Author's Note
Well, I think this is a new record. It has been four months since Chapter 80 was posted. Four months and four days, to be precise. If any of you knew my name, you might have even searched for my obituary. Fortunately, you would not have found it. I've been alive this entire time. This chapter simply took four months and four days to write.
A brief snapshot into my life over the past four months: I performed as Parolles in my university's production of Shakespeare's All's Well That Ends Well. I sound designed our production of Spoon River Project. I directed a one-act play written by a classmate of mine. I graduated from my university eleven days ago and am no longer a student of the education system. I got an internship to do sound work for the Forestburgh Playhouse in the Catskill Mountains over the summer. And during the spaces in between these projects, I wrote this chapter.
I have no idea how output of future chapters will be affected because I am sailing in exciting uncharted waters of my life, right now. But if there is one thing I want you to take away from this author's note, it is that work on Ashes and Grist will not stop. There may be more long pauses, but you all are (presumably) Homestuck fans, so this shouldn't be anything new.
Alright, that's all - READ READ READ
-TheAmateur
Chapter Eighty-One: Up a Mango Tree
The pan sizzled on the stovetop. Within the pan, frothy yellow liquid slowly coagulated into scrambled eggs.
The Courtyard Droll hummed quietly to himself. He kept a close eye on the eggs, whisking them into shape. The Droll's mind tended to wander, easily distracted by small noises or tangential thoughts. This annoying mental habit resulted in more burned meals than the Droll cared to count.
A bird chirped on the windowsill. The Droll smiled. How lovely!
The Droll adored birds. Always singing, always greeting the new day, always fluttering merrily about the treetops. To the Droll's mild dissatisfaction, there were no birds on Derse. Much as the Droll loved his home, he found the shadowed city-planet far too quiet and dreary without any birdsong.
Eggs.
The Courtyard Droll snapped his focus back to the eggs. They had not burned. Crisis averted!
The Droll took a deep breath and glanced out the window behind the sink.
The Land of Shores and Prisms always had such lovely weather. Every day was a beautiful day here. Puffy cumulus clouds drifted across the amber sky, glimmering with rainbow iridescence. LOSAP's unique aerial prism crystals floated amongst the clouds, catching the skaialight and refracting it. The ocean sparkled green, its surface rippling in the gentle breeze.
Sometimes the Droll considered retiring here.
Now there was a thought. Retirement. The idea was nigh inconceivable to the Droll. Could there ever be such a thing as retirement from the Black Queen's service?
The Droll was not so sure.
For the faintest of moments, the Droll felt an intellectual tug. This thought was a charged thought. It beckoned to the Droll, encouraging him to follow where it led. Why was retirement from the Queen's service so difficult to envision? Would she ever allow it?
The Droll's temples twinged with a dull ache. This usually happened when he followed charged thoughts. Best to let those thoughts slip away. Obey the Rules. Don't burn the eggs.
Eggs!
The Droll snapped out of his trance, but it was too late. The scrambled eggs were now at least forty percent black.
"Stupid!" the Droll squealed, yanking the pan off the burner. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
Perhaps it was not too late. Perhaps they could still be salvaged. The Droll retrieved a fork from the silverware drawer and prodded the charred chunks of egg, wincing as he felt how tough and rubbery they had become. He selected the largest chunk of black and attempted to extricate it from the rest of the egg. He was only partially successful.
That settled it. It would be impossible to get all the black out, and even if he could it would not matter. The taste and texture of the eggs were utterly ruined.
Nothing to do but try again.
Humming quietly to himself, the Courtyard Droll used a red plastic spatula to scrape the eggs from the bottom of the pan. He considered disposing of them in the garbage can, but decided against it. If the eggs were left in the can, there they would rot for weeks and weeks. Unloved by anybody or anything. To avoid this outcome, the Droll flung the charred eggs out the window behind the stove.
Food for the delightful birds. This was a better outcome.
The Droll set the pan down on the stove and retired from the kitchen. He would try again later. For now, he needed a break from the woes of failed cooking. Perhaps some wine?
Sitting on the table in the den was a half-finished bottle of fine wine.
Upon returning from his successful assassination of the Thane's waking self on the Land of Fog and Shadow, the Droll had liberated this very bottle from the personal wine cellar of the Black Queen. Her cellar was enormous – easily the size of a warehouse, every wall filled floor to ceiling with vintage bottles. The Queen would not notice a missing bottle or two. Or three. Or fifteen.
Unfortunately, before the Droll could enjoy his ill-gotten wine, he was summoned to the Amethyst Tower, where Jack Noir charged him with his current mission. Four days later, the Droll found himself on the Land of Shores and Prisms – his favorite planet of the eight. Lots of sun, great weather, and stunning rainbows.
The Droll was sure to bring the wine.
He poured himself another glass. The Droll swirled the deep red liquid around, raising it to his nose for an aromatic whiff. The anticipation of tasting that first sip was sometimes more enjoyable than the sip itself.
The Droll opened the front door and stepped outside. The beach was laid out at his feet. He closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh sea air, feeling the sand between his toes.
The beautiful weather filled the Dersite with a sense of exuberance. The skaialight felt wonderful on this planet. On Derse, far removed from Skaia, the skaialight was weak and provided little comfort. Here it felt radiant and energizing. Gulls cried overhead. Waves gently lapped against the beach. The Droll took his first sip of wine and smiled – life could not get any better than this.
It could, however, get worse.
The Droll noticed the ship when he opened his eyes.
At first he was not certain it was a ship – it actually resembled more a greenish smudge hugging the horizon. Still, the Droll's gut instinct clamored for him to take a closer look, so he retrieved a pair of binoculars from the house and hurried back outside. The magnified view afforded by the binoculars revealed the smudgy object to be a ship. A ship whose hull and sails were a shade of green very close to that of the emerald ocean, making it difficult to see at distance with the naked eye.
The green ship was heading straight for this beach, which could mean only one thing.
The Courtyard Droll reached into an inner pocket and produced his long-range walkie-talkie. This walkie-talkie had been blessedly silent for the duration of the Droll's short stay on LOSAP. Now it was time to turn it back on. The Droll powered the walkie up, tuned into the encrypted frequency shared between himself and his fellow top-ranking Agents.
