When she finally came back to waking,
light was already filtering down through the foliage overhead. The
added sharpness of the sunspots as well as a slightly less oppressive
feeling in the air, indicated that the day would be fine and probably
even hotter than before. She drew a hand across her forehead where
sweat was already gathering, though some of it might have been
moisture that had collected on the fronds which had been crushed
against her face as she slept. Dragging her aching body upright, she
shambled over to the water cask and took the tiny handful that she
was permitted by the ration she herself had imposed. Her head felt
light. Finding drinkable water was paramount. She joined the others
who were awake in a circle on one side of the clearing. A few were
squatting, but most were still too wet to care about the damp ground.
Her stomach turned in protest when they handed her her paltry food
ration. She was used to making do with little but would have liked
some meat to offset the roots. Perhaps there were some fish in the
fetid waters of the swamp.
“When we came in, I saw a rocky
outcrop in the middle of the island,” Domo was saying. “That's
where we would find fresh water. Everything at this level's tainted
by the swamp.”
“Which way is the middle of the
island,” objected Kolin. “We don't even know where we are.”
“Someone will have to climb a tree
and get our bearings,” said Coranna. It took a moment for Kolin to
realize that, as he was younger and therefore lighter and more nimble
than the others, someone meant him, and he was far from pleased when
he did so. Gradually, he made his way to the edge of the clearing to
begin climbing, muttering a little to himself as he did and Coranna
watched him, chewing her roots slowly to make them last longer.
While the bark of the mangroves did contain deep grooves, they ran
only vertical and there were no knots or irregularities as there
might have been on a normal tree. He climbed by gripping the hanging
vines and down curving branches while bracing his feet against the
tree and walking up it. Progress was slow and there was always the
risk he would grab something that wouldn't hold his weight but,
eventually, he disappeared from sight in the tangle of leaves.
Coranna took her scabbard and slipped the blade over the shoulder,
feeling its familiar weight lie comfortingly across her shoulder and
back. Going without the usual morning ritual of cleaning her sword
was irksome but the damp air was not good for the blade so it was
better to keep it sheathed, especially until they found a way to dry
their clothes. Rubbing it with a damp cloth would do more harm then
good. “While some of us go for water, others, probably those who
are less well off, should stay and try to make a fire,” she said.
Charash made a face. “Small chance
of that. We've no sun here and everything's wet.”
“Still, we need to try. There must
be flint in one of the bags.” Or we might have to send someone
back to the ship for it, she thought grimly. It wasn't just about
cleaning her sword or the discomfort of wet clothes, or even the risk
of sores and jungle rot. She looked around and saw several of the
crew with bloody open wounds they had sustained on board during the
storm or during the trek through the swamp to get here. Ordinarily,
such wounds would be swarming with flies. Here, they were spared
that but she could see many of the cuts smeared with dirty residue
from dunking in the foul water. If they did not find ways of
cleaning the wounds soon, as well as to dry cloth to wrap them in,
deadly infection would be rampant, it it wasn't already. Even now,
she could see Darvesh restlessly twitching and muttering in his
sleep, strong indicators of wound fever. But there was no need to
cause anxiety about that yet.
Just then, before they could begin
discussing who would stay and who would go, Kolin dropped down out of
the tree and indicated the direction of the center of the island.
“Thought I could see the sun gleam on the rock too,” he gasped,
still out of breath from the climb. “Like maybe there's a
waterfall or something.” This news was heartening but, at once,
they hit their first snag. There was no opening out of the camp area
in that direction. Coranna turned slowly, making a circuit of the
surrounding wall of vegetation with her eyes and found, to her deep
consternation that there was only one opening, which lay almost at a
right angle from where they wanted to go. But more, it was the only
opening and she distinctly remembered seeing two when they had come
in the previous evening. Either the weariness and strain were caused
her to imagine things, never good, or there was some sort of strange
magic at work here.
Coranna took Charash, Melthas, and
Kolin with her on the trek to try to find the water source. They set
off in a slightly north east direction, as near as Kolin could guess
based on what he had seen in the tree. Of course the jungle was so
thick and all looked so much the same that, as soon as they moved out
of sight of the raised piece of ground where they were camped, they
were likely to become disoriented and hopelessly lost. So Charash
took out his knife and cut a long line across the trunk of a tree
with an arrow on the end indicating the direction of camp. When they
turned to go on again it seemed as if the waiting, watching heaviness
had become even more oppressive while they had been doing this and
their further progress was slow as they had to stop every few feet to
cut another notch. The air became so dense it felt almost like a
wall of soggy, rotting vegetation through which they had to burrow.
Without the notches they would be wholly lost and she had to fight
down a fear that they already were anyway as, in the dim shifting
light, compounded by their sweat befuddled weariness, everything
rapidly began to look the same. The only break in the monotony was
that some few of the trees were, not simply pale, but stark blanched
white. It was always a bit disconcerting when one would loom up like
a ghost out of the shadows. But, despite being noticeable and
memorable, they were too few and far between to effectively serve as
landmarks to navigate by.
As they paused to rest, Coranna could
see how weary everyone was becoming. Kolin's chest was heaving with
the effort of wading through the muck while breathing the humid air,
not a good sign if he needed to climb another tree, and Melthas
slumped against one of the smooth trunks, hair dank with sweat.
Charash's hands shook slightly as he moved to carve another arrow and
because of this, his hand slipped and he cut deeper than he had meant
to. A drop of dark sap swelled in the fresh groove, bulging like
some kind of pustulent growth, larger and larger, until it spilled
over the edge and trickled down the bark, almost black against the
pale gray. In the dim, discolored light of the swamp, the viscous
sap looked almost like blood, clearly unsettling the rest of the men.
Again, there was the strange sense of being watched. Melthas
glanced nervously over his shoulder, eyes white in the gloom.
Coranna tried to keep her composure but could not refrain from
putting a hand on the hilt of her sword, half drawing it. The blade
of steel, longer than her arm, with the broad flat crook on the end
was a formidable weapon and, in the open, would have done much to
ease her nerves. But here, among the close trunks, with hanging nets
of moss and vines on every side, she lacked the room to use the
weapon to its full effect and might not be able to properly defend
against whatever it was that watched from the shadows. All the more
reason they should not stand around and wait for it. Releasing her
sword hilt she gestured for them to follow as she started walking
again. As they made their way through the swamp, strange discolored
fish circled around their feet and then, suddenly, something thin and
white shot out from under the shadow of a tree's sprawling roots,
seized a fish, and vanished back into the gloom.
