The Mad Voyage of Prince Malock (10 page)

'Might' was the operative word because above him he
could hear movement. It sounded like a hundred snakes were
slithering across the ground at once, like the branches of trees
were creaking, like the entire jungle was coming alive. A loud,
long scream pierced the air, making his heart skip a beat, and then
the scream abruptly ceased and the entire jungle went silent once
again.

For the next several hours, Malock didn't move a
muscle. He just silently prayed to Kano, to Grinf, and to every
other deity he had ever paid homage to in his short life (which, he
realized, wasn't very much). It was all he could do.

-

“I'm going after him and there's no way any of you
are going to stop me.”

Vashnas stood near the davit on the port, her
fingers clenched tightly around a gun in her hands that she
obviously didn't know how to hold correctly. Before her, Banika
guarded the rowboat, leaning against it with her arms folded across
her chest. Though Banika's face was as inscrutable as ever, she was
clearly ready to tumble if necessary.

Kinker observed this scene from a safe distance,
several dozen yards down from them. Normally, at this time of day,
he and the other fishermen would have been hauling in the trawl for
lunch, but because the
Iron Wind
had been stationary all
day, the fishing crew pretty much had nothing to do until Malock
returned. Kinker had decided to spend his time looking at Ikadori
Island, as he had never seen a jungle before.

Frankly, he was surprised Vashnas had waited so long
to try this. When Forl and the other sailors returned with the news
of Malock's decision to rescue Sumsa from the jungle five hours
ago, Kinker had been certain that Vashnas would immediately go
after him. Instead, she had disappeared below deck, missed out on
lunch, and only emerged a few minutes ago, armed to the teeth with
knives, guns, and hunting gear that Kinker hadn't even known were
in the hold.

In spite of Vashnas's impressive array of weapons,
Banika hardly looked terrified. The boatswain was always a
difficult read, but if Kinker had to describe her attitude right
now, it was confidence. It was an amused kind of confidence, as if
Banika was thinking,
Oh, so you think you can get past me with
all of those toys of yours? Think again.

“You heard what Forl said the Captain told him,”
said Banika, her tone even and calm. “If he doesn't return in six
hours—and it's only been five so far—then we're supposed to turn
this ship back north and return home. We're not supposed to send
anyone after him.”

“I'm not asking for your permission,” Vashnas said.
“I want to go, and I'll fight you if I have to.”

Banika didn't even move. “That would be an unwise
move on your part, Vashnas. Very unwise.”

Vashnas flashed a confident smile. “Says the
middle-aged woman. As much as I respect Malock, I've often wondered
why he chose someone so ...
old
to be his first mate. You
might still have some moves, but I doubt that aging body of yours
is as fast as it was when you were younger.”

Now Kinker didn't have the best eyes in the world,
but he was pretty sure that his vision didn't mess up when Vashnas
dropped her gun and grabbed her right wrist while Banika actually
smirked ever-so-slightly. It took Kinker a moment to spot the knife
Banika held in her hand. Where she had gotten it from, he wasn't
sure. Nor was he sure that he wanted to know.

“True, I may not be as young as I used to be,” said
Banika, “but you forget that with age comes experience. And I have
plenty of that.”

“When Malock returns, I'll tell him you hurt me,”
Vashnas grumbled. “He won't like that.”

“And I'll tell him that I was keeping you from
getting yourself killed,” said Banika. “Which do you think he'll
respond to better?”

Kinker thought Vashnas was going to give up, but
much to his surprised, she ripped off a portion of her right sleeve
and tied it around her bleeding wrist as a makeshift bandage. Then
she looked Banika straight in the eye.

“I think he'd respond better to me making a rescue
attempt, personally,” said Vashnas. “And that was a neat trick you
pulled back there, with that knife. Too bad it's not enough to make
me give up.”

Banika opened her mouth to say something, but then
her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell face
forward. She would have hit the deck face first if Vashnas had not
caught her instead.