"Hello? Er…" the Droll stumbled over his words nervously. He never knew when the walkie was working and when it was not. "Hello, this is the Courtyard-"
"NO GODDAMN NAMES OVER THE RADIO!" the walkie-talkie squawked. "How many times do I have to tell you?"
It was Jack Noir. The walkie-talkie was definitely working. The Droll was quick to apologize. "Sorry boss, won't happen again."
"Sure, now tell me another one."
"Another…another what, boss?"
"Another lie, Clubs. Another lie. You better have good news for me."
"Yes, boss. The Witch of Light is coming home. She has friends, though. Lot of armed turtle friends. After I say hi to her, they'll be looking for me. Is my extraction in place and ready?"
"The extraction team is in place, Clubs. All you need to do is signal them with your radio and hang tight. Hey, Clubs?"
"Yeah, boss?"
"Don't you fuck this up."
"I won't, boss."
The walkie's only response was static. Jack Noir had already killed the channel. Saying goodbye was not part of his vocabulary.
The Droll quickly downed the glass of wine. It was a shame to have to chug it, but leisure time was over.
Now, where was a good place to hide?
GRRRGHRGRGH
Gwen Twymann tried unsuccessfully to ignore her growling stomach.
How many times had her stomach growled in the past hour alone? Gwen was no longer keeping count. When she kept count, she could start to measure her hunger by the frequency of the growls. Slowly, gradually, the growls per hour increased. Gwen stopped keeping track of the growls when she caught herself trying to create a mathematical formula to solve for her rate of hunger. It was driving her insane.
Focus.
Gwen breathed in deeply, visualizing the refreshing sea air filling her entire body with soft blue light before releasing it.
Her knuckles had long since turned white. The blood flow in Gwen's fingers had slowly been constricted by her death grip on the rail of the Viridian Wind's crow's nest. The reason Gwen had a death grip on the wooden rail was because she loathed heights, and the crow's nest was easily a hundred feet up in the air. The fear of falling and splattering helped Gwen forget her stomach. It was gut wrenching at times, exhilarating at others. A strange blend of emotions.
Despite the frantic butterflies in her stomach and chest, Gwen had to admit there was nothing quite like standing atop the mainmast of a ship moving at full sail. She wondered if lookouts ever grew bored. They probably did after the first few weeks of staring at empty horizons, looking for shapes that were rarely there. Then again, whenever the lookout spotted something, bad things tended to happen, so a veteran lookout might actually be relieved to be bored in the crow's nest.
Aristophanes was hunched over the rail next to Gwen. He rested on his elbows, gazed silently ahead, relishing in the quiescence of being so far removed from the activity on deck below. The captain of the Viridian Wind joined Gwen in the crow's nest a few minutes earlier for a brief respite. Ever since unrest began to spread through the crew, Aristophanes had his hands full keeping everyone committed to the hunt for the Library. This was no easy task.
In the near distance, an island broke the monotony of the endless waves. It was the only landmass within visibility. Beaches of fine white sand hugged the perimeters of the island. Dense tropical vegetation filled the interior.
A prism crystal mountain protruded through the tropical canopy, easily six hundred feet tall. It glinted in the skaialight, emanating soft rainbow refractions.
Resting just inland of the beach was Gwen's house. Right where she'd left it.
"Still can't believe I'm coming home," Gwen murmured, breaking the relative silence. "Wasn't sure I'd see this place again, you know? Figures the Library Key would lead us back here."
Aristophanes fiddled idly with the strap of his eyepatch. "I have used this island as a smuggling hole for well over a decade. Could the Library have been under my very nose all these years?"
"Hope so. That'd mean no more mindless searching."
Aristophanes seemed to accept the reply, for he had none of his own. For a while neither of them spoke. They rested on the crow's nest rail, hypnotized by the island's gradual approach.
When Aristophanes broke the silence, Gwen's mind was already wandering through the intellectual corridors. She registered that Aristophanes was talking to her and immediately tuned back in, but he'd already finished speaking. She remembered the sound of his voice forming words, but could not recall the words themselves.
"What? Sorry, I completely zoned."
"Could you tell me about some of the other Heroes?" Aristophanes asked again.
"What?" Gwen was surprised by this question too. "Why?"
"Curiosity," the consort replied. "How often are we afforded the opportunity to know the personalities beneath the legends? In the future, I may even write a novel of our travels. So for what little time I am allotted to be at your side, I wish to know more about your counterparts. Are they anything like you?"
Laughter bubbled up from Gwen's throat. "We're all humans who played a computer game. Most of the similarities end there."
"Then focus less on the similarities," persisted Aristophanes, not to be deterred.
"Well…" Gwen frowned. Shouldn't it be easy to describe one's friends? Why was she having trouble? "I don't even know where to start. Ask me something."
"How do you know them?" the corsair captain asked.
"School, community theatre, marching band…whole bunch of stuff. We all live-" Gwen caught herself, "-lived in the same town. Some of them are even friends of mine."
That interested Aristophanes. "You're not all friends?"
"Nope." Gwen shook her head. "No, we're just some people who know each other. Some of us are friends. Some of us aren't."
"Are they embarking on quests of their own?"
"I mean... Well, sort of. We're scattered all over the place," Gwen replied. "Some of us are in hiding on Derse's moon. Some of us are fighting the Black King's army on the Battlefield. Anna, our Seer of Time, was hopping all over the timeline last I heard. Our Muse is working with a Salamander maestro to bring the rest of her consorts back from limbo. Everyone's busy. Busier than me, it feels like. Our Knight, for example, apparently is gathering all his consorts into a unified army and leading a revolt against the Dersites occupying his planet. Can you believe something like that? And all I've done is sail around and not get killed."
Aristophanes's mouth twitched. "Sounds dull when you phrase it like that," he observed. "I'd phrase it differently."
"How would you phrase it?"
"I would call it an adventure. An adventure full of spectacular weather, during which you even managed to face down a fear of heights and experience the world from the top of a beautiful, beautiful ship." Aristophanes spread his arms wide to the view of the approaching island and the oceans beyond. "See, this makes it sound like an experience worth experiencing."
"And it leaves out all the messy bits," Gwen retorted. "No mention of getting smacked in the face by flying severed limbs? Nothing about how a gun deck smells when it's full of ripped up people? Or the exact sound of metal cutting through a body, that squelch… You'd call all that an adventure?"