“Take care, men. That looks like a
snake,” said Charash grimly, “and, in these parts, its like to be
poisonous.” Thankfully, they saw no more of the snake for the time
being. But every so often, whenever any of them were in the swamp,
they might see one dart out and grab a fish. They never encountered
one in open water and the pale snakes seemed only to lair under the
white trees probably for camouflage, though why they would need it in
the dirty swamp water remained a mystery. This led them to give such
trees a wide birth whenever possible, though they did manage to catch
a few of the fish with their bare hands, the creatures being rather
slow and stupid, clustering in such dense shoals that they must rely
on dilution rather than skill to avoid the snakes and any other
predators that might be out there. A net would easily catch them
quantities of the fish but, when they tried preparing them later,
they found them incredibly oily and so foul tasting that no one would
choose to eat them except to avoid starvation.
Eventually they could hear the sound
of water to guide them. Not a rushing waterfall but enough to fill
their casks. The mangroves began to become thinner, being replaced
by more ferns and low scrub. At the same time, the ground became
firmer, changing from dirty water to liquid mud, and then to mud firm
enough to walk on. As they struggled up and out, it felt as if a
strange weight had been lifted and only then did they realize how
deeply oppressive the silence and the shadow had been.
“We should move our camp here,”
said Kolin eagerly. “Save all that walking. Besides, it's less
humid here.” As he spoke, the others noticed with surprise that he
used his normal volume, instead of a furtive whisper, the return of
sound releasing them as well from the self imposed bonds of silence.
Melthas nodded enthusiastically but Charash still looked grim.
“Wait,” he said. “We don't know
what we will find yet.” But, despite his worried tone, he too
spoke freely now. They moved forward and now even the low shrubs
thinned out so they could see ahead of them. A stretch of ferns and
moss, brilliant green, not the dull grayish color common in the
shadows, ran down to the shore of the lake that lay spread, gleaming
faintly like full silver. The surface was not smooth, furrowed by
ripples from the waterfall and, presumably, also from an unseen
outlet that allows the water to drain out into the surrounding swamp.
The fall itself spilled from the top of the upthrust rock in the
center, leaping erratically from ledge to ledge until it fell
straight at the end, a little more than the height of a man and made
a white mass of bubbles in the dark water of the lake. There must be
a reservoir on top but the sides were too steep and the breaks in the
rock too small to think of climbing, to say nothing of the whole
surface being wet with spray.
There too they saw the first creature
larger than a rat, they had seen since arriving on the island.
Several animals about as tall as a mid sized hound were drinking from
the edge of the lake but, despite their size, the looked most like
squirrels with short round ears, blunt noses, and long, curving
tails, though these were not full and bushy like those of squirrels,
probably reflecting the fact that, in this tropical climate, there
was no need for them to protect against the cold. Their back legs
were longer than their front so that their bodies curled into hunched
balls when they lowered their heads to drink. Because of this shape
as well as from the splayed clawed hands, they guessed these beasts
were made for climbing the trees and leaping from trunk to trunk.
Their fur was also patchy and mottled looking, mirroring the shifting
shadows under the canopy. But as soon as the party had come close
enough to see these beasts clearly, they froze motionless, heads
lifted, nostrils flaring, sides quivering. The next step Kolin took,
they all turned and made for the trees, again like squirrels, running
with their bodies flat to the ground, and vanished into the shadows
on the far side of the lake. Kolin started forward with a curse, the
spear uplifted in his hand but Coranna grabbed his shoulder and held
him back.
“They're gone,” she said. “No
good to give chase now. Besides, look how skittish they were. It
may be this place isn't entirely safe. We need to be cautious.”
She lowered her voice again and returned to moving with greater
stealth.
“Much good that will do,” growled
Charash. “Any predator able to hunt in this swamp reek probably
smelled us the second we set foot on the island.”
“A predator in this stink may not
hunt by smell,” she replied calmly, “and there may be other
dangers, like bogs and sinkholes or venomous snakes. Kolin, you go
in front and test the ground with your stick.” The youth obeyed,
though he was pale and nervous now that the possibility of predators
or snakes had been raised. Still, the ground seemed solid enough and
they reached the shore of the lake without incident. Here they
gladly sank to their knees to dip their hands and wash their faces in
the cooling water, in addition to drinking their fill. The lake
water was dim but not nearly as murky as the swamp so they could see
the bottom which was really quite shallow, no deeper than knee high
in most places, and the angular shapes of rocks rose here and there
out of the dark silt on the bottom.
Still there was no reason to risk
wading as they could easily fill the containers they had brought from
the shore. While Kolin and Melthas were busy with this task, Coranna
and Charash wandered a ways up and down the shore, looking for
anything that would give them a clue about food to be found in this
strange place. They did find the tracks of the squirrel-like
creatures coming down to the lake and then retreating back to the
tress and there were other tracks, closer together and more numerous
that looked similar save that they were longer and broader with more
pronounced claw marks at the ends of the digits but whether these
were from larger versions of the same creature or another, similar
species, they could not tell. No other evidence of life could be
found. They did gather some berries, dark mottled purple like a
bruise, but there was no way of knowing if they were edible. Apart
from these, the foul fish, and the filed water vessels, they returned
empty handed.
Leaving the open air and sun and
pushing back into the close dark swamp was disheartening to all of
them, their only thought being to get back to camp as quickly as
possible to lay down their burdens and lift the spirits of the others
with the news of fresh water. However, they soon discovered this was
not to be. The trail notches they had cut on the way out were
nowhere to be found.
“We must have come back into the
swamp too far to one side,” said Coranna uneasily.
“Nonsense,” Charash snarled. “I
took a bearing from the rock in the lake when we came back. Are you
saying my sense of direction is no good?”
“They aren't here in any case,”
she replied, trying to keep the tension low to avoid distressing the
others. “Should we go back and try to get our bearings again?”
Charash did not look pleased but,
perhaps fortunately, she never discovered what he would have said
because, at that moment, Kolin called out, “Look, there they are,”
pointing off to the left. Sure enough, she could see the dark line
of one of their incisions slicing through the pale gray bark of a
tree several stone throws to one side. For it to be so far meant
their bearing must be off by much more than even she had thought.