“What did you do?” said Kinker, abandoning his spot
by the bulwarks and walking over to her. “Did you hit her?”

“No,” said Vashnas as she gently lowered the
boatswain onto the deck. “I—”

“I thought Banika needed a nap,” said a deep voice
behind them.

Kinker and Vashnas turned around to see Bifor
standing not far behind them. He held his short wand up, pointing
it directly at Banika, his expression cool and unreadable.

“You didn't put her in a coma or anything, did you?”
said Vashnas, glancing over her shoulder at the unconscious
Banika.

Bifor shook his head. “Just cast a basic sleep spell
on her, that's all. She'll wake up refreshed in a few hours, so I'd
say this actually benefits her quite well.”

“But why did you do that?” said Kinker, looking up
at the large mage. “She didn't do anything to you.”

“Because I wish to save the Captain, too, of
course,” said Bifor. “Mostly because I am convinced that he is the
only thing keeping this crew together. If he died, do you think we
would be organized enough to mount a return voyage home, even under
Banika's leadership? I doubt it, myself.”

Vashnas smiled. “Then come along, Bifor, because I'm
going to Ikadori Island right now and I need all the help I can
get. Kinker, do you want to come, too?”

Kinker felt torn. On one hand, he didn't want to
face whatever was lurking in the jungle, especially after seeing
what happened to Danaf. Even with Bifor and Vashnas, he wasn't sure
they would survive.

On the other hand, he realized Bifor was right.
Without Malock's strong leadership, the racial tensions bubbling
just beneath the surface would burst out and the entire crew would
likely fall into chaos. True, they would still have Banika to lead
them, but as strong as she was, he wasn't so sure she would make
for the best replacement Captain.

So he said, “All right. But we should get a few
others first. Three people might not be enough to rescue
Malock.”

Vashnas sighed, but said, “All right. Grab three
others. Quickly. Doesn't matter who. We've got to go before it's
too late.”

-

Malock didn't realize it, but he must have dozed off
sometime in the last hour because he jerked awake when he felt
something crawl over his legs. He raised head high enough just in
time to see the tail of a snake slither somewhere into the
darkness.

The sight of the snake made him start. The sudden
movement sent a jolt of pain up his spine, forcing him to groan
louder than he would have liked. When nothing attacked him, he
allowed himself to sit up, but slowly because his back still ached
from the fall. He looked around the bottom of the pit to observe
his surroundings, hoping to distract his mind from his aching
back.

It was still dark, but not quite as dark as before.
A gap in the trees above allowed a little sunlight to shine
through, showing him that he had landed in a bed of old vines,
fallen leaves, and bushes. The pit smelled much like the rest of
the jungle, although a whiff of blood told him that he was bleeding
and a quick check of his body showed that a small cut in the back
of his head was the source of the bleeding (though it was
thankfully not very much).

Standing up, Malock looked at the walls of the pit.
They were tall and covered in vines, so he figured he could climb
out of the pit if he tried. His back and head still ached and there
was still the possibility of a monster above, but he didn't want to
stay down in this pit forever, so he decided he would take his
chances. He sheathed his sword and walked over to the nearest
wall.

The first vine he grabbed snapped straight off, but
the second vine held his weight and he began climbing it. It was
hard work. The walls were much taller than he had first supposed
and his aching back and head made him feel like he was lugging a
hundred swords lodged into his spine. Nonetheless, he had to get
out of there, find the shore, and try to return to the
Iron
Wind
. Nothing else mattered.

It wasn't until after he reached the top of the pit
and pulled himself over, his body and clothes drenched with sweat
and his back almost literally screaming with pain, that he realized
six hours must have already passed. If they did, then that meant
that the crew of the
Iron Wind
were probably already on
their way home, abandoning him on this strange island, just as he
had ordered them to.

It seemed like such a noble idea at the time,
Malock thought, lying flat on his stomach near the lip of the pit.
The selfless Captain, putting the interest of his crew first by
giving them the opportunity to leave even if he is not dead. Now I
can't help but think it was the stupidest decision I've made yet on
this voyage.

