A Jungle Full of White Roses

You could not tell this morning that a storm had unexpectedly struck the coast. The sun was bright and about, shining down full force on the jungle with almost piss-yellow beams. You would think that in the sanctity of the cave, the rays would let Amber and I sleep in peace, but instead, the sun’s beams flooded the mouth, ricocheted off the quartz crystals and semi-precious stones and speckled us in its light. Amber did not suffer as bad as I, her face were curled up in my armpit. It was only when I moved my arm to rub my eye, and unintentionally her snoozing head slid forward and bumped the stone with a hollow thud. She rubbed at her forehead and rolled from my arms onto the floor. Semi moist dust stuck to her bare skin. She hummed while she smiled at me…a very content smile that appeared and blushed her flesh like one who drunk a good mug of alcohol. She rolled over; the dust tarnishing what shine was left in her hair. Her back was to me, then she rolled over again, my body’s length away from me, but facing me with a teasing grin. I stalked over on all fours and playfully nipped at her face and neck like a bird.

Birds called from outside… a chorus of clatter. They called for and were responded by lost mates, lost young and lost flocks blown away or forced away by the storm…the music threatened the very lightning that struck the earth before.

I walked outside, hand behind my head, scratching at the rubbery impressions the stone wall left on the back of my head, my other hand holding my unfastened pants up. It was even brighter out than I imagined. It took my eyes a moment to recover. There were broken branches around, and just as many silver pools. Brightly colored tree frogs, either blown down from the canopy or crawled down at their own free will, dropped their tadpoles off in the pools, and in a few weeks, a few days time for some of the more impatient species, the tadpoles would crawl up into the canopies as miniature frogs no bigger than a granule of tapioca and wait out for the next storm. The floor was carpeted in green leaves and moss, scarcely a speck of brown earth was visible among the leaves and pools.

Amber stood behind me; her eyes squinted as she surveyed the scene. The bark skin blanket covered her shoulders but nothing else. Between her fingers, she loosely held the thin fabric of her gown. Her attention so diverted, her grip so weak, the very dress threatened to fall to the ground. The snail shell necklace was around her neck, settling happily in between the dusty mounds of her breasts…its sharp color and glimmer the morning sun gave it, a contrast on her pale flesh, appearing almost as if it did not belong, but the shine saying, proudly “I do belong here”. Amber unevenly pulled her gown on. The shine was gone. She scruffily pulled the gown to her knees, not really attempting to fix the creases in the skirt. She smiled at me.

We walked through the forests, the ground squishing at our feet…the water, hidden under the leaves, was cold and my feet felt numb. Old trees and young trees fell. A massive mango tree…too old to give fruit, and so old that the only sign of life on it were a few leaves speckled on only its topmost branches, lay like a slain giant…like the beached carcass of a blue whale or long neck, massive, out of place, and cheerless in an alien land…on the forest floor, underneath its massive form were the saplings of its fruit, crushed…like some sick joke. Its roots, naked and dirt free thanks to the rain, stuck out of the ground, like fingers or nerves aimed towards the sky. They were well rotted, if the tree did not fall now and die quickly; a long painful life was ahead for it.

Amber crawled up onto the trunk, I pushed her up. On the pads of her feet, she shakily walked down the length of the trunk. I held her hand. She walked toe to heel, counting out the length of the trunk. I counted too, following her feet. After 10 paces her steps were surer, 46 paces later she did not look at her feet as she walked. Thirty paces later she did not hold my hand. At 92 paces she merely walked on the bark, looking up at the whole in the canopy, the shock of blinding blue, unmarred by clouds and the forms of birds, who were heard, but not seen. At 151 paces she slid off the tree.

I stood behind her, looking into the tangled mess of black and fungus riddled branches. A little bird fluttered among the branches, frantically, its little head shaking so much it looks as if it was going to explode. Every three or four branches it would pause on a branch, and chirp “Chip chip chirrup”. It would bounce up higher on the branches…chip chip chirrup.

