Good Hunting Chapter 3
Do you feel it?
That wretched gnawing,
Eating away from deep within.
Become whole in our faith,
And be absolved.
Book of Humanity, Verse 3
Kiwi was happy. She had no reason not to be.
This wondrous air balloon trip had given her what Kiwi desired most: the chance to fly, free above the clouds. When the babblings of the day were done, it was her habit to stay up late to keep the fire lit and the skies watched for any sign of trouble.
"You don't have to do that," Ossawa had protested, "we can take turns. Are you feeling alright?"
Of course, Kiwi had replied, why wouldn't she be? This was all she had ever wanted since she was a child. Besides, who could pass up on the opportunity to lie awake, alone under the stars each night?
In the end, Ossawa gave in. Since then, a night hadn't gone by when Kiwi stared out into the darkness. She had assured the captain that she wouldn't stay up for long; that she'd trade places with Darow once midnight passed, but in truth Kiwi never did. She never even told Darow that he was meant to be taking a watch at night in the first place.
That busy owl had enough to deal with, she thought, especially now that the aeronaut had arrived. Corrin's skills in the air were passable, if uninspiring. Kiwi had hoped for some masterful tutelage, but all she ended up receiving were lessons she had already learnt, and vague ideas imparted with Corrin's slow and ponderous air.
Still, she appreciated the company. While the night was her time alone, free from the tribulations of work, by day her station could become quite lonely. With Darow fluttering around and Ossawa perpetually burrowed away in her cabin, it had just been her working the deck until Corrin had arrived.
All in all, Kiwi could not have been more content. Things were going exactly as they should. If she kept this up, Kiwi was well on her way to becoming an accomplished aeronaut, or perhaps even a captain one day. Now wouldn't that be something?
Yet, despite all that, Kiwi was not happy at all.
She pondered this unhappiness one night upon their voyage to the Divide. Once everyone else had fallen asleep and the fire was suitably stocked, Kiwi felt a familiar numbness overtake her body. The sweet anaesthetic of the dark that swallowed the Dragalge from all sides, pierced only by the glimmering of countless stars far above.
Wanting to get a better look at those celestial lights, she began to clamber up the rigging that tethered down the balloon canvas to the deck, swinging and scrambling her way ever higher as if aiming for the heavens themselves. She climbed up this mess of ropes, clinging to the side of the balloon as she went, until eventually Kiwi made it to the very pinnacle of the Dragalge. Where the oval of the balloon canvas flattened out towards its very top, there was a wide flat space riddled with rope and cushioned by the warm blanket of air that kept the Dragalge aloft.
It was the perfect place to be alone. Having climbed as far as she could go, Kiwi firmly planted herself atop the balloon and waited to see what thoughts came to her.
First was just how dangerous her climb had been. A stray gust of wind could have easily torn her from the rigging, she only now realised, flinging her into the abyss far below. She could have slipped on the smooth surface of the balloon, tearing her skin to shreds from rope-burn as she tried desperately to regain a hold on the rigging.
So many things could have gone wrong, and yet here she was, completely unharmed. In that evening numbness of spirit, all sense of caution had left her. It was only then that Kiwi began to wonder if this numbness was something that had come over her, or if, in the absence of prying eyes, this was how she felt naturally when there was no need to pretend otherwise.
That made no sense, especially not to Kiwi. She should never have been happier. Things were going well. She had no right to be anything other than happy. But, as much as she tried to reason with herself, that gnawing sadness remained. That terrible emptiness.
Now, what a silly thing to think about. There were far less fortunate people in this world. Kiwi remembered how her parents used to talk about those unlucky people, who went so often seen but not heard. The Pokemon that fell through the cracks; that failed to make a name for themselves, or who were just victims of circumstance. Kiwi should count her blessings.
This was no time to be ungrateful.
Much to her surprise, Kiwi felt a prickling of dew around her eyes. That must have been what it was, for she did not feel sad enough for tears. In fact, she felt as light as a feather; as empty as the dark.
There was only one conclusion that Kiwi could find: something was wrong. Not with her, but with this ship, something that was twisting her mind. But what? Surely the good captain would not allow any harm to come to her beloved Dragalge, at least not knowingly. Corrin, for all his boorishness, did not seem out of place on this voyage. Besides, he seemed to lack the competency to put anything seriously amiss. Darow was… well, Darow.
Perhaps it was those much-neglected psychic abilities that Corrin had mentioned she had? Yes, that had to be it. Something was very wrong aboard the Dragalge, something so off-putting that it made Kiwi feel wrong to her very core.
There was only one thing she could think of that might be the cause of this. The underdecks. A place forbidden to them all save for Ossawa herself.
Now her thoughts had lingered upon this emptiness looming inside of her, Kiwi could not ignore it any longer. She felt a sudden desire – a compulsion – to discover the source of her discontent. Tonight.
Moving more from instinct that conscious desire, Kiwi began hurrying back down to the deck. In her haste she nearly slipped off the rigging once, and then twice, but each time she caught herself and carried on downwards without so much as stopping to catch her breath.
Before long, Kiwi had crept back onto the deck. Everyone else could be seen sleeping up here, all except for Ossawa, who took to bed in her cabin. That might prove tricky.
Holding her breath, she silently moved across the rough floor to that rugged twine trapdoor which sealed away the decks below. Very carefully lifting it open, she slipped into the innards of the Dragalge.