"No. I would call that an unfortunate afternoon." The corners of Aristophanes's mouth twitched wryly. "Climbing all the way up this mast for the first time, however? That I would call an adventure. Sailing on a ship like the Wind for the first time? An even greater adventure. Limbs are getting blown off all over the world. It is a part of life on this world. Finding time for adventures when your body parts are not flying off is what makes the rest of life worth living."
"Well…" Gwen hesitated. "I guess there were some positive moments… Still. There were a fuck-ton of negative moments. Some are still stained on my clothes."
GRRRGRGLE
Aristophanes cast Gwen an inquisitive glance. "Was that your stomach?" he asked.
"Yes, it was most definitely my stomach."
The one-eyed consort looked back out to sea, watching the island draw nearer. "This island could not have come at a better time. Many of those trees are fruit bearing. Library or no Library, at least we'll be fed for a while."
Despite her trepidation towards finding the Library, Gwen had to agree with Aristophanes's pragmatism.
"I hope there are mangos…" she murmured.
As the Viridian Wind approached the island, it came time for Gwen and Aristophanes to descend from the crow's nest. They clambered down the rigging from spar to spar until they reached the deck below.
The consorts scrubbing deck near the mainmast cleared away to allow Gwen and Aristophanes room.
As Aristophanes stepped down onto the planks, the scrubbing consorts all flashed Aristophanes a split-second angry glare. Within a blink their gazes returned to the deck. They continued scrubbing, and Gwen was left wondering if she'd imagined the whole thing.
Two more consorts walked past the mainmast, both toting large buckets of freshly prepared drinking water. One of them was Brygos – the gunner's mate Gwen met during her first encounter with marauders. Gwen did not know the other. As they moved past, the consort Gwen did not recognize threw Aristophanes a glare of his own, confirming for Gwen that she had not been imagining things just a second ago.
The hostility in the glare was startling. Brygos noticed the glare, too, and gave the other consort a discreet kick. The glaring consort dropped his gaze before Aristophanes noticed.
Nothon hobbled down the steps leading up to the quarterdeck, where he'd been overseeing the activity in the captain's absence. "Longboats're all ready, cap'n," the gray-shelled consort reported to Aristophanes. "Island seems quiet, it does. All the same, sendin' a scoutin' party wouldn't hurt."
"No, a forward scouting party is quite unnecessary – we'll secure the island after we make landfall," Aristophanes replied. "No more delays, bosun. Not with the Library so close. All that accumulated knowledge - oh, I can smell it already." The turtle-consort breathed in deeply through his nostril slits. "It smells divine. Utterly divine."
"If you say so, cap'n," Nothon grunted.
"I did say so. Now have the lads strike the mainsail and foresail, if you would."
"Mainsail and foresail, aye." Nothon walked off and started barking out names, organizing a group of consorts to scale the rigging and gather up the giant expanses of cloth.
"He doesn't sound very enthused," Gwen remarked to Aristophanes.
"Nothon is rarely enthused unless his life is in imminent danger." The captain of the Viridian Wind's smile slowly faded. "As you have likely deduced by now, we are not the first crew to attempt to find the Library. Many captains have lost their minds over the centuries trying to find it – they devote themselves wholly to the quest and relentlessly pursue it until their crews either desert or mutiny."
Aristophanes stopped for a moment and glanced over his shoulder, directing Gwen's attention to Nothon. The bosun was hollering up the mainmast at the corsairs assigned to strike the mainsail. "Faster, you shits, climb faster! Time is money in a whore's purse!"
"In his youth," Aristophanes continued, "old Nothon was part of a crew who chose the latter option after they nearly starved. He is naturally skeptical of our current bid to locate the Library. Strikes up unpleasant memories and such. Views this whole endeavor as a spectacular waste of time. But he will fall in line, as will the rest. And it is you, by the way."
"What?"
"If you were wondering what separates us from those unsuccessful crews of expeditions past, it is you. No crew who sought the Library of All has ever done so aided by the Witch of Light. Until today, that is. Nothon is welcome to his beliefs. His skill as a bosun more than makes up for his narrow-mindedness."
"A 'narrow-mindedness' the rest of the crew seems to share," Gwen remarked, those glares still fresh in her mind. "What happens if we don't find the Library on that island?"
"Then we'll deal with it," Aristophanes replied. "Though I admit I have no idea how. The crew would be out for blood, and convincing them not to appropriate my blood would be a tough sell."
The consorts who'd scaled the rigging to strike the sails continued to work. Most of the foresail had been stowed away, and now the mainsail was well on its way. The Viridian Wind's speed dropped considerably as it approached the beach.
As the Wind drew within fifty yards from the beach, Aristophanes gave the order to drop anchor.
A flutter of anxiety passed through Gwen as she beheld the island.
Many thoughts were hitting her all at once.
For instance, Gwen had determined while observing from the crow's nest that it would probably take a full day to reach the prism mountain at the center of the island. The distance itself was not vast, but the terrain of the island interior was not friendly. Full of treacherous ravines and cliff edges. And to add icing upon the cake, Gwen was at a loss for how to even go about searching for the Library. Was it buried? It would have to be buried. Where else could it possibly be? It certainly wasn't floating above the trees. So should she just start digging holes?
Gwen fervently hoped the Library Key would offer her some form of direction once she reached the island. If it did not, she and Aristophanes would be forced to find a way to keep the crew occupied while they came up with a solution. If the crew wised up to Gwen's ignorance, she would have close to two hundred angry corsairs to deal with.
So how, then, could she possibly keep nearly two hundred already frustrated corsairs busy? Ask them to start digging holes? How many holes would they dig before deciding they'd had enough? Would they turn on someone who was a figure of their mythology? Would Gwen be able to 'Witch' her way out of it?
"So…um. What now?" Gwen asked Aristophanes, trying to keep the anxiety from her voice. "Where do we even start looking?"
"One hurdle at a time, Witch," the one-eyed turtle-consort advised. "When stress takes you, organize your thoughts into a stairway. Then begin your ascent. This will calm your mind. First I address the crew and see if we can scrape up some morale. Then we climb into the boats. Then we paddle ashore. Then we secure the beach and make camp. Then we find fruit, fish, and firewood. Then we eat. Then we sleep. Then we may worry ourselves over the Library, and not a moment before. Now let us take that first step."