Coranna wisely decided to say nothing of this however. She did not
fear Charash, but stirring up unnecessary hostility was of no
purpose. Still, she could not shake the sense of unease at the lapse
in her own, normally excellent, sense of direction and, in this
swamp, she could not turn to the sun or landmarks to see where she
might have gone wrong. They all walked on in silence and she could
tell the others were uneasy as well, at least at first. The trail of
marks ran on for a ways and then, when she had just convinced herself
that she must have been wrong about the direction being off, it ended
abruptly.
“That's not possible,” Charash
exploded. “We are following our marks. The next one should be
right over there.”
“Clearly, there's nothing there.”
Melthas made a sour face. He was a bit afraid of Charash but the
constant foul temper was plainly testing his patience. “So there
must be some kind of error.”
“Don't start with me about us having
lost our bearings or that we're looking in the wrong place or
anything of the kind,” Charash shot back, his voice now growing
loud enough that it shattered the dense silence of the swamp. “Our
marks here are all right where they should be, in a line, roughly the
same distance apart, and, suddenly, the next one is simply not
there.”
“That isn't true and you know it,”
said Coranna, Charash's anger hardly registering now beside her own
rising panic. “None of the marks were where they should be. When
we left the lake, we all thought we were going the right way.
Possible, we might have been a little off but we would all have
to have been severely mistaken, which is not likely, for them to be
where they were, and now they are not continuing as they should
either. These may not be our marks at all.”
“But they are fresh.” Charash
touched the nearest gash, showing how his fingers still adhered
slightly to the sap. “So who made them if we didn't? Are you
saying there's someone else on this island?”
“There may be. It is rash to be
overly sure of anything here. And which is more likely...and less
troubling, that there is someone else on the island or that our own
marks suddenly disappeared by magic?” No one quite knew what to
say to that and they looked at each other uncomfortably. Quickly,
Coranna ordered Kolin to climb a tree and try to take a fresh bearing
from the central rock. Not just a practical necessity, the action
also helped break them out of their frightened torpor. Near at hand
was one of the ghost white trees that they had determined grew taller
then then other trees. Kolin approached carefully, avoiding the dark
shadows under the roots for fear of the white snake that might be
there. This mishap did not occur but, when Kolin put his hand on the
trunk, he drew back with a cry. “It's cold,” he gasped.
“So what? It's moon-blastedly hot
in here. Appreciate it,” she snapped back at him. He glowered at
her but turned and began climbing the tree with a pale, tight lipped
expression. Once he was out of sight above them, Coranna went over
and laid her hand on the tree. The bark was still damp from the
heavy humidity saturating everything under the trees. But, instead
of feeling warm, like welling sweat, the droplet of condensation were
cool, clammy, almost slimy. The unnaturalness of it was chilling but
hardly of immediate concern beside other dangers such as being lost
in the swamp. So she tried to think no more of it. Fortunately, her
action had had the desired result and the others' attention was
turned to staring intently up into the tree branches after Kolin,
rather than worrying or fighting with each other, though Charesh did
continue to mutter ominously under his breath. They were clearly
starting to get restless when Kolin's feet emerged from the tangle of
vines and moss hanging from the branches above.
“The sea is that way,” he said as
he dropped to the marshy ground and pointed in a direction almost
perpendicular to the way the notches had been leading them.
“We don't want to go to the sea,”
objected Melthas, conspicuously avoiding mentioning the misleading
notches. “We want to go to to our camp.”
“The sea is much easier to spot,”
Coranna said calmly. “The camp probably isn't even visible from
above because the clearing is still mostly covered by trees. Did you
see anything that might have been the camp?” She turned to Kolin.
He shook his head. “Maybe a little
darker patch southward but that could be anything.”
“Let's make for the shore and, when
we get closer, you can climb up and look around again. If all else
fails, we can walk along the tree line until we find the boat and
take our direction from that.” But, before they had gone more than
a few yards through the the tangled trees, they came on another line
of notches, traveling at a slight angle to their current course.
“Ignore it,” she said sharply as Melthas turned to follow it with
his eyes. “We have no reason to think it will lead us better than
the previous trails.” When they had gone far enough that they
could hear the waves coming in, penetrating the heavy still air,
gurgling around the roots of the mangroves, Kolin climbed another
tree and reported that the dark shape was much nearer now off to the
left and that, in addition, he could see a small dot bobbing on the
waves some distance out which could well be their ship. By
considering the distance and angle between the two, Charash
determined it was likely that dark area in the trees was the clearing
in which they were camped so they made for it, reaching it without
incident for Charash's navigational skills were every bit as good as
his arrogance promised.
Conditions at the camp had not
improved in their absence. Darvesh, Zemeron,
and several others were now showing open signs of wound fever and
slumped to one side of the clearing was the body of a man who had
died in the night, from what it was impossible to tell. A heated
discussion was in progress regarding what to do with the body. Most
were considering how to negate the risk of spreading disease or
attracting predators, specifically, would dumping the body in the
swamp be sufficient and, if so, how far away would they need to take
it? But a vocal minority were distressed that this would constitute
desecration of the body. Giving it to the sea, assuming they could
carry it that far, was also not acceptable as this essentially meant
feeding it to the monster.
Nemid, who had been left in charge of
the camp was also in an agitated state. “There's something out
there,” he hissed, rolling his eyes towards the trees.
“Did you see or hear anything?”
asked Coranna as she set down the water cask she had been lugging.
“No. Its been silent as the grave
here. We could hear you coming a mile off.” She made a face,
thinking how this fact would make hunting an almost impossible
challenge. “But I felt it watching me.”
“Do you have any idea what it is?”
“Of course not. I couldn't see
anything. I just know it likes to watch. I don't even know if there
is one thing or many. Sometimes I feel like I'm being watched on all
sides.” Even as he spoke, Coranna felt her hair prickle across her
scalp and knew she was feeling the same.
“Maybe its just in the mind or an
effect of being in this place,” she said heavily. “I felt it all
last night and then during our journey. Its just too pervasive to be
one thing.”
“No, maybe it's many things,” he
said grimly. “But, whatever it is, better it than that hell beast
out there.”
Moving to the center of the camp, she
raised her voice, which was a strain. She could feel her words
pushing against the heavy humidity and the sense of oppression. “We
have found water,” she declared, her words ringing in the dead air.