A familiar smell invaded Kiwi's senses. Without the cool night air to drown it, the terrible stench of the Dragalge pervaded every crevice. By this time all the lamps in Ossawa's cabin had been extinguished, leaving Kiwi in utter darkness with only that stink of decay to guide her.
Somewhere deeper within the cabin, Kiwi could hear the stuttering snore of the captain. She must have fallen asleep in her chair judging by how far away the sound was from Kiwi's current, tensed position.
She had only been down here once or twice. Once when she first joined the crew, only a few months ago, and again when she was sent to deliver a flight report from Darow to the captain after Darow himself had fallen ill a few weeks ago. In any case, whatever sickness pervaded this place was far worse than the trifling fever Darow had contracted on that day.
It was only then that Kiwi placed the source of the smell. Something was dying down there.
Not sure what else to do, Kiwi stole into the cabin, carefully maintaining that same cold numbness that had served her so well until now. It was not long until Kiwi found a wall that she quickly grabbed onto, anchoring herself in the darkness. Even now her eyes were yet to adjust to the darkness. The thicket that was the Dragalge was so tightly interwoven that the paltry light from the stars was almost entirely snuffed out. Feeling her way along the wicker walls, Kiwi came across all manner of objects hidden by the darkness. A spindly, metallic thing here, a smooth cracked glass there. Sensations without context, but Kiwi dared not examine these objects any further in fear of dropping them and alerting the captain.
If she were to be caught now… well, best not to think about it, she thought. Doubtless, the captain would declare Kiwi a thief and fling her from the ship. Or at least that is what Kiwi imagined. With renewed determination fuelled by fear, she began searching the sides of the cabin until, at long last, her hands closed around a thick wooden surface.
Now this she could recall. There had always been a heavy wooden chest towards the back of Ossawa's cabin, marred by a heavy slash across its shell. Despite this, the container had seemed sturdy enough, sealed by an unbroken black iron lock. If there was to be some key to the lower decks, Kiwi could think of no other place for it to be other than in that chest.
Her terrible premonition notwithstanding, Kiwi was no master psychic, and so picking this lock with the aid of her mind alone was out of the question. Thankfully, there was no need. Kirlia were such a spindly species – little more than greenish skin and bone – that with only a little fumbling she could reach her fingers almost entirely inside the lock. From there, slowly, carefully, Kiwi began moving her enclosed digits.
After a few minutes, a soft click resounded through the cabin as one of Kiwi's fingers lifted some metal mechanism in the lock, causing it to unlatch from the chest and fall to the straw-strewn floor. As if frozen in place, Kiwi felt her body tense, waiting for a sharp retribution that never came. Ossawa remained in her chair sound asleep.
Feeling around the inside of the now-unlocked chest, Kiwi's hands found nothing. Less than nothing, in fact. Where the bottom of the chest should have been, Kiwi felt only air. This trunk had no bottom, having been carved out to make way for some sort of shaft leading to the deck below.
Calming her nerves once more, Kiwi gently lifted herself into the chest and down into the hole in the deck. A myriad of twigs and branches scraped against her as she descended, made worse by that awful smell which had only grown more pungent.
Still, she could not see a thing. Stumbling onto something solid, Kiwi began exploring her new surroundings. Once again, it was only by the coarse texture of the walls that she navigated this place. At one point she stumbled across an ordinary barrel, save for a thin film of something liquid that coated part of its rim.
Perhaps these barrels were the end of what she would find down here. Storage for the ship, perhaps containing some rations that had rotten away, producing that terrible stink of decay that now possessed the Dragalge. She dearly hoped so. Now that Kiwi was down in these depths, that comforting numbness of spirit which had carried her this far was beginning to give way, taken over by a mounting sense of panic.
She considered turning back, before she discovered any more.
But just as she was having this thought, Kiwi's hands pressed against some soft in the darkness. Something soft, warm, and ever-so-slightly wet.
She heard my voice.
And with that, Kiwi could stand it not a moment longer. With all sense of caution having vanished, she fled, up through the bristling shaft, out of the chest with a clatter and towards the trapdoor. She barely had time to hear Ossawa splutter awake.
"What –"
Was all Ossawa could say before Kiwi shot past her, overcome by such a primal fear that she cared not for secrecy. Before the captain could say anything more Kiwi was gone, back up onto the deck.
Despite all that she had witnessed down below, everything up here was as it had been. Kiwi's eyes fell upon Corrin's slumbering form, and in that moment, she remembered the dedication that he had shown since arriving aboard the Dragalge. That blind faith, and the small book he tried to hide in his scarf. Little escaped from Kiwi's notice. Too little. For once, she wanted to understand less.
With frantic but precise movements, Kiwi carefully unravelled the sleeping Corrin's scarf and, snatching his small, worn book, she continued her ascent. Up the rigging, higher and higher. As high as she could go away from what lurked below the decks. By the time she reached the top of the balloon, her hands stung with rope burn and her body quaked from head to toe in an uncontrollable shivering.
Opening Corrin's book with shaking hands, her panicked eyes settled upon the front page.
The Book of Humanity, it read, and just below: For your absolution.
Flicking through the book, Kiwi did the best to drown out her terror with a wave of liturgies and mantras. For the first time in her life, Kiwi prayed.
"We beasts of claw and tusk. Of fickle fangs and flawed forms," she muttered, "Let us never forget those that granted us thought.
Unfit, incomplete –
Let us never forget.
Let us never forget."