Aristophanes stomped his foot down onto the planks of the deck. His boot made a resounding thunk. The captain stomped again, then again, and again. He continued to sound off at a moderate cadence, quickly catching the ears of all nearby crewmembers.
The nearby crewmembers took the cue and joined in, stomping to Aristophanes's cadence. The thunder of boots spread to all parts of the deck until every member of the crew was contributing to that thunder.
Then Aristophanes stopped. The crew quickly stopped as well, now lending the captain their undivided attention.
Aristophanes began to speak.
"We've sailed these oceans together for quite some time, guided by Fortune's impulses. Yet what, I ask you, did we sail for? Knowledge? The sense of freedom afforded us by the open ocean? To live a life far removed from the expectations of civilization? I am unconvinced. First, friends, let us be perfectly honest about who we are. We are rum smugglers. The suppliers pay us copious sums of money to transport illegal alcohol from the colonies to the city-states. There is nothing refined, nothing moral, nothing beneficial in what we do. We have been reduced to glorified deliverymen with a penchant for sailing through dangerous waters. Yet Fortune's impulses guided us to the Witch of Light, and in so doing showed us a new purpose which transcends rum smuggling. We were given the opportunity to speed the Witch along on her search. This is now our purpose. I never dreamed this would be an easy undertaking. We have not returned to port in nearly two months. More than that, I have put you in danger of starving. Nothon recommended we turn back from this quest weeks ago. Perhaps we should have. Perhaps he was right."
Murmuring and grumbling permeated the deck.
It was the first noise the crew had made since Aristophanes started speaking.
Gwen's fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on the nearest rail.
Aristophanes seemed to be opting for complete transparency. That was probably wise – the crew would be able to detect if he tried to spin a lie or half-truth.
He certainly was not sugarcoating the situation – the crew of the Viridian Wind had been confined to the ship since they'd originally set sail on the series of smuggling ventures which caused their paths to cross with Gwen's. And while Gwen's quest brought the Wind to the Metropolis for a few days, the crew had not been allowed ashore. The decision to sail through the Gray Shoals caused infectious discontent to swiftly spread through the already frustrated crew - lives had been lost there, and the emotional scars still echoed among the living.
To make matters even worse, the Viridian Wind's food supply was nearly depleted. Every member of the crew, including Gwen, was subsisting on several bites of hardtack biscuit per day.
RRGRGH
Gwen's stomach growled yet again, right on cue. Her hunger had grown to the point where she no longer even bothered to pick the larvae out of the biscuits.
Focus.
Gwen blinked once, withdrawing from those ever shifting corridors of thought where the hunger was not quite so gnawing, focusing her attention back to the outside world.
Fuck. How long had Aristophanes been talking while she'd zoned out?
"...would likely have mutinied or deserted by this point, yet you have not. That is why no crew before us has found the Library. That is why no crew after us may claim to be the first. Our quest is nearly at its end, for upon this very island," Aristophanes pointed over the rail towards the nearby beach, "the Library awaits us! We shall be the first to experience this knowledge in ten thousand years!"
That seemed to lift the corsairs' spirits a hair, but not by much. At least they weren't glaring daggers, anymore.
Aristophanes concluded by quickly assigning a skeleton crew to garrison the ship and ordering everyone else to the boats.
The turtle-consorts dispersed with halfhearted cheers. They flocked to the railings and got to work. Skiffs were uncovered, attached to their respective lines, and lowered over the side of the ship to the water below. Rope ladders were thrown over the rails, allowing easier access to the skiffs. One by one, the consorts began climbing over the rails, down the sides of the Viridian Wind's hull.
"Sounds like you really got through to them," Gwen remarked to the captain as she watched the corsairs work. "I think you really helped them see the light, there. Good thing the Wind has no roof, otherwise their morale would've punched right through it."
"I find speeches such as the one I just delivered to be abysmally dull," Aristophanes admitted. He swung himself over the railing and held himself there, extending a hand to Gwen. "Sometimes I'd much rather motivate the unmotivated by pointing a weapon at them, but that is a method reserved only for those captains who wish to die by the hands of their crew. I harbor no such desire, so I must use words. And words have far more of an impact than you might think. No one will set foot upon that beach wondering why they are here, for they were just now reminded."
Gwen accepted Aristophanes's hand and climbed over the rail herself. A skiff bobbed in the water below, waiting to receive her. Several consorts had already boarded. Gwen recognized Brygos among them.
All the way down there, down the side of the ship that now seemed impossibly tall.
Fuck, that's a long way down.
Gwen's breathing quickened.
"Why are you looking down if you're afraid of heights?"
Aristophanes's question wrenched Gwen's focus away from the water below. She took a few deep breaths and gave herself a moment to calm down. Then she grasped the top 'rung' of the rope ladder and began the awkward descent down the side of the Viridian Wind's hull.
By some miracle Gwen managed to reach the skiff below without falling flat on her face. She stepped off the rope ladder, planting her feet on the bottom of the skiff. Then she let go of the ladder.
The skiff rocked underneath Gwen's boarding a bit more than expected, causing her to lose balance.
Arms windmilling through the air, Gwen managed to instinctively drop into a crouch. This lowered her center of gravity and helped her regain balance. Still, the windmilling must have looked silly, because now all the consorts in the skiff were smirking at her.
Their smirks vanished when Aristophanes climbed down the rope ladder and joined the party.
"Here, Witch, give us a hand," Brygos said, picking up a spare oar from the bottom of the skiff and holding it out to Gwen. His fellows detached the skiff from the lines tethering it to the Viridian Wind.
"Thanks." Gwen took the oar.
Everyone in the skiff planted their oars against the Viridian Wind's hull and heaved, casting off. The skiff drifted away from the anchored ship. Gwen tightened her grip on the oar and plunged it into the emerald green waters, slowly drawing it back. It'd been a while since she canoed, but she remembered the basic principle of paddling. Slow, firm, gentle strokes.
The small wooden boat skimmed along the glassy surface of the water. This was the leeward side of the island, so there was not enough wind to cause the ocean surface to churn into swells. The result was a calm glide through relatively still waters.
Were she not occupied with paddling, Gwen might have lain back and allowed the gentle rhythm of the skiff's movement lull her to sleep. Instead, she was mesmerized by the little eddies and swirls created by each stroke of the oar.