It fluttered like a lost ghost through a dead forest. Chip chip chirrup…chip chip. The bird stopped. Chip chip chirrup. Pause. Chip chip from a mass of ferns. The little bird fluttered over to the ferns, snug between two of the most massive branches of the dead tree. It perched on the thinnest of the branches. Chip chip, the ferns whispered. A bird…a little female…puffed and rattled, but unharmed, bolted from the ferns. She landed on the narrowest branch with the male, it snapped of course, sending both of them into the fern bush. Then they flew out of the bush, together, and into the blue sky, dots, then nothing.

We left the fallen tree in peace and continued our way through the storm’s wake. Purposelessness and interest give excellent energy to travel and we found ourselves traveling west and ended up miles away from the cave. I’ve never been here before…Shuka has, when she was but a child…which may have been sixty years ago…seventy perhaps, maybe even eighty. Women never admit their age, men rarely act theirs as Shuka would say, the promptly smack whoever asked her age across the back of the head.

Only saplings, climbing vines, and ferns grew here betweens the cracks on the tiled floors, in the soil that formed on stones and roofs. It was once a village perhaps, something where a decent size group of people once lived…from our ancestors centuries ago. It was a sacred, haunted, and difficult to get to, but thanks to the storm, the underbrush that would have blocked our way was null, and the many fallen trees provided bridges for us. Now the two of us just stood there on the edge of the moss carpeted flooring, looking. The only remaining structures were a few stone benches and walls, no roofs remained on the tops of some of the buildings, and some buildings were nothing more than green rubble. I walked straightly through the land; Amber explored the stone structures off to the side. I stood in the center of the ancient artifact. A wind, the last breath of the storm, blew across the stone grounds. A few petals of the little white flowers…the last of the little white flowers, paused at my feet to speak their plight, then were scattered about. The birds have stopped calling each other, now; they spoke to each other in muted tones.

The edge of the courtyard suddenly dropped off into an abyss. I strolled up to the edge and stood there, gazing out into the distance. Everything was green…despite being raised in the forest; I’ve never seen so much green in my life! I am a creature of the ground and sea, the shades of brown speckled with green and vice versa and the hues of blue of the ocean were the shades of my world. There were no towers, natural and unnatural, in my home village to allow me such a view. The spire only allowed a view our jungle, which contained younger foliage, thinned out thanks to our existence, than this part of the jungle. In our little forest from the spire, you could plainly see the crisscrossing paths of our people through the jungle, and a distance from the forest you could see the square plots of our gardens, the corn, the millet, the squash, coconut, and farther up on the hills you could just scarcely see the bare lands of clay and metal mines. Here, the view was breathtaking. The ground was the tops of trees, so thick, so verdant, that you could not see a speck of earth. A depression (cover by branches) in the trees told me a river or stream cut through the forest floor. As hard as I strained I could only see green. Even the very cliff side I stood above, minus the floor of the ancestors of my people, was washed in mossy greens and miniature ferns. Water trickled down through the stones beside me, and fell like speckles of glass…like beads of dewed spider webs…down into the tree tops.

“Deban!” Amber excitedly exclaimed from the blue stone ruins.

I followed her echoing voice, ringing like a bell lingering like the fragrance of flowers through the maze of structures. She was standing at a wall, a wall that held the forest back and up.

“Deban, look!” she said.

She was holding her hand out, looking up. The fractured face of a spout peeked out from the stones. I think it may have been a long neck at some point in its life, or even a bird, only the neck and fractured bits of the bottom jaw remained. Amber caught the drops of water in her hand. The fat drops washed away her dusty gloves…her forearms, her biceps her shoulders…soon she was directly under the spout. Brown tinged water painted the stones at her feet. Her toes wriggled in the shallow stream of water. Her fingers brushed through her hair, and then she squeezed the curls. She tilted her head up, catching the water on her neck and chest.

I rested my hands on her shoulders, on the chilly skin. Amber looked back at me and smiled. She put her fingertips on mine, holding my hand in place, and she looked up back into the water. A breeze blew through, drops of water struck me, and I closed my eyes, reveling in it.

Plop.

