him from behind a mask of colorful face paint.

  Jack froze. There were more of them along the riverbank, and still more stepping out from behind walls of reeds and the crooked trunks of trees. They moved on two legs but there was something strange, almost insect-like, about them. Within seconds, a group of nearly a dozen of the creatures had him surrounded.

  “I must ensist yoo stup directly where yoo are,” the creature with the long spear said in a nearly falsetto voice, its curved and protruding lower lip flapping as it spoke. “I em fearful thet I require an immediate explanation as to your presence here.”

  When Jack did not immediately respond, it leaned in, applying enough pressure to the tip of the spear to produce a small dent in his chest. “Ded you really feel you could tek some of us by jest yerself? Hmm?”

  3

  The Stick People of Raratong

  Jack struggled to make sense of what the voodoo-red man had just asked. “I… I don’t know…”

  The creature glared at him, the tip of the spear still expertly pressed against his chest. He risked a glance down. There was something odd about the creature’s legs. A quick jab—which drew a bit of blood this time—brought his eyes back to a more appropriate level.

  “You are peret! Peret!” it kept saying. “You are not welcome here!”

  Jack felt the blood drain out of his face. The others had moved in, looking more menacing than the one struggling to communicate. All carried spears. They grasped sharpened stone knives, hammers, and axes. A commotion sounded in the shallows. For a moment, the creatures looked distracted and Jack considered diving back into the river. But he doubted he could move faster than an expertly thrown spear.

  “Wait!” a man’s voice cried out.

  “Well it’s about damn time!” Someone had finally found him. Still, Jack didn’t dare turn his head. He only hoped whoever it was would arrive before he was impaled. And then, what looked like a chubby brown hamster came into view. It stood about four feet tall and was wearing spectacles.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Jack couldn’t help but mutter. “Som? Is that you?” But he could tell from the creature’s reaction that it wasn’t.

  This latest oddity was dressed in a ragged shirt that might have once been white and tan trousers that had seen better days. A rather short sword was strapped to its waist. It stopped in its tracks and leaned fo
rward to place its tiny paws on its knees. For a moment it did nothing more than pant, and then it finally offered a bucktoothed smile and rather dexterously held up one finger.

  “Please,” it implored. “You’re the first person I’ve come in contact with for nearly two years. Rusalk? Yes?” It seemed to have finally caught its breath. It held up its paws. “Do you think you could come up with something better to say?”

  Jack was flabbergasted. “I… I…”

  The creature holding the spear seemed to relax, allowing the tip of the weapon to tilt skyward. But it was no opening. The others along the riverbank stood firm, weapons at the ready, eyes suspiciously fixed on Jack.

  The apparent leader muttered something to the rodent-man in a language accentuated by clicks and whistles. The overgrown hamster listened intently and then quickly answered with a retort of his own.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw one of the creatures along the riverbank reach down to its knee to snap some kind of latch. Using its spear for balance, it removed the lower portion of its leg, a piece Jack now realized was fashioned of wood smeared with red paint. It repeated the process with the other leg.

  Stilts. They’re all on stilts.

  The one who had dismounted stood bored, scratching its backside and absently smacking its lips. Without its pseudo-limbs it looked much less menacing, more like a tiny red pygmy out for a day of hunting, fishing and whatever it was that otherworldly devil-red pygmies enjoyed.

  The conversation sharpened and Jack could tell by the tone that the rodent-man was having a difficult time convincing the leader of something. When the creature suddenly burst out, the hamster sighed in defeat. It held up its paws and then dropped its arms at its sides in frustration. It looked to Jack for assistance.

  “Okay, clear misunderstanding here. I keep telling him you are not a pirate.” It suddenly seemed doubtful. “You’re, um… you’re not a pirate, are you?” It squeezed its button eyes shut and smiled. “Well of course you’re not.”

  “A pirate?” Jack scoffed. This was getting ridiculous. “Do pirates usually run around naked?”

  “My point exactly!” It was a hamster, for sure. But it was also somehow a man, intelligent and quite civilized. It scrunched up its face when it noticed the handcrafted breechcloth. It pointed. “Umm, exactly why are you dressed like that? Are you on holiday or something?”

  Falfax had forgotten to mention if revealing where he was from would be of any consequence. Common sense dictated he’d better come up with a fairly creative response.

  “Oh no,” the rodent said before Jack could answer, a look of great disappointment crossing its furry face. “You’re shipwrecked here, aren’t you? Bloody curses, you’re stuck here, just like me!”

  A low mumble passed through the ranks. The pygmy leader teetered uneasily. He moved the spear aside and leaned in to within inches of Jack’s face.

  “Shep-reck?” he said inquisitively, raising spackled brows. His yellowish eyes grew wide. “Yoo know how to pilot a shep?”

  What could he say? “Yes. Yes, I know how to pilot a ship,” Jack lied.

  With his hands bound by strips of twisted vines, the pygmies took him deep into the jungle, over slick paths that snaked through humid and overgrown dells, and down into muddy channels of earth. Several times the traveling entourage passed through more areas touched by the blight, or whatever it was that was eating away at the jungle’s vegetation. Judging from their reaction, Jack deduced the blight was no ordinary occurrence at all.

  Much later in the day they finally emerged on the lip of a wide depression overlooking a sprawling collection of mud huts roofed in tightly corded palm fronds. More spear-wielding pygmies stood on stilts around the perimeter, monitoring a crisscross fence of sharpened orange stalks.