“Water rations are now suspended but food rations still apply. We
will arrange continued searches for new sources of food.” Several
people looked up hopefully and there was some scattered cheering,
which was loud in the heavy air. She paused a moment before
continuing, “and we dump the body in the ocean.” Grim reality
came crashing down on them and the light went out of their faces.
Some voiced protests, which she ignored, while others shuffled off to
drink their fill of the new water but without the enthusiasm they had
shown moments before, not meeting her eyes. Coranna knew well that
her approach pleased none of them as it did not provide dignified
burial but still involved the effort of dragging the body to the
beach but this was of no concern to her as her solution was best from
a perspective of survival. Having a rotting body nearer to hand was
simply too risky and it would rot soon in the heat and humidity.
Also, though they might be displeased now, this was better for moral,
as none would have the disappointment and resentment of having
another's way chosen over theirs. Her bid for leadership they had
accepted without question. She felt the tension go out of her
shoulders at that one hurdle safely passed.
She had not been sure they would.
Certainly the weeks at sea had won their respect, for her competence,
courage, and drive, and during the panicked flight here they had
followed her. But now, in the light of day, cooler heads might
prevail. She was, after all, still largely a stranger to most,
several were young and fool-hearty, and there was always the other,
glaring, reason why they might resist following her. If they had,
she would have had to force them, maybe cross swords with a rival to
prove herself for, without a strong leader, they would founder and
die and she could not sail the ship single-handedly, but no one else
had seemed ready to step forward. Even the captain had accepted
passively, sitting with his hat in this hands, staring at the ground,
doubtless thinking of his ship and of the horror that barred him from
it. Only Charash continued to look at her with hard eyes but she
could not tell if it were anger towards her or simply his general
bitterness towards the world. In any case, she could manage him. He
was the most capable of the lot and a show of respect and willingness
to share command would go a long way to securing his cooperation.
After dumping the body in the sea,
Coranna, Dorgon, Carge, and Domo walked the perimeter of the island,
wading through the sinking sand and knee high water being far easier
than trying to navigate the twists and turns and fetid air under the
mangroves, to say nothing of the greater visibility. In many ways,
it was a relief to feel the wind and see the sky and have a sense of
distance with the horizon stretching away to the edge of sight,
rather than have to struggle to fully extend one's arms. But not all
of it was reassuring. The boat still rested out to sea, the ocean
currents too weak here to drag it from the sand bar where it it had
grounded. But further still, they saw the dark coils undulating up
and down, ending in a tail like two crescent moons. The creature had
not departed yet and was lingering as Nemid had warned.
“It's not so bad,” said Coranna
grimly, noting the downcast looks on some of the faces around her.
“At least this way we know where it is.”
About halfway around the island they
found a small tumble of rocks and sand, not really another island,
more like the tip of a sand bar high enough to remain at least
partially above water, even at high tide. It was separated from the
mainland by a wide channel mostly shallow enough for wading and easy
swimming but with a deep trench like a black gash running through it.
The island itself was mostly bare sand or soil with some scrubby
brush. Here there were only a few mangroves and none of the strange
pale ones but they did find bird nests and were able to collect
several eggs, though the birds themselves, about the size of sparrows
but in brilliant colors, with long tail feathers and slender piercing
beaks, fought back, pecking viciously. Domo managed to catch one in
an empty sack and so they returned to camp with at least some food to
supplement their stores. All during the trek, Coranna kept a sharp
eye out for any signs of the others who might be on the island but
was unable to find anything to give her a clue as to their nature.
As soon as they stepped back under the
trees, the tension in the air came crashing down on them, almost
knocking them to their knees. It seemed even more intense than
before. Perhaps they had only forgotten what it was like after being
away from it for so long...so long being only a few hours. In
silence, they followed the path of notches they had cut into the
trees and Coranna was relieved that this time the marks were still
where she remembered leaving them. Here and there, sap like dark
blood ran from a cut that had gone too deep. The white trees seemed
almost to glow in the dim light. The oppressive weight seemed to
grow more and more as they drew closer to camp and then another smell
began to compete with the normal scent of the rot in the swamp. It
was the sour odor of smoke on damp air. The opening into the
clearing was still in the same place but seemed, somehow, to have
become even narrower and more vine covered. They had to squeeze and
struggle to make it through and, once they did, the smoke rolled over
them like a gray strangling wave.
Wisely, the men remaining in the camp
had decided to start a fire to heat water for washing wounds and
clothes, though where they had found dry wood Coranna could not
guess. Probably they hadn't which, at least partially, accounted for
all the smoke. But, even so, at least some of it should have
filtered out through the canopy but, instead, the laced branches
seemed like a net holding it in. Already, her eyes were beginning to
run and she was coughing. They would be fortunate if some of those
too sick to move to cleaner air had not already been smothered.
Plainly, fire making would be out of the question in the future
except as absolutely necessary and soon they had other worries. By
the third day, three more men lay dead, Darvesh among them. Coranna
concealed her grief with difficulty as they cast his body out into
the ocean with the others, for the deep spawn to devour. He had been
a good bench mate, always giving an equal share of effort, even when
the sea was rough and he was weary.
As the days passed, they became
accustomed to life on the island, though it never became easy or
pleasant. Every few days a small party would be sent to gather fresh
water at the lake, along with whatever food they could quickly grab.
There was still no sign of a predator but the skittishness of the
squirrel beasts made them loath to linger long. There was food in
the swamp as well, though none of it appetizing. Some of the glossy
vines, green so deep it looked almost like black glass, produced red
berries, weak and watery in color and flavor both, which were not
only unappealing but would also produce gut wrenching pains and
vomiting if one ate too many, which no one would every choose to do
if any better food had been available. There were also fleshy masses
of plant matter that could be found in some of the more solid ground,
around their camp or in other places where enough sediment had built
up around tree roots to form a kind of rotting soil but no one even
wanted to try eating this until the uttermost end of need was
reached. The fact that the growths themselves resembled the pallid,
swollen flesh of drowned people made them unappealing, to say the
least, and frightening to the more superstitious in the group.