A tiny frog, the color of the skin underneath a leaf, plopped out of the spigot, and by the grace of the goddess’s hand landed on Amber’s head instead of making an unceremonious splat onto the cobble. Amber immediately froze and I attempted to snatch the little frog from her coils, from which it had become hopelessly entangled in. Amber squawked as I finally, after many clumsy attempts, managed to cup my hands around the little invader. It popped out of my hands and took a leap of faith, clinging at my neck then quickly scaling up to behind my ear. Amber attempted to swat it off me, each swat gave it the willpower to climb even higher on my face. She managed to catch it on her fingers, but it only clung to her fingers for a heartbeat before springing right onto my face. She immediately swatted at it. It caught on the gust and with another leap of faith, landed on the stone wall, clinging to the sodden moss. It crawled into a crack and disappeared. During its escape, Amber missed swatting the frog, but slapped me with a loud hollow “whump” across the face. I was more startled at the disappearing act of the frog (actually I could see it out of the corner of my eye being flung towards the wall) than Amber’s strike. Frankly, I’ve been hit in the face with tree branches that stung worse than that.

Amber gasp. I blinked my eyes then looked at her and shook my head.

“For a woman you hit like a fish,” I stated in humor as we left the tiny waterfall and the lucky god frog in peace. We passed through the remains of what may been a temple…it was quite grand at one point it may have had a rounded woven wood roof, but that was gone and the temple appeared to be a turtle shell, its topped cracked open and the insides plucked out. I grabbed hold of Amber’s hand. We had to see this! Well I had to anyway…what the shamans of the past left for the shamans of the present and future.

No moss touched the floor of the temple, no soil no dirt. Both Amber and I looked down at the ground when we realized such was nonexistent here. Holding each others hands we walked down the corridor to the center of the temple. Amber stroked her fingers across the wall. I did the same; it was as smooth as polished stone…perhaps the makers of the cave, perhaps the ancestors of the makers of the cave, made this temple. Quartz and mica glitter as our fingers struck the clean stone. The center of the temple was lit with the light of the sun, glittering so much that it too could have been considered a precious stone. We shielded our eyes.

The center was bare with the exception of some benches and an altar which would have at one time held a statue of the goddess, which either had been taken with my ancestors when they left or had disintegrated into the earth, since by tradition the statures of the goddess were created from the earth so that they can return to the earth when they had become broken or simply abandoned.

Amber sneezed. She sneezed again. She nearly sneezed a third time, but held it in to be proper I assume in human manners, causing her eyes to water. She should have just let herself sneeze. I felt very cold myself, my pants were still thoroughly moist with the water from the spring…it itself was neither warm nor tepid as water should be during the dry seasons. I removed my pants and rung them out the best I could and stretched them across the altar in the sunlight. They should be dry, or at least bearable in half an hour’s time. I lied down on the floor and put my hands behind my head, imbibing in the warm sunlight and the energies of the temple. I could feel the energies, liquid like water, burning like fire, smooth like wind, with the sensation of sunlight, flow from the top of my skull to my heels. I closed my eyes, meditating on the energy. Skin pricks…muscle flicks…I drew the energies deeper and deeper into my body…the stiffness of bone, the elasticity of tendons, the stem smooth veins flowing red sap, the nerves, set like tight vines, taught and flexible, pulsing with energy yet fragile, I sent the energies here.

Gentle raptures broke through the energies. Each rapture became stronger than its predecessor, but not waking me fully from my meditation. Gently each one dammed the flow of energies…slowly and gently, consistently…they themselves become one with the flow.

I exhaled as Amber’s fingers ran from navel to underneath my chin, pulling the air out from my lungs. The final dam was built. Amber pressed her fingers against my lips. I sat up. She smiled, a smile that gave the appearance of drunkenness. Perhaps this temple had an effect on her as well. Half sitting up, half lying down, I stroked her shoulder. The energy pulsed along her skin. My touch scattered the flow. I pushed the strap of her slip away and kissed the soft skin, as smooth and cool as the stone walls. From the corner of my eyes I saw her eyes close and she entered her own meditation, her own revelry. I pulled the strap down farther on her shoulder and gently licked from her collarbone up to her earlobe, just pausing gently to give it a flick with my tongue. I could not reach her other shoulder, and I feared if I moved so I could spoil her meditation. Together I pressed a finger on either side of her cheeks, I ran my fingers in circles the slowly traced the edges of her jaw. My fingertips met on her chin. I traced back up, and then back behind her ears, parting the fine, soft hairs along the base of her head and neck. My fingers met at her spine. They separated again, this time rubbing her shoulders. I pushed the other strap down her shoulder then gently, so now they were both free of obstacles. I rubbed her shoulders with my palms, my fingers stroked her collarbones. I tenderly bit into her shoulder, at the rounded part where it was only skin, bone and tendon, an ignored spot with few nerves, but either way, needed attention of some sort and simply begged for me to lather it with attention, like some white beacon in the shadows of the cave. Amber inhaled air…the maneuver caught her off guard, and immediately broke up her meditation…which was what I did not have planned. Carefully I began to suck the thin skin. Amber watched, and then bent her head back, her hair tickling my shoulder. I pulled away leaving a reddish-purple mark. Gently I licked the marked, soothing the pain, with just the tip of my tongue.