  A gate lifted and the group passed down an earthen ramp into the heart of the village. Dozens more pygmies toiled among the various huts, some tending to young, others brazing meats over small pits in which danced spearmint-colored flames.

  Some, Jack noticed as they passed, were female but still retained much of the physical qualities of the males, only the occasional swaying breast giving away their gender. Most regarded him cagily, whispering suspiciously to one another and pointing.

  Along the way, the chubby rodent had introduced himself as Marlin. But he hadn’t been able to say much more. Apparently the pygmies—which Marlin explained were called the Raratong—were being cautious. Apparently being able to pilot a ship did not excuse Jack from being tied up and led through the jungle.

  The only other substantial bit of information he’d been able to gather was that the Raratong Marlin had argued with near the river was named Manitowatinaya, and that he had been schooled in what Marlin referred to as The Common Tongue by none other than Marlin himself. But exactly who Marlin was and why he was here living among a—perhaps not hostile but certainly very high-strung—tribe of pygmies remained a mystery.

  Manitowatinaya paused near one of the cooking pits to undo the latches near his knees and then climbed down from his stilts, now a good three-feet shorter than Jack. He folded the walking implements over onto themselves, and then slung the entire bundle over his shoulder like a golf bag. He waved the others off and grabbed Jack by the wrist, and led him down another earthen ramp that descended deep into the musky earth. Marlin followed, nervously clicking his teeth.

  They emerged in a circular chamber capped in a broken dome of clay. Through the damaged ceiling, a night sky peppered with twinkling blue stars filtered through. Lanterns that burned with the same eerie luminescence as the fire pits were fixed to the walls here, the dancing green flames filling the chamber with just enough light for Jack to see that more armed Raratong stood at attention around the circumference. These were covered with shellacked strips made from reeds. Armor of some kind.

  What they guarded rested atop of a series of stepped platforms that rose from the center of the chamber—a small stone hut out of which filtered a glowing purplish haze. Manitowatinaya produced a tiny knife and severed Jack’s bonds. He looked up with insistent eyes.

  “Yoo must spek to the chief,” he croaked. Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed Jack’s wrist and led him up to an opening at the back of the hut.

  Inside sat the most withered version of the tribe yet. Wrinkled and squinty-eyed, the chief looked up from where he sat cross legged on a small bed of palm fronds, calmly blowing gentle rings of purple smoke from a stone pipe.

  About a foot above the chief’s head hung a glowing gourd that served as a lantern. The purple smoke rose languidly up toward it, forming odd animal-like shapes that spiraled away in the air just before reaching the light.

  The chief did not appear to be in the least bit surprised by Jack’s presence. In fact, he regarded his visitors only with a barely perceptible upward glance. Manitowatinaya made a venerated gesture then sat. It was close quarters, but Jack and Marlin managed to squeeze in as well. The little red creature then reached over and, with some effort, pulled the small door shut.

  They waited in silence while the chief studied Jack with beady eyes. He pulled the pipe from his teeth and released a fragrant cloud of smoke that quickly overwhelmed the cramped space. Jack and Marlin coughed, but Manitowatinaya and the chief were unaffected. The chief looked pleased. He held up a shaky finger and said something in the clicking language.

  “He welcomes you to our quiet island, to our home,” Marlin translated.

  “Tell him… thank you,” was all Jack could think of saying.

  The chief spoke again.

  “He says that you will be fed and given water,” Marlin once more translated. “But first he wishes to ask a few questions.”

  Jack nodded. “Fair enough.”

  “Your name?”

  “My name is Jack.”

  “And what brings you to this place, what brings you so far from your home?”

  Jack was hesitant to reply. He struggled for the right words. “I am… on a quest, a long
journey.”

  The chief shut his eyes and nodded.

  A long moment passed as he took several pulls from the pipe, blowing out and filling the cramped hut with still more smoke. At last, he opened his eyes and signaled for both the small tribesman and the rodent-man to leave. Both did so without hesitation.

  For a moment, there was only the sound of the chief puffing away at the pipe. He stared at Jack and then took several terrific puffs before blowing out a gaseous cloud that filled the confined space with a ball of purple air.

  Jack coughed and wheezed. But when the air cleared and the chief spoke again his words required no translation.

  “Last spring a great storm passed over the island. It brought with it a curse, a leshee, a forest spirit not known to this land.” The chief took another pull from the pipe. “The foul creature poisoned our plants and our trees and then moved on. The contamination is slow but deeply rooted and irreversibly progressive. It cannot be stopped.”

  Another pull from the pipe. “The island, our precious home, is doomed. Soon, there will be no consumable food and the Great River will carry only foul water. We will die. All of the great Raratong will be no more. This also cannot be stopped. But what cannot be prevented must not interfere with what can still be accomplished.”

  He reached out and placed one trembling hand on the top of Jack’s head. With much effort, he stood on wobbly legs no thicker around than twigs and jabbed a finger into the meat of Jack’s shoulder.

  To his amazement, Jack saw that his tattoo was still there. Or at least part of it. The image of a bird, a phoenix bird, was still emblazoned on his flesh. Back on Earth, he’d had it done when he was still with the Phoenix force, before the transfer to Flagstaff. He looked up into the chief’s eyes.

  The chief smiled. “Come with me,” he said. “There is something I wish to show you.”