Beyond that, the fact that they were completely saturated with the
dirty swamp water made them foul tasting and possibly dangerous as
well, until Dorgon got the idea of cutting them up and hanging them
to dry in the sun on the shore line, which made the flesh shrink to
firm, chewy nodules
Other than this, there were few edible
plants on the island and also few animals. They had managed to catch
brief glimpses of small birds or climbing animals, but they were so
rare and so swift and silent that attempting to hunt them was
virtually impossible. Some of the men had tried making traps for
them but had been unable to snare anything thus far. The large
squirrel beasts could be hunted but they were swift and wary as well
and a single one was not sufficient to feed the entire camp so their
main source of nutrients came from the fish. The oily dark swamp
fish were always plentiful, if unappealing and so stupid they were
easy to catch. They could be found almost anywhere in the swamp but
were most plentiful in more open spaces, where the trees were set
farther apart, though the branches overhead were still too thick to
allow anything more than an occasional shaft of sunlight to filter
down to them. There were a few such spaces, including one not far
from the camp, that were also more directly in the flow of water from
the lake out to the ocean, almost what could be termed a river,
though here, as in most places, the current was slight, which meant a
sizable expanse of water, comparatively free of mud and sludge,
though it was still hardly fit for drinking or washing. It was in
places like these that the fish liked best to congregate, flapping
lazily around the open spaces in the center, away from the twisting
roots of the trees and feeding on the few insects on the island, that
came here, attracted to the greater availability of air and light.
These were mostly in the likeness of rather short, squat, dragonflies
with stubby black and green bodies. But, instead of the delicate
crystal wings of their kind, they had dull opaque wings, rather like
those of a moth and, most unnerving of all, they made almost no sound
when flying.
Sometimes, they could even find fish
here that had swam down from the lake or up from the sea. All they
knew was that these were real fish, with wholesome flesh, not the
stunted, tainted creatures of the swamp. They were a dull slate blue
color with small eyes and watery yellow bellies. Ordinarily, they
would not have seemed particularly desirable but, compared to the
slimy gray green swamp fish, they seemed almost beautiful. They were
rare enough in these open pools and could be found nowhere else but
the sight of one was always a source of great excitement, at least to
most. Coranna usually groaned internally when one was sighted as it
was unlikely they would catch enough of the clean fish to feed
everyone and then she would be left to deal the the anger,
resentment, and low moral of those who were left out. Worse, in
order to maintain her authority as leader, it was necessary for her
to have a hand in the decision which could result in bitterness and
compromised loyalty towards herself personally.
The constant fishing expeditions
created other concerns as well. They had no nets and no way to make
them and so had to make do with various baskets and sacks from the
ship. Ordinary fish might have been reluctant to swim into such
obvious traps but the swamp fish were not bright even for fish and
probably mostly blind as well. The difficulty came from the fact
that the sack soon began to rot from being frequently immersed in
filthy swamp water and the constant humidity in the air was producing
a similar effect on their clothes, their blankets, and even their
skin. The slightest nick could become infected if it came in contact
with the swamp water. The only, weak defense they had against this
pestilence was sun and salt. The sacks and blankets and other cloths
would be taken down to the shore every few days and dried on
makeshift racks they built, just like the tubers and the fish.
Unfortunately, they soon noticed fish would sometimes vanish from the
racks, especially the more appetizing ones. They began mounting
guards whenever they had manpower to spare. It was a dull and
wearying job so it was usually assigned to the younger boys who
weren't good for much else. But, despite this, they still lost more
fish than they could well afford in the circumstances.
For the crew themselves, the only
defense, save prayer, against the wound fever, was to go immediately
and rinse the cut with ocean water, then wrap in cloth similarly
cleaned, but, of course, this did little good for those, like
Zemeron,
who were already infected. Considering he had fallen ill on almost
the first day, it was a miracle that he still lived but, it also
meant they had to allot a portion of their meager rations to feeding
him all that time. They would also visit the off-shore islands from
time to time, to gather bird eggs, sea creatures from the rock pools,
and seaweed. The small rocky islands were almost completely
submerged at high tide and slimy tangled plants were left piled high
on the shore when the tide went out again. They could pack sacks
full and they were light enough swim back to shore with them strapped
on their backs. This was their main source of food apart from the
fish and was almost as unpleasant to eat.
It was on the return from one of these
excursions to gather seaweed that the next disaster befell. Coranna
had become suspicious as soon as she was within hearing distance of
the camp as there were none of the normal sounds of camp activity or
even casual conversation. True, the heavy air and the feeling of
them being watched created an urge to be as quiet as possible, but
this silence was unwonted even for the island. There were, however,
other sounds, groans and coughing, mixed with mumbled off key
snatches of singing. Doubling her efforts, she crashed through the
swamp at the closest equivalent to a run the muck and tangled roots
would allow, further delayed by the fact that the opening in the
trees had moved to the other side of the clearing and she had to go
all the way around. Inside, the men lay about on the ground, several
smeared with fresh blood. Melthas rolled over, leaving a damp red
patch on the moss from an undressed wound, but he grinned at her,
teeth flashing behind pain stiffened lips, and his eyes dilated and
black, the pupils far too large.
“What happened here?” she
demanded, leaning over him.
His grin strained wider. “We were
victorious,” he declared proudly.
“Against what?”
“The thing came at us from the
trees.”
“Here?” She glanced around
quickly.
“No. We had gone to pick fruit and
we just found some. It was sweet, sweeter than a king's wine.”
“You've never had king's wine,”
another man called in not unkind mockery. Coranna turned to look at
him and saw he had the same dark dilated eyes.
Melthas paid no heed to him and went
on. “It came at us relentlessly. It was a rat as big as a horse
and it could open its mouth so that the top would touch the top of
the tree branches and the bottom would be underwater. Its tail
wrapped around us like a snake and there were grasping hands
everywhere. Perhaps there were many of the things but I only
remember seeing one. Everything seemed blue tinted like looking
through colored glass or under water.”
“And it caused these wounds?” she
asked, doing her best not to show her impatience. Though his
blathering was annoying, it might provide other useful information.
Even as she spoke, she was bending forward to examine the wound more
closely. It was a shallow, ragged cut, the kind that produced a
great deal of pain and blood but little actual damage. The blood
from it was pure red and the same consistency as normal blood. Now
the blood was slightly darker and thicker as the cut appeared to be
clotting but nothing unusual, no sign of infection or venom.