Amber leaned back into me. She pulled my hands back onto her collarbones. She pressed her face against my knuckles, kissing them.

Amber lay on the ground beside me. She rubbed my jaw and drew me down to her. We kissed. I buried my face in her neck. She laughed…cried out…a mixture of the two…as I lathered attention on the parts of her that gave the best reaction, the parts that were addicted to attention. I had to hold Amber still as the slow, tepid meditation that happened only moments…breaths…earlier out of the blue disappeared into a wildfire of thrashing limbs, squeals, and thumps. I was able to hold Amber’s upper body still, but her knees eagerly clacked together like a baby bird begging for a worm.

I will admit…I had to pause in our session to laugh at that idea.

Amber pulled me back down. Her legs were now around my waist. Her one hand gripped the corded necklace around my neck, while her other searched for something to grip onto, which she would not find in this temple.

There were two sets of hands attempting to remove Amber’s slip, so it took twice as long as it normally does. Like a bird it flew onto the altar with my pants, after I flung it of course. Amber repositioned herself and I sat up, holding her legs by her knees. Her hand rested on her breast, above her heart. Her other hand rested on my finger tips, gripping her legs.

Slowly, to ensure both safety and pleasure, I entered her. I knew from our past experiences Amber had become used to my body, but still I had to be weary. True, sex was starting to become a huge part of my life, but I and her were not adapted or skilled enough to simply just “jump into it”. Amber wheezed as the last bit of myself was pushed inside her. I watched her expression; I knew certain parts still caused her a bit of pain. Her face lightened. I allowed myself to exhale. I let go of her legs and pulled her towards. Amber’s legs wrapped tightly around my waist, heels resting on the base of my tail, her arms like a vice around my neck. My right hand, fingers outstretched, rested between her shoulders. My left hand cupped her lower back, keeping her on my lap.

I trusted upwards, nearly jostling Amber off me. Amber motioned for me to pause. She released her grip from around my neck and leaned back, her head on the floor, legs still wrapped around my waist, back on my thighs. Her hands stroked mine. I held her hips my hands, my thumbs pressing on her hip bones. We shared expressions filled with affection, tenderness, and wholeness, indifferent to time and space…it was brief.

My grip on her hips tightened, and I pressed my thumps into her hips, holding her steady for the first thrust. My body banged into hers. Each thrust became a wave that shook up her stomach then her breasts, making them bounce like papayas during a windstorm, then crashed onto her face forming unreadable expression. I placed one hand on her stomach, feeling the waves from myself, reverberate from palm to elbow.

Amber began to push on me, making her own waves, making my own body quiver.

Tsunami I thought…waves pounding together in a whirlpool. The sky and the ocean making love, each powerful pulsation from the powerful deities resulting in powerful waves…reverberations…thumps…the ocean crashing on to the beaches…the ocean making love to the shore…the shore pushing its sandy body into the water with each wave…wind from the tsunami pulling earth up into the sky…the earth loving the sky…earth pulled up, then pulled down…the powerful gusts, the crashing of earth.