Before Gwen even knew it, the skiff was bumping up against wet sand. She could not help but feel a twinge of disappointment. Part of her wanted the somnolent skiff ride to last forever. No Library to worry about, no disgruntled consorts, no marauders, no-
GRRRGHRGHRGLE
Gwen's stomach continued to grumble even as she stood up and climbed out of the skiff.
The water was very warm – likely in the high eighties or low nineties. It reminded Gwen of the Gulf of Mexico in July. She'd visited the Florida Keys with her Grandpa several summers ago, and the warm clear waters there had utterly ruined the cold, muddy brown Atlantic Ocean.
Then all those meteors ruined the Gulf of Mexico, along with everything else.
Focus.
Thoughts of home were dangerous thoughts. They always led to associated thoughts of extinction. Empty voids. Cut threads.
Gwen steadied herself by gripping the edge of the skiff and hopped out, splashing into the shallow water. Aristophanes, Brygos, and the other consorts did likewise. Together they pushed the skiff up onto the dry sand. Fortunately, due to LOSAP not having a moon, no one would have to worry about the tide coming in and whisking the boat away.
No moon, no tides.
All along the beach, the other skiffs were making landfall, their rowers hopping out into the fine white sand. After all skiffs were dragged up to the dry sand, the corsairs made their way inland towards Gwen's house, where Aristophanes waited.
Once everyone was assembled, Aristophanes divided the crew into four groups – one group would set up all the shelters, a second group would trek into the jungle interior of the island and scale trees to collect fruit, and a third group would gather firewood for the cooking fires. The fourth group was the smallest, comprised of a dozen seasoned fishers. The members of the fisher group spread out along the beach and set up their work stations.
Gwen watched the fishers string and cast their lines. She watched the first of the canvas shelters start to spring up. She watched teams of consorts hoofing it up the palm tree covered dunes separating the beach from the jungle. No one came up to Gwen to give her a task, so she was left with the freedom to choose what she wanted to do. She weighed her options and settled on gathering firewood. This would get her away from the hurricane of activity on the beach, allow her some time to herself.
But first, she needed to change clothes. Badly. She was still wearing the same shirt and tattered jeans she'd worn weeks ago, when the Viridian Wind first took her aboard. Same underwear, too.
That last thought made Gwen shudder. She'd managed to avoid thinking about that for a while. It was decided. She would change.
Gwen slipped away from all the activity and walked right up to the front door of her house. It was already open – just the way she'd left it. She gave it a little push, listened to the familiar creak. Then she stepped inside.
For a moment, Gwen wondered if she'd stepped into a dream. She looked into the family room. Her grandpa's checkers game sat idle on the coffee table. An empty Doritos bag rested on the sofa. That bag of Doritos had been Gwen's final snack before the meteors fell.
One last snack as a real person.
Gwen's heart palpitated quietly.
Right. More thoughts about extinction. Have to be careful about that.
Gwen turned away from the family room and poked her head into the kitchen. Same as the family room, everything in the kitchen was a snapshot of the past. The box of Lucky Charms sitting on the counter, the colorful little magnets on the fridge, the pan on the stove…
Gwen frowned. When did she leave that pan there? She could not remember. Must've been Gramps.
After exploring the kitchen, Gwen took the stairs to the upstairs hall and walked to her bedroom door. She grasped the knob and turned it. She hesitated for a moment, fearing how she might react to seeing her bedroom. Then she pushed open the door.
The sheets and quilt were still hanging off the side of the bed, evidence of when she'd woken up on the thirteenth of April. Gwen usually made her bed after waking up, but she'd overslept that morning. In her rush to catch the bus, she'd forgotten to tuck the sheets back in. She realized this on the bus ride to school and had made a mental note to make her bed when she got home.
She did not remember to make her bed later that day. She was busy playing a computer game.
Gwen walked across her room to the dresser. She opened the middle drawer, which contained warm weather clothing. The shirt on top was yellow, with a black whippet insignia emblazoned on the front. It was an old shirt from marching band – the whippet was her high school's mascot. Gwen picked up the shirt, turned it around.
The back of the shirt was covered in names. Hundreds of signatures scrawled across the yellow fabric in varying colors of sharpie ink. Each name triggered a flash of memory – a face, a voice, an impression, an instrument. Most of the combined Downingtown East and West High School marching band was on this shirt.
Gwen chose the band shirt, as well as a pair of microfiber shorts. She then chose new underwear from the dresser's top drawer and walked out of the room, kicking the door shut behind her. She went into the upstairs bathroom.
The mirror flashed in her peripheral vision, drawing Gwen's attention to the strange girl looking back at her. Her skin had darkened several shades from constant exposure to the skaialight. Parts of it were peeling. Her shirt was in tatters. The jeans, originally reaching down to her ankles, now ended in ragged scraps of denim around her knees.
Patches of scar tissue lingered on her shoulders, arms, and cheeks. Reminders of the Gray Shoals, where the newly-installed railgun overloaded and nearly electrocuted her.
The girl in the mirror looked exhausted. She'd gone through a lot.
Gwen turned away from the girl in the mirror and silently changed into the fresh clothes. She left the ruined old clothes on the floor.
When she was finished changing, Gwen headed for the bathroom door. The shower caught her eye. Did the water still work? Gwen was tempted to check. It probably wouldn't. How could there possibly be running water?
Focus.
Gwen left the bathroom.
Maybe she could return later tonight, grab some bodywash, some shampoo, and bathe in the ocean. That would be twelve unique varieties of awesome. Gwen made a mental note as she descended the stairs. Then it was back outside to the beach, through the palm tree groves, across the sun dappled sand. She reached the sand dunes at the edge of the beaches, chose one, made her way up its slope. When she reached the top of her chosen dune, Gwen paused for a quick swig from the waterskin.
She glanced back at her house. Looking at it still felt surreal. Hopefully the corsairs wouldn't ransack the place.
Gwen clipped the waterskin to her belt and left the beach behind, venturing into the jungle.
Trees and shrubs pressed in from all sides. Each tree was interconnected by a labyrinthine network of vines. The vines snaked up and around the trunks of the trees, looping from branch to branch. Furry yellow little critters that bore a resemblance to squirrels darted about the vines and treetops, scurrying about each other in circles.
Gwen smiled – these yellow squirrel-critters freaking cute. She had an irresistible urge to play with them, but they always skedaddled when she tried to approach. After several failed attempts, Gwen accepted her ideal role as a distant observer.