She leaned closer and sniffed,
smelling only the harsh metallic tang of the blood. But no, there
was something else, very faint, a sickly sweet cloying smell, coming
not from the wound but lingering in the air around him. She bent
closer still, towards his face, and he half sat up, straining towards
her like a drunkard trying for a kiss in a seedy bar. She gave a cry
of rage and struck him across the face. A little fresh blood gushed
from the wound on his arm but she had recognized the sickly smell on
his breath. Going over to the nearby man who had spoken, then to
several others, she found them all the same, lethargic with staring
eyes and cloying breath. Then, on the ground, she found some rough,
pinkish green rinds, slick with syrup. She lifted one gingerly
between her fingers and from it wafted, far more strongly, the same
odor that was on the breath of most of the crew.
“What have you been eating?” she
snarled.
“The fruit is good,” cried Melthas
over eagerly. “Sweet. Tasty. But we had to fight hard for it.
The thing came at us and it got Carge. But we drove it off.” He
drew himself up proudly. “We gave it what it deserved but it got
Carge and we all must be careful now. The beast is still out there.”
“You idiots. The fruit is drugged
and now your face stuffing has gotten half the crew injured and one
man dead. Always bring unfamiliar food back to camp before eating
it.”
“But the thing, it knew what we were
about. It fought to defend its precious fruits. We had to be
quick.”
“Those fruits were not worth the
price you paid for them, not even close. From now on, stick to
fishing.” Several of the men groaned at this, at least those
conscious enough to know what was being said, for the foul oily fish
were universally hated. They had been particularly eager for other
sources of food since the less disgusting fish had begun regularly
disappearing from their drying racks.
“But the thing...”
“...probably no more than a drunken
imagining. But to be safe, stick close to camp. You can fish and
gather roots and tubers nearby with no trouble.” Melthas looked
like he wanted to say more but her hard eyes made his mouth lock
shut. Did she really believe what she had said? It was possible
there was a mid-sized predator on the island or a group of smaller
ones, after all the uneasiness of the animals she had seen indicated
as much, to say nothing of the fish disappearing, but not a rat whose
jaws touched the sky. And, even if there were such a beast, there
was no reason to assume the crew had encountered it. The injuries
might have been gotten by fumbling about in the muck, tripping over
trees roots or in a confrontation with a smaller and much less
dangerous creature. But how it had happened or the idiocy of the
crew hardly mattered at the moment. Wounds needed to be cleaned and
bound so it fell to her to play nursemaid, along with the few sailors
who had not eaten the fruit or whose dosage had been mild enough that
they were still mostly coherent. A few sharp words set them heating
water and preparing bandages. As always, lighting a fire produced
dense choking smoke as if there were no air escape, although the air
here usually seemed fresher than elsewhere in the swamp. However,
there was no choice at this time, unless she wanted to risk losing
half the crew to the wound fever.
Dead wood for the fire was running low
and she did not want to send anyone out to fetch more when there
might be a predator about and they were not at their peak ability.
In the end, she sent the younger boys to search about for wood and to
fetch salt water from the sea. Being too young to be much good in a
fight, they had not been included in the hunting party and so were
uninjured and, the grimmest part of her thought, their lack of
strength and skill meant their lost would be lest costly. It was
true that the beach was not in the same direction that the foraging
party had originally gone but it was very easy to lose one's way in
the strangely shifting environment of the swamp and who knew where
the men might have blundered in their drugged state. In any case,
she was well aware she might be sending them to their death. She
tried not to think of it as she focused her attention on cleaning and
binding the wounds. From time to time they would flit back into the
clearing like ghost children or forest spirits to leave a cask of
salt water or an armful of fire wood and she could feel a fleeting
surge of relief to know they still lived before they vanished again
into the dark steamy maw of the surrounding jungle and she did not
know if they would ever return.
Thankfully, the men were sober by they
time they woke the next morning but, trying to question them proved
nearly as futile as the day before as they had almost no memory of
what had happened, only vague impressions of a great dark shape
swooping down on them and a mouth opening wider and wider.
Fortunately, however, in the cold light of the morning--the light was
cold though the humid air never would be--these images seemed more
like horrific nightmares than the exultant victory of the previous
day. Even Melthas was appalled at the wounds he sported and all were
in agreement that they had to be even more vigilant than before. No
one must travel in a group of less than three. In particular, the
boys, who, thankfully, had survived, must not go anywhere without
experienced fighters to protect them and everyone must be wary at all
times, which, above all, meant no more eating of the fruit. With his
wound throbbing at its most painful, when it was just beginning to
close, even Melthas did not object, though he bitterly bemoaned the
necessity of this ban and she could see some of the other men nod in
agreement. They would bear watching, their resolve like to waver as
the fear waned and pain of their wounds lessened.
And in this she was proved right.
Everyone was extremely wary for the next week, glancing over their
shoulders whenever they ventured from camp and starting at shadows or
any rustling and creaking in the trees, a most unfortunate state of
affairs in a place where the branches seemed almost able to rustle
and creak at will, without the aid of wind. But with time, as their
wounds healed and no further disasters befell, their resolve wavered
and she would sometimes catch a faint whiff of the sickly sweet fruit
when the foraging parties returned. Then, Domo mentioned seeing a
black shape moving through the trees near the lake, too swift to see
clearly, eventually vanishing behind the waterfall on the island, and
everyone became scrupulously cautious again. This too became a
cycle, shifting between fear and complacence, with the periodic
reports of the black shadow sending everyone scuttling for safety
again. And yet, there were no more attacks and Coranna remained half
convinced that most of these reports were no more than the vivid
imaginings of too anxious minds, until she saw it herself.
Their supplies were running low, due
to the many illnesses that had reduced their number of food
gatherers, and a larger foraging party had been sent out to bring
back as much as possible. With her were Gorlab, Ayad, Domo, and
Nemid, all loaded with carrying sacks and makeshift spears. She knew
they should have just stopped at the first place they found with a
sufficient concentration of fish, but the others were weary of the
sour, slimy creatures, on which they had been relying heavily the
past fortnight and she let herself be persuaded for the sake of moral
and because she too would have been glad of a change. At least this
way, she could be sure they were gathering quality food and not
sneaking off for more of the fruit. But, because she had only been
thinking to head towards the fishing area she did not know how best
to get to one of the places where they were wont to gather roots or
berries and so they pressed on, the swamp muck dragging at their
feet. They were soon weary but the more difficult the trek the more
determined the others were to press on and find something to make the
hardship worthwhile. Still, at length, they were forced to rest,
leaning against the lichen covered trees and breathing hard.
“ Look, there, in the trees ahead,”
Ayad cried suddenly, pointing into the canopy and a little off to the
right.