There was the small chance that maybe they disobeyed
or perhaps ran into some kind of trouble that prevented them from
leaving. That seemed unlikely to Malock until he remembered the
jungle attacking and probably killing his team. Maybe the waters
around the island were as violent and unpredictable as the
jungle.

After a few minutes of resting, Malock sat up. His
back didn't hurt quite so bad anymore, but it was still bad enough
that he had to sit still for several minutes, practicing a form of
meditation that a Grinfian monk had taught him in his teenage
years. It was a simple technique in which Malock tried to focus on
something else to distract his mind from the pain. Supposedly,
masters of this technique could wipe away even chronic pain, but
Malock had never bothered to master it because it seemed
unnecessary.

Now Malock wished he'd been a better student as a
teenager because he found it almost impossible to focus on anything
but the pain. He decided to give up and just start walking to the
shore. He wasn't sure what direction the shore was, but he reasoned
that he would reach it no matter what direction he walked in; after
all, Ikadori Island was not a continent. So long as he kept
walking, he would eventually reach the beach.

Carefully, Malock rose to his feet, leaning against
a tree for support. This simple movement made his back ache, but he
bit his lower lip to keep from crying out, remembering that the
monster in the jungle was probably still out there, perhaps
searching for him even now.

Just as Malock decided to test walking, a loud
voice, like the rustling of leaves, came from above, saying, “How
was your nap, mortal?”

The unexpected voice caused Malock to jump, almost
causing him to fall back into the pit. But he caught himself and
stumbled back away from the pit. His sudden movement caused his
back to flare in pain again, making him curse the Powers and the
world they created.

“Back pain?” said the voice above, sounding amused.
“You might want to think about going to a doctor for that ... if
there were any doctors on this island, of course.”

Rubbing his back gingerly, Malock looked up and
spotted a tiny, overweight man sitting on the branch of a nearby
tree. He almost missed him at first because the man's skin was a
green as the trees' leaves and he had vines wrapped around his arms
and legs like muscle bands.

Malock had never seen a man quite like him before.
He was completely naked, his genitals being covered only by a small
leaf that left little to the imagination. His hair was long and
flat, like grass, and his eyes resembled that of a cat's, glowing
red through the strands of hair that covered his face. He swung his
feet back and forth, feet that looked less like real feet and more
like wooden replicas, like the work of a master carpenter.

“Who are you?” said Malock, reaching for his sword.
“Are you a native of this island?”

The man chuckled. “I am the ruler of this island,
actually. And you and your friends have trespassed upon my
domain.”

Malock's eyes widened. “Are you the one responsible
for the vines that attacked me and my men earlier?”

The man snapped his fingers and a vine immediately
shot out of the the trees and wrapped tightly around Malock's
waist. Before the prince could react, the vine zoomed back up,
taking him with it, and then jerked to a stop, making him level
with the green man. The sudden stop made his back burn with pain,
but he forgot about it quickly when the green man's smell—a mixture
of leaves and mud—entered his nostrils and made him gag.

Up close, the green man was even less pretty. His
chest was splattered with mud, his teeth looked like crude wooden
replicas of the actual things, and his lips were stained with what
looked like blood. The green man also held a femur in his hand, a
femur with teeth marks in it, but that was perhaps the least
strange thing about his appearance.

The green man smiled and said, “Of course I did. I
control all the plants on this island. I don't really like
visitors, which is why I live all alone here and why I ate every
one of your men.”

Malock ceased struggling against the thick vine upon
hearing that. “Eat? By the gods, Crina was right. There
are
cannibals on this island and you're one of them.”

The green man looked offended. “Me? A cannibal?
Hardly. I am neither human nor aquarian and I eat both. That makes
me a predator and you the prey. Not a cannibal.”

“But ...” Malock realized what the red stains on the
green man's lips were. “If you're not human, why do you look kind
of like a human?”