Amber’s facial expressions had changed…or stop changing, instead her face was captured in total stiffness, a leather bowstring waiting to snap and release its arrow. Her head was tilted in profile, facing the wall, eyes clenched tightly. She was close to climax…her own dam near bursting. I became aware of my own impending explosion, but desired a few more breaths of closeness before the heated union died off in the coolness of the cave. I, half dizzied with primal thoughts, rubbed her stomach, soft but hot, like molten glass or heated cloth in the sun. It loosened Amber a bit, and she was able to swallow air. I slowed down, just briefly, taking in the feel of her inner flower around me…allowing her to feel me…allowing us to feel each other. Once again, the feeling was only brief and I went back to work.

My pause enabled us both to achieve a simultaneous climax. I exploded, I felt her explode at the same time…the smell of her was strong in the air…the smell of salt and flower petals. Now I could feel her nails in my arms. As we separated at the hips, her nails separated from me leaving very much welcomed reminders of the intimacy, my hands let go of her hips, leaving red imprints of my thumbs.

I was beside her again, looking over her. Amber had a hold of my necklace, making sure I did exactly that. I pressed my snout tip against her forehead and she bumped her forehead against my chin.

“I want to father your babies!” I whispered to her in a somewhat eager (truthfully), husky voice.

She looked at me with a “weirded out” expression on her face. My tone perhaps was inappropriate for the moment. I blushed out of embarrassment. Perhaps maybe she was starting to grasp my language. But Amber brought me close to her so my arms were around her. I believe our clothes were still wet when I glanced up at the altar. Amber kissed at my neck, her hands stroking the edges of the muscles of my biceps. Her fingers teased my nipples, plucking at them to get my attention. My nerves shot little arrows up to my brain. As her kisses and touches overworked my nerves, I calculated in my head, looking up at the altar and my pants.

Yes…about twenty…thirty more minutes my pants should be fully dry.

Hell…lets make it an hour.

Amber gleefully yipped when I took her again. The raucous noise echoed through the abandoned village.

I believe it was midday when we started and stopped re-exploring the ruins…by Amber’s choice for the latter. There were many old stone bases of houses, most had no roofs, but we did find the occasional remnants…mushy remnants of a roof, scarcely recognizable tools. I discovered broken pottery, sticky with black spices and a rusted iron skillet with no bottom among the roof mush and forest litter in one house. Amber found a bird eating tarantula, a humming bird hatchling, probably a victim of the storm, clutched in its jaws in the broken cupboard of a household, now made into its own little pantry.

It took me a moment to wonder what the white flash that burst passed me was as I carried some almost ripe breadfruit from a heavily laden tree growing through a fissure in the floor of one house.

The harsh morning light is bearable now, steady, warm, drying the land. The chilly storm winds were now only a welcomed whisper that carried to us the smells of flowers, leaves, and crystal clean rain. Our stomachs were somewhat content with the breadfruit that I had sliced thin and roasted over a fire to eat. A few wisps of baked breadfruit…as sweet as baked bread…lingered in the air. Amber sat; I lay, on large stone bench, enjoying the warming sun. My head and shoulders rested on Amber’s lap. Her one arm rested across my throat, the bend of her elbow hooked into my throat holding my head up, while her hand rubbed the top of my head. It was comfortable.

Too comfortable.

My mind would not let me rest, the thoughts of worry and just thought itself nibbled at the back of my mind. My mind slowly throbbed with the thoughts and anxieties that existed miles away…miles away down near the beach. I never understood why exactly Amber was in the company of the men, but biology and common knowledge told me the purpose of a female, and observation of the human race told me the control of a human female, and my upbringing in a fishing village told me the purpose of ships—to deliver goods.

Maybe she was in fact a shaman or some sort…or maybe…is the term noble? Her safety was demanded either way by the male crew members. Then I remember how the man in white treated her…she was nothing more than a girl, an ordinary (by that terminology I mean no magical powers or in incredible status) female. My hand stroked at her elbow to remind me that that was she was. I will not lie if I said I did not feel awe, but it was the kind of awe only I could feel for her.

AMBER’S POV

It was Deban stroking my elbow that alerted me to the jungle. He was comfortably nestled on my lap, half sleep, half dazed, as I was only seconds earlier. I heard what sounded like footsteps through the jungle…crashes…at first I thought it was some predatory animal…a leopard, a giant lizard, a griffin…despite not see any of those…I was immediately unnerved. I heard voices…and I froze…the voices began to clarify as they drew closer…men…humans. I gasped. Deban immediately sat up, bewildered and looked into the jungle, eyes wide, but somewhat narrowed in confusion.