“You're seeing what isn't there
again,” growled Gorlab. “Keep your mind on the mission. We
can't eat shadows.”
“If it's the shadow of something we
can catch then we can,” Ayad shot back. “But I'm more concerned
that it not eat us and...”
“There it is,” Domo cried,
pointing in the same direction. Gorlab shot back a condescending
reply but Coranna did not bother to listen for, as her eyes followed
Domo's hand, she saw it, a dark shape crouching on one of the boughs
away to the right. In the gloom, the darker shadow was hard to pick
out among the shifting leaves but it looked rather like a gangly
monkey, half squatting, half clinging on the branch but, before her
eyes could focus more fully, it seemed almost to uncoil and flowed
away up the trunk, vanishing into the darkness and foliage.
“You saw it too?” demanded Ayad.
“Tell him you saw it. We are not mad.”
“I did see, “ Coranna replied
coolly. “There was something there but I know not what it was or
if it was dangerous. Let us continue, but be wary.” And so they
went forward but not without nervous glances in the direction Domo
had pointed. Even Gorlab, Coranna noted, for all his bluster, was
not above darting his gaze about from time to time. Perhaps her more
level headed confirmation of the sight had given it credence in his
mind. Nothing out of the ordinary happened but, from time to time,
as they went forward, now one, now another of them would see the
black figure, now to the right, now to the left, now before them, for
a brief second before it whisked out of sight in the gloom and they
began to hear scrabbling creaking noises that might have been made by
something large moving in the canopy, but could also have been
smaller creatures, or the wind, or the windless movement of the
trees, or their imagination.
Suddenly, right up ahead, they saw it,
a dark shape splayed flat against the paler gray of one of the tree
trunks, looking almost like the splattered blot of a squashed insect.
This time, even Gorlab saw it. He wasted no time in chagrin at
being wrong, or even in thought, and, propelling his bulk through the
thigh deep water with surprising speed, flung his spear at it. Any
thoughts that this might have only been an oddly shaped patch of dark
moss were immediately dispelled as the spear pierced the dark shape.
They heard a pained squeal and saw the splayed limbs flail as the the
thing began trying to haul itself up the trunk.
“Don't let it get away,” yelled
Coranna, rushing forward to throw her own spear and having done so,
she did not stop, but continued to race forward as she drew her
sword, not flinching as a third spear whined past her. As she drew
closer, the amorphous blackness resolved into dark gray fur, the
angular protrusions into limbs, a head and tail. One of the squirrel
creatures hung there, pinned to the bark by the spears, still feebly
twitching. Sheathing her sword, she pulled out her long knife and
quickly dispatched it. While this would not be quite enough for a
full meal for the entire crew, it was definitely a great step forward
on their quest for food. As she wiped her blade, the others came
hurrying up, their faces showing obvious relief after seeing her give
the killing blow.
“Well, there is your monster,”
said Gorlab dismissively. “Even if you do see something that's
actually there, it's like to not be dangerous at all. But you were
right about one thing. We can eat this.” There was a sprinkle of
rueful, shaky laughter in response as they set to work, pulling their
spears out of the body and stuffing it into the largest sack they had
brought. Even then, it did not entirely fit and the tail and back
paws were left hanging over the lip of the sack. After that, they
went on, in much higher spirits, as if this one mistake meant that
there could be no true danger at all. The others were laughing and
talking now, though still in low voices and Coranna realized, if
there truly were a predator stalking them, she would be hard pressed
to hear it over the noise but, nevertheless, felt less worry over
this than she might otherwise have. The bag containing the hot,
heavy, smelly carcass was passed from one carrier to another as they
went on but even that they minded far less than in normal
circumstances and there was no grumbling as they pressed on into the
swamp without finding more food.
Coranna was carrying the sack, bent
almost double, with the sweat running into her eyes and fouling her
hair so her braid lay heavy across her shoulder like wet rope, when
she began to smell it, another odor beyond their own body filth and
the general rot of the swamp, sickeningly sweet like rotting fruit,
charnal even in the fetid swamp. In another moment, she knew it,
fruit indeed and a source of rot if not rotten itself. She tried to
push them forward and get away from it but the others were weary
again and stopped to rest, just where the smell was strongest. Ayad,
who had just taken the bag with the dead squirrel beast from her,
staggered to a halt, leaning against one of the white trees and
breathing hard and she dared not insist they go on for fear he would
let the sack drag in the water.
“Perhaps someone should climb up and
take a look around” said Domo as they rested.
“Why would we do that?” asked
Coranna shortly. “We aren't aiming for anywhere in particular
right now.”
“No, but we might see some place
promising to look for food.” She was about to scornfully point out
that food was not something that could easily be seen at this
distance but the others joined in with such eager assent that she
felt her refusal was like to do more harm than good. Nevertheless,
she strongly suspected this was a ploy to get access to the fruit so
she insisted on climbing the tree herself, loath as she was to do so,
for she was as tired as the rest of them. Grumbling to herself, she
stepped up to the pale trunk and began to climb. As was frequently
the case, the white bark of the tree felt strangely cold to the
touch. Almost, it seemed, it burned, like grasping cold iron in the
winter. As usual, she wondered how much of this was her imagination,
her mind playing tricks on her under the constant strain of survival.
Surely, nothing in this humid swamp could feel that cold. But,
still, she had to will herself not to let go. By the time she got
above the first layer of leaves, her hands ached from the strain of
gripping and she was cursing her companions for their foolish
insistence on this. The smell of the drugged fruit was now very
strong, making her dizzy. Looking up, she could see them, like scaly
hanging sacks clustered around a dark opening high on the trunk. The
angle, the perspective were too much for her muddled mind and she
reeled, almost loosening her grip. But, as she teetered on the
branch, there came one second of horrifying clarity and she flung
herself forward, pressing against the trunk and panting desperately.
It took her a moment to steady herself before going on and the
constant heavy sick smell she had to endure as she rested did not
help mattered at all.