The forest floor was home to fern plants and vibrant warm-colored flowers. The ferns were omnipresent; stretching off in all directions, rustling in waves when the breeze sighed through. Gwen was reminded of the sea. She paused for a moment in a clearing and inhaled deeply through her nose. There was a natural saltiness to the sea air, yet it was layered with cloyingly sweet fragrances from the flowers.
For a few moments, Gwen breathed in the aromas and forgot where she was.
Focus.
Right. Firewood.
Life without Vyvanse was full of distractions.
Gwen bent down to the ground and brushed some ferns aside, revealing a fallen tree branch and a handful of twigs. She gathered them up in her arms. She then moved towards the next-closest grove of trees, where more branches waited.
ADHD routinely caused Gwen to wander off and chase every little thought that frolicked through her mind.
She picked up a new branch.
Chasing these thoughts led Gwen to new thoughts, which led to newer thoughts in turn, until she found herself lost in an intellectual web of tangents with little to no memory of the original thought which landed her there.
She selected another branch, adding it to the growing pile in her arms.
The attempt to remember the original thought would then lead to its own round of tangents.
Gwen pulled another branch from the ferns. This branch was a little too rotten to make effective firewood. Gwen tossed it back.
Ironically, the original thought would resurface only after Gwen stopped trying to discern it and focused on something else. Then it would flash into her mind. But by that point, the thought had lost its relevance.
Gwen grabbed another fallen tree limb and was surprised to find her arms were about full.
How long had she been out collecting firewood? Twenty minutes? Forty?
Gwen had not kept track of time, so she resolved the entire matter with a single shrug and headed back the way she came. She took her time on the walk back, soaking in as much of the teeming jungle as she could.
The yellow squirrel-like creatures chittered and squeaked from their leafy homes as Gwen passed them by. Every time a ruckus was raised by these adorable creatures, she always smiled and waved. The squirrels never waved back, but she never expected them to.
The closer Gwen came to the beach, the more she crossed paths with members of the Viridian Wind's crew. She'd trekked much further out into the jungle than any of the others, it seemed. For the most part, the consorts left her to her own devices. An occasional grunt of acknowledgment here, a nod of the head there.
She spotted a cluster of corsairs in the grove of palm trees up ahead. Some of them were up in the palm fronds at the very tops of the trees, cutting the coconuts free with their knives. Others were waiting to receive the falling coconuts on the ground. They gathered the coconuts in sacks for easier transport back to the beach.
Not wanting to get hit on the head by a falling coconut, Gwen veered left to circumvent the grove of palm trees. There was a giant mango tree adjacent to the coconut action which seemed comparatively safe to walk under. Its gnarled trunk stood alone in the center of a network of leafy fruit-bearing limbs and branches extending easily forty feet in any direction.
Fortunately, the lowest branches hung nearly eight feet off the ground. Gwen walked right underneath them without even needing to duck. The rhythmic crashing of nearby waves swam into her hearing. The beach wasn't too far up ahead. Soon she could drop all this fucking wood.
Gwen glanced to her right, observing the corsairs at work retrieving those coconuts. They hadn't noticed her. Just as well - her popularity with the consorts had certainly waned. Gone were the days of wine and revelry belowdecks after a brush with marauders. Gone were the lively shanties, the uproarious laughter, the painful slaps on the back. The corsairs' merriment had been starved as severely as their stomachs, and Gwen was feeling the deprivation.
How much longer could she keep this up?
"Knife! Watch out! Knife!"
Gwen reacted faster than the speed of thought, dove to the side. Her collected firewood flew everywhere.
A mango thudded into the ferns where she'd just been standing.
A knife thucked into the ground right next to the mango.
Gwen stared down at the knife blankly. That would've left a mark. She looked up to see a tiny Brygos waving down at her from the highest limbs of the tree. She cupped a hand to her mouth and hollered, "Brigs, you fucking shitstain! You almost fucking killed me!"
"Yes, but I didn't!" the gunner's mate hollered back. "That was a nice dive! Good reflexes! Do me a favor, would you? Grab my knife and run it up to me!"
"Uh…" Gwen's palms started sweating as she measured the height of the tree. Ninety feet? One hundred? Brygos was pretty damn high up. "I can't, I'm carrying firewood!"
"I don't see any firewood!"
"That's because I fucking dropped it all! Remember that lovely fucking dive you just complimented?"
"If you run my knife up to me and help with the mangos, then I'll help gather up your bloody firewood! Have we got a deal?"
"Okay! Fine! I'll get your stupid knife!" The words spilled from Gwen's mouth before she could even think about them. A second crawled by as the implications hit home. It would appear she now had a tree to climb.
Was it too late to back out?
No… Certainly not…
All the same, there was something about backing out of a challenge that tasted vile to Gwen. It was part of why she'd climbed the Viridian Wind's mainmast earlier today. That was a challenge she'd been avoiding for weeks.
Why not this tree, then?
"Shit…" Gwen muttered, her mind made up. She reached down and yanked Brygos's knife free from the dirt, slotting it through her belt. "Shit, shit, shit. Fuck."
Gwen took a moment to stretch her legs and warm up before jumping. She snagged one of the lowest branches, got a good grip, pulled herself up the rest of the way. She drew up her legs, securing her footing before reaching up to a higher branch.
The going was slow. Every two or three minutes Brygos would ask Gwen if she intended to give him the knife before skaiaset. Each time, she cussed him out and told him to be patient. She would not be rushed, not when she was this high above the ground. She suspected her explosive reactions were fueling Brygos's needling.
About two-thirds of the way up, Gwen made the mistake of looking down. Her breath caught in her throat. Her neck, shoulders, and arms grew rigid with tension while her stomach flipflopped. Fuck, that's a long way down…
"What are you stopping for, girl?" Brygos called down. "Did you find the Library in those branches?"
"No, Brigs! No fucking Library!" Gwen gasped, struggling to get the words out. Her perception of the world was starting to spin. She clung to her current branch like it was her source of life. "Just a whole fuck-ton of acrophobia!"
"What the bloody hell is acrophobia?"
"Fear of fucking heights!"
"You looked down, didn't you! I imagine the world is spinning round and round?"
"Something like that, yeah!"
"Feel a little nauseous…?"
"Yes, fucking yes, fucking nauseous!"
"You need to breathe through it! And to do that you need to relax!"