“Amber!”

“Amber!”

I gasped and covered my mouth. Deban’s eyes widened to their fullest. He grabbed hold of my hand, nearly pulling my arm out of its socket and knocking me to my knees, and we ran into the rubble. The men’s voices, more particular, Captain Marius, were now in the ancient village. My stomach became heavy as did my heart and legs. I wanted Deban to fling me over the edge into the jungle below, but my own worry for him, for his fate and his desire to live, my own feelings, his feelings for me, kept me rooted.

We were at the edge of the village where the wall held back the jungle. Deban scaled it like a cat. Supporting himself on a tree trunk, he hung down, hand outstretched for me to grab. I knew, I knew, I knew if we ran off, if we left together, if they saw us leave, our selfishness would lead to a guilt I could not live with. Somewhat innocent men will die as they attacked the village, and the village, a village that has done nothing more than show me kindness and interest, help and affection, would suffer from my selfishness.

What I did next was my choice.

I kissed Deban…I knew it startled him…then stepped out his reach so he could not grab me and pull me into the jungle. I stood only a few feet away, feet rooted to the ground.

“Run…” I hissed through salty tears. “Just run…”

His blue eyes rippled like a puddle of water. He was gone. Not a sound, not a spot of white. Gone.

The taste of him, the feel of him, all that he has put inside me…the feelings, the warmth, the thought, the hopes…were pulled away as he pulled away. My upper body was now hollow.

My feet rooted to the ground, my knees gave out, my eyes too. Softly I sobbed. I heard footsteps on cobbles, wooden heels on stones; I crawled on all fours to the nearest house. I pressed my back against the stone wall. I could just see the men standing, talking among one another. They glanced over the ledge.

“You don’t think she did…”

“You don’t think she would…”

“You don’t think they would…”

“Maybe they did…”

The sobs, like hiccups, continually throbbed in my chest. I dare not cry, but painfully held them back. The men left, heading towards another part of the village, I heard their foot steps echoing and their voices only murmurs. I covered my mouth and stood up. I felt sick with what to do, the inevitable, and my choice when I left Deban.

A hand…boney and cold…grabbed my wrist and yanked my one hand from my mouth.

“What do you think you are doing girl?” Preacher Sade snarled. The tears stopped, my stomach stopped burning. “Taking off late at night...”

He looked me in the face then leaned down, hissing in my ear like venom, “We thought these heathens took you away for their own use…but you just ran away by yourself…that is a very foolish thing to do, girl…you don’t know what happens to a girl who runs away from her duty?”

He yanked on my wrist. “She may find herself in a less than savory predicament…”

He licked his lips as he stared at my chest, admiring them as a fox admires a pair of white hens sleeping in their boxes for the night.

“…used by some one lucky enough to find her…perhaps to give her a new duty…”

His lips, his teeth were close to my face, my earlobes, my neck.

He paused for a moment, noticing the necklace Deban has given me around my neck. His fingers brushed my hair off my shoulder…my right shoulder.

“What the hell…” he said seeing the maroon welt, like some beacon, some mark of the plague on my skin.

There was a thud, a shake of tree branches behind us. Preacher Sade looked up immediately. My hair rushed to curtained my bruise as his hand pulled away.

“YOU!”

Deban was perched at the edge of wall, angered, a red rage burning up his face, his stripes…even the whiteness on his tinged red…not pink…red as blood, red as fire. The torn edges of the scars burnt red like embers, like fire threatening to burst through his skin. He snarled, a sound I never knew…never thought he was capable of. His fangs…the first time I had ever seen the true nature of them…glinted in the sunlight. Like a believer at the feet of God, I felt relief and hope at the ferociousness.

“YOU!” Preacher Sade exclaimed at me. To the both of us, “YOU!”

He rattled my arm. “You’ve been screwing him haven’t you? That’s why you’ve been taking off. Screwing the fucking demon! You have turned your back on god, and I will make a woman out of you, you godforsaken bitch…WHORE! Right after I do my duty and gut and skin this devil riddled heathen for good this time!”