Now, she was right in among them, the
heavy bulbs hanging down and blocking her access to the branches
around her and she cast about desperately for a handhold before she
lost her balance in her nausea. Turning back towards the trunk she
saw the dark opening she had caught a glimpse of from below now
yawned directly level with her shoulders. Groping back towards it
she felt her fingers contact wood and hardened them into claws,
gripping the edges of the hole as she tried to adjust her head to
avoid hitting the fruit. Hopefully no creatures lived in the hollow,
ready to attack her precariously clutching fingers. But, perhaps, it
held a nest or eggs that would provide extra food. Carefully, she
peered into the dark opening and, at first, could see nothing after
the comparatively bright shadows outside. Something gleamed in the
darkness and, as she leaned closer, she was overwhelmed by a strange
sickening odor, a sharp metallic smell, like that of the acid thieves
in the cities used to strip locks, combined with a rank, meaty
stench. As her eyes adjusted, she saw the entire inside of the
opening was quite a bit larger than most such tree hollows and was
covered with glistening slime that wept from the inner bark like
liquid crystal, slowly oozing down in a continuous sheet.
At first she was so stunned by the
strange sight and the smell that she barely noticed the scattered
white flecks and dark spots in the shining morass. Then, in a split
second, everything was cast into sickening clarity. The white spots
were pathetic huddles of bone, the skeletons of birds, lizards, and
small beasts the size of and possibly similar to rats and shrews.
Most were largely submerged in the jelly-like mass, through which
they could be dimly seen, but occasionally a rib or part of a skull
protruded. The dark masses were even worse, bodies on which meat
remained, maybe even some fur. And it was not simple decay. She
could tell by the way the liquid crawled over them, leaving ruts of
eroded flesh in its wake, by one creature whose head, above the slime
was still intact, staring with glazed eyes but its submerged hind
body was only bone, that it was indeed an acid, eating away at them
slowly and horrifyingly, that the tree was eating them.
Just as she thought it could grow no
worse, the corner of her eye was caught by a strange blur. Something
was moving there in the dark. Something was still alive. She did
not want to look but was unable to stop herself and, as her eyes
adjusted further, she saw a small bird, caught near the opening,
desperately fluttering one wing. The other was partially covered by
the ooze and had already been stripped of its feathers and outer
skin, leaving raw red oozing flesh and muscle. She could not bring
herself to imagine the condition of its thankfully hidden belly. As
she clutched the lip of the opening, frozen with disgust, it opened
its beak and gave a weak, shivering cry of agony.
Then red rage seized Coranna. Letting
go with one hand, she groped wildly until she found the hilt of her
dagger. Her wrist crocked at an awkward angle, she reached into the
opening and bent her arm, stabbing blindly back towards herself until
she felt the crunch of the blade piercing the skull and felt the hot
blood splash on her hand. Its pain was over but her anger was not
quenched. The tree would still consume the body and more and more
over the years. With a broken cry, she drew her arm back and began
to hack wildly at the opening. The dagger was not the best tool for
the task but it sheered off the bark quickly, exposing the even
whiter vulnerable young wood underneath, into which it cut a wide
gash and the sap began to ooze like blood.
At the first cut, the entire forest
became still, not just the tree itself but all the trees around her
so there was utter silence save for her sobbing gasps and the meaty
thud of her dagger striking wood. Then a faint shiver began to form
about the roots and came rippling up the trunk, magnifying until it
became a massive recoil. The upper part of the tree tossed and shook
as if in a high gale. The limb she was standing on rocked wildly and
the opening she was holding jibbed in a completely different
direction. Her feet were sliding, her shoulder wrenched as she was
flung about. Instinctively, she dropped the knife and tried to find
a grip with her second hand but it was already too late. The tree
convulsed even more violently and she found herself pitching
backwards, hurtling down, the sun flecked canopy wheeling dizzily
above her and growing ever fainter by the second, passing branches
slashing her skin like whips, and she could no longer be sure if that
was solely the result of the gravity of her fall. Then darkness
overcame her, mercifully blotting out all else.
When she came to, Coranna thought she
must still be in the tree for she could feel her body rocking, though
now it was a far gentler and more regular movement. Then, gradually,
it dawned on her that she was wet to the skin and every bit of her
hurt. She must have been saved from serious injury by falling into
an especially deep section of the foul swamp water that now drenched
her. She tried to open her eyes but they felt as if they were
swollen shut and she could feel the stiffness of dried blood on the
side of her face when she tried to move the muscles there.
Eventually, she managed to crack her eyes open to a slit and see the
tossing branches far above her, but they were not just waving in the
wind—or without wind, as the case might be—they were going past
as she was born forward slowly with a gentle rocking motion.
Her companions had made a sling from
tattered cloaks and blankets and were bearing her along in the
sagging conveyance, just barely keeping it clear of the murky water.
She was surprised it had held her weight this long, however long
“this” was.” From the blood and the swelling and the throbbing
headache she guessed she must have taken at least a glancing blow to
the head on the way down. Down...after the tree had thrown her off.
After she had seen... The horror, combined with the physical pain of
the fall overcame her and she vomited. But her well trained body
instinctively rolled to the side, to cast into the swamp and
eliminate the risk of choking, and part of her was relieved that she
was able to move. She could hear a babble of voices, expressing
concern but they also sounded pleased for the same reason. She could
recognize the tone but not make out specific words. But, as soon as
she heard the voices turn towards questioning, she closed her eyes
again and turned her face away, pretending not to be aware. She
would not tell them. Yes, for their own protection, they should know
that the trees were sentient and carnivorous and she would tell them
that as soon as her mind cleared enough to work out how much they
needed to know and how best to break it to them. But for the rest,
she could not bear to speak it, to give verbal confirmation to the
abomination and, for her own safety as well as theirs, she could not
risk the shock full knowledge might deal to the others' minds.
Of course, even leaving out the grisly
details, things could not go on as they had before. Now, when the
branches sighed in the still air, when if they cut wood for a fire
the air went dead, or the openings to the clearing and the path marks
they had made shifted or vanished, now they knew why. She could see
the furtive glances the men made at one another or over their
shoulders when any of these things happened. They also knew why
there were so few birds and insects and why the ones there were had
learned to move about so silently. They did not, however, know the
purpose of the sweet drunken fruit for she had not told them, lest
knowledge of the white trees hunting method turn out to be more
burden then their troubled minds could bear. But she became even
more fanatical that the fruit was not to be eaten, claiming increased
fears of impaired judgment in the hostile environment. If any of the
crew came back with even the faintest trace of the cloying odor on
his breath, he was in for the most virulent dressing down.
Fortunately, Charash, while he clearly thought the extent of her rage
was slightly unbalanced, agreed with the safety precautions for the
most part and so backed up all but her most harsh judgments.
©Amanda Hamlin 2024