"FUCK! Fucking FUCK. Okay. Okay! Okay, I'm breathing. I'm breathing!" Gwen was able to take in brief, staccato spurts of breath, but that was it. Still, it was something. She screwed her eyes shut and focused all willpower on relenting her grip around the tree limb. Ever so gradually, the muscles in Gwen's shoulders, chest, neck, and back relaxed. A more stable breathing pattern was established, which helped move Gwen through her oxygen-deprived mania.
When she opened her eyes, Gwen was careful not to look down a second time. She took a few more deep breaths before finally releasing the likely bruised tree limb and reaching for the next one.
"That's it, Witch, that's it! You're moving again!"
It felt good to move again.
After that paralyzing experience, any movement felt good. Even upward movement.
It was a game. It was all just a game. Get to the next branch, gain five points. And at the top of the tree? A shiny gold trophy. "Gotta get that damn trophy…" Gwen breathed. "Just gotta get it… Just gotta get the damn trophy…"
Gwen could see the ocean over the tops of all the neighboring trees by the time she reached Brygos. She kept her gaze straight and did not look below the horizon. As long as she didn't glimpse the ground below and get an idea of exactly how far up she was, she was relatively fine. Skaia was dipping down low in the sky. Rays of skaialight shimmered through the aerial prism crystals.
It would be dusk soon. The sky prisms always refracted rainbows before skaiaset.
"Welcome to the top of the mango tree, Witch." Brygos offered Gwen a wide toothy grin. "Congratulations on just barely making it up here before skaiaset. You may not believe me, but I was rooting for you."
"Here's your damn knife." Gwen removed Brygos's knife from her belt and held it up to him grip-first.
Brygos accepted the knife. He immediately returned to his task – liberating the massive clump of mangos growing on his tree limb. Though this time, his knife grip was a little tighter.
"Thank you, girl," Brygos said. "Saved me two-hundred feet of extra climbing. I would've been stuck doing this 'til dark." The knife cut through the stem of the first mango. It plummeted to the ground below. Brygos selected a new mango stem and started sawing away.
Gwen retrieved a pocketknife from her sylladex and followed Brygos's example.
The gunner's mate was surprised. "Helping me, now?"
"I don't want to be stuck here past dark either. You still need to help me pick up all that firewood, remember?"
"I didn't forget."
"Good."
With Gwen helping out, the giant clump of mangos quickly shrank. Fortunately, no one got clocked by any of the falling fruit. Insults would have been screamed at Gwen and Brygos from below if that took place.
"I have to ask, Brigs," Gwen said as she cut loose her next mango, "why aren't you glaring at me like all the rest? You gonna get any shit for being nice to me?"
"Not all of us are crying for mutiny," Brygos replied. "Just most of us. And our grievances lie more squarely with Aristophanes than with you."
"So…does that mean I'm safe even if there's a mutiny?"
Brygos shrugged. "We probably wouldn't kill you. No, we'd probably try and sell you back to the Assembly. That's the only way we could possibly get some compensation for this whole ordeal. If I were you, I'd find the Library soon."
"Great. Thanks for the advice."
The last of the mangos came loose without any protest.
Climbing down the tree was easier than the ascent. Gwen focused only on reducing her probabilities of falling and splattering, one branch at a time. Brygos was kind enough to refrain from needling her any further.
At the bottom of the tree waited the mangos and firewood. Upon reaching the ground, Gwen and Brygos set about gathering both. They took care of the mangos first – picking up each one and tossing them into Brygos's burlap sack. Once all the mangos were gathered, Brygos kept his word and helped Gwen collect all the scattered firewood.
"Do you actually know how to find the Library, girl?" Brygos asked as he picked up the last few sticks.
Alarm bells clattered through Gwen's mind.
Should she be honest?
"I see," Brygos remarked.
"What?"
"Too big of a hesitation, girl." Brygos handed Gwen the last few sticks, adding them to the pile in her arms. "You were debating whether or not you should lie."
Well, shit.
"I'm hoping the Library Key will lead us to it," Gwen finally said. She started to walk in the direction of the beaches, pulling her wallet from her back pocket. Brygos retrieved his sack of mangos and fell into step beside her. "It's led us this far," she continued, opening her wallet and producing a single captchalogue card. "It should lead us the rest of the way, too. It has to. It was designed by a genius." She retrieved the object from the captchalogue card - the small pyramidal prism crystal from the Noble of Light's tomb. To her surprise, it was emitting a faint white glow.
"That's the Library Key?" Brygos asked.
"Yeah, this is it. Want to hold it?"
"Sure." Brygos picked up the Library Key, weighing it in his palms. "This thing's practically weightless. Is it supposed to be glowing?"
"I think it's a good sign. Never glowed white until now."
"This white glow is what you're banking on, then."
"Yes."
Brygos let out a low chuckle, handing back the Library Key. "Well, Witch, you really don't need to convince me to keep silent. Either the white glow will pay off, or it won't. And if you doesn't, you won't have to worry about keeping your secret – everyone will know you're running around in circles."
"Cool. I'm fine with that." Gwen captchalogued the Library Key and returned it to the sylladex in her wallet. "Long as I can run around in circles privately for a while, we're golden."
Skaia hung low in the western sky by the time Gwen and Brygos climbed over the sand dunes and emerged back onto the beach. The aroma of woodsmoke curled into Gwen's nostrils, carried on the gentle sea breeze. Cooking fires had already sprung up around the camp.
Judging by the sizes of each fire's woodpile, the firewood-gathering consorts had made several trips already. All while Gwen fucked around in a tree.
Whoops.
Gwen quietly deposited her firewood onto one of the piles, hoping no one would ask her where she'd been all this time. Fortunately, no one seemed to care. All the nearby consorts were sitting around the fire, focused more on the dancing flames than anything else. Gwen and Brygos found empty spots around the fire and sat down to relax.
Before long, Skaia kissed the western horizon. The sky prisms shot brilliant rays of rainbow light through the clouds, across the orange-maroon sky.
The cooking fires burned bright. Even as daylight melted away, the beach remained illuminated. Savory aromas fluttered about the breeze, dancing from fire to fire. Coconuts were split open, their milk harvested along with their meat. Mangos were carved into slices and handed out.
Gwen acquired a slice and nibbled on it. She took her time, knowing that eating too much too fast would severely upset her malnourished stomach. She closed her eyes as she munched, focusing fully on the tangy mango flavor.
As their hunger was slowly satiated, the corsairs returned to lighter spirits. A few individuals had even brought their instruments ashore. Pipes and lutes were produced around the cooking fires, where the fishers were already bringing their first round of catches. Music strummed and whistled through the camp.
A sudden savory aroma blazed into Gwen's nostrils, causing her eyes to fly open. The first thing she saw was the skewered golden-brown meat floating under her nose. The meat was still sizzling, the fat still dripping off the crispy skin. It smelled fucking delicious. Already Gwen's salivary glands were high-fiving and warming up.
That was when Gwen recognized the skewered animal as one of those adorable yellow squirrels.
"Eat, Witch." Brygos passed the skewered squirrel directly under Gwen's nose. "It's yours. Don't tell me that little slice of fruit filled you all the way to the brim. I could hear your stomach while we were getting mangos. Louder than a bloody twelve-pounder, it was."
"Um…" Gwen's stomach was embroiled in conflict. Yes, there was still gnawing hunger, but…
Shit, why did it have to be the cute squirrels?
"I'm good on the, uh… I think I'll hold off on the squirrel for now… I'm not all that hungry."
Brygos lowered the skewered squirrel a fraction, fixing Gwen with a nonplussed stare.
GWRGRBRGH
"Holy shit I lied, give me that-" Gwen grabbed the skewer out of Brygos's hand and sank her teeth into the roasted formerly-adorable squirrel, ripping out a band of meat and sucking it down without even remembering to chew.
Laughter erupted from the other consorts gathered around the fire. Gwen barely noticed.
Brygos was impressed by the barbaric display. "The stomach never lies. Were you debating the ethics of eating squirrel?"
"Maybe." Gwen tore another chunk of meat free. This time she suppressed the urge to immediately swallow. She chewed it around a bit, allowing the flavor to fill her mouth. Then she gulped it all down. "Ethics aside, I'm incredibly tired of hearing my gastric alarm clock every fucking five minutes. Gotta take out the clock's batteries, one bite at a time. Fuck, this is good…"
Within two minutes, Gwen was left with a bare skewer. A loud belch erupted from her throat.
She wiped the squirrel juices from her mouth and said, "Excuse me."
"From what?" asked Brygos.
"Hm?"
"What do you need to be excused from?"
"Oh, uh...burping."
"Why?"
"Because…" Gwen's brow twitched into a slight frown. "Well… We always say 'excuse me' when we burp. Something we learned to do as kids. Everyone always told us it was impolite to burp without saying 'excuse me'. What's the big deal?"
More laughter bubbled up from the gathered consorts. This time, however, they were sure to infuse the laughter with a hearty belch or two.
"I don't know why anyone would tell you such a cockbrained thing, Witch," Brygos chuckled. "A burp is a burp. Nothing more than an extrusion of gas. And you are taught to apologize for it? Your people strike me as oversensitive."
"Yeah, um…" That stung Gwen a bit. Not the jab itself, but the reminder of home it carried. "Oversensitive. Yeah."
The rest of impromptu dinner passed uneventfully. There were no more mentions of Gwen's old life, much to her relief. The consorts were in much livelier spirits than even when they first sat down around the fire to eat – symptoms of a fuller stomach.
After skaiaset the cooking fires were stamped out and the corsairs gradually trickled off to their tents. Brygos wished Gwen a good night before hopping onto the passing out bandwagon, leaving Gwen alone at the extinguished fire. Most of it had been stamped out, but there were still a few smoldering embers left.
Gwen stayed another few minutes to watch. Embers had such a tranquil way of mollifying an overactive mind. Only after the last ember burned away did she stand up and leave.
She went straight back to her house. Much to her relief, everything was in its proper place. The corsairs had not looted the house. Not yet, at least. Gwen headed upstairs and stepped into the bathroom. The shower supplies were still in the shower. So far so good. Gwen grabbed some bodywash, shampoo, a scrubby, and a towel. Then it was back downstairs, back outside.
Gwen crept across the beach, putting some distance between her and the camp. Once the corsairs were completely out of sight, she headed toward the water. Upon reaching the wet sand, she lay down her towel and undressed. She left her clothes on the towel to keep them from getting sandy.
Electric anticipation hummed through Gwen's body as she stepped into the water. It had been so long since the last time she bathed – she no longer even noticed her own stink. This was going to feel good.
First Gwen dunked her head and lathered her hair up with shampoo. She took her time, massaging her entire scalp with small deliberate circles. Then she tossed her shampoo back to the towel and exchanged it for the bodywash and scrubby.
Gwen took her time with the bodywash. She hummed quietly to herself while she bathed, careful to work the scrubby through every micrometer of her body. There would be no specks of grime left unturned by the end of this particular scouring.
It was the closest Gwen would ever come to experiencing a real shower on this world. She'd really taken showers for granted in her old life. Bathing now for the first time in nearly a month felt akin to removing a heavy winter coat. Her skin breathed for what felt like the first time in her life.
When she was finished scrubbing, Gwen completely submerged and rinsed herself off. She got out of the ocean and retrieved her clothes from the beach, wrapping herself in the towel.
Clean again, at long last. Clean and citrusy.
Gwen made her way back to the house. Once inside, she went upstairs to her bedroom, dried off, retrieved some pajamas from the dresser. She looked at the mirror hanging over the dresser.
The girl looking back from this mirror already seemed more familiar to Gwen than the girl from the bathroom mirror. More light in her eyes, more color in her cheeks. Amazing what a bath in the ocean could do.
"You're gonna wake up tomorrow," Gwen spoke in unison with the girl in the mirror, "and you're gonna get some breakfast. Mangos, probably. Or coconuts. Not the most diverse of menus, I know, but still. Better than sand. Then after breakfast you're gonna hunt down a mythical library. You ready?" she asked.
Gwen was silent for a moment, then allowed a faint smile to color her face and nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's do this! Well - sleep first, then let's do this."
She broke away from the mirror and jumped into bed, flopping down on her stomach. She lay there unmoving, head buried in the pillows, eyes closed. Blissful.
When was the last time she'd slept on a mattress?
Gwen, too busy enjoying this time, had no answer.
Only when the snoring started did the Courtyard Droll emerge from under the bed, syringe in hand.