Deban was nearly ready to pounce when I screamed…I spoke up.

“Captain Marius! I’m here, right over here,” I cried, sobbing. Deban paused, no longer looking like demon, but like a confused, heartbroken creature…person…he truly was. He looked half ready to fall off the edge. Then men’s voices rose up and they headed to Preacher Sade, confused but still holding my arm. Deban clumsily ran up into the jungle.

The men appeared. All but Captain Marius looked apathetic to my plight. Captain Marius looked at me with sympathy, understanding, but not truly knowing. We left the deserted village; Captain Marius put his captain’s coat on my shoulders to cover me. The village now ignored and as lifeless as it was before, was swallowed up by the jungle. The jungle birds softly murmured as we marched, hidden from view. Only soft wing beats and the occasional rustle of leaves told us where they could be. One bird could be heard among the foliage on the ground, his deep and throaty cries echoed through the jungle, then like the village, we left them behind to be swallowed up by the jungle, to be drowned out…cries and calls for a lover that he had lost in the sudden storm.

We did not speak to the notadrachs when we left the next day. It was near evening when the ship was set to sail. A water barrel had sprung a leak and set us back a few painful hours. Now we were set to go.

Most of my belongings were on the ship with the exception of a carry on suitcase and a dress, which I haphazardly pulled on. As I dressed, I stroked the mark Deban had left. It will be gone in a few days’ time. But other marks…scars even…would remain for years to come. But unlike scars, fear told me that they would fade, covered up with unsatisfied rouge made from years of ignorance and restraint. Captain Marius waited for me outside the hut. He offered me a sympathetic arm as he led me back to the ship, imposing and hungry.

The notadrachs were lined up at their doorways to watch us. They said nothing, not even the children; they all watched us…watch me…with some form of loss in their eyes, like watching a funeral procession and I was the coffin. The elderly female, Chuka, just looked at the ground. She looked very old now, withered. Kip and Stark, fidgety, looked at the ground too, elbowing each other to remind each other to look at the ground.

I saw Deban leaning against back of one of the houses. Just a glance of him, a glance that was burned into my memory. He was looking at the edge of the jungle, at the grass on the ground. He wore a garment, a vest like garment, on his chest to hide the scars. I believe I could see just the edges of a few scars.

Captain Marius tugged at my arm. We crossed the spire. I could no longer see the village. I remember nothing until I was on the boat, sitting on my bed. Captain Marius spoke to me, telling me not to be scared, everything will be okay, and I’ll be safe and happy…it’s normal for a woman to be scared when she is to be wed. He understood me running off in terror in nervousness; he said he saw the anxiety in my eyes. He asked if something was wrong. I told him I was sick, felt sick. He thought it was nervousness, I told him I believed my cycle may be upon me. He patted my head and told me everything would be well. He left.

Night was starting to fall. The boat slowly began to move out of the bay into the great ocean. Each crash of a wave on the boat took away a piece of hope, a piece of myself. I felt very light and wandered out of my cabin and found myself on the deck, leaning on the railing. There was a curtain of stars out tonight, lighting the crests of the water. I could just see the blackness, the jagged blackness that was the beach.

No one was on the deck currently I could see; at least no one could see me leaning on the balcony thinking with the water. I pressed my back against the railing and looked across the deck of the ship. The moonlight lit the rails, the polished floors, the ropes and barrels, the crates of goods. The sails cracked with a gust of wind. The wind carried the feeling of the tropics with. My bonnet was blown off my head; it rolled across the deck then flipped over the side, silently landing into the water.

I fell backwards.

Hitting the water knocked the wind out of me. For a split second as I sunk downwards, I thought I was paralyzed. Then I broke free of the icy grip and terror of the water and clawed my way to the surface and broke through it. I pushed my sodden bangs out of my eyes and looked back at ship, only a foot behind me, looming over me, and I laughed at it.

I clawed my way through the water, my dress becoming heavier and heavier as I paddled. I struggled to remove my dress. Heavy, it sunk to the depths. Waves pushed me to shore, the waves from the ship helped push me to shore, me…myself…pushed me towards shore. It was until I was on all fours, the waves weaving through my fingers, my fingers dredged in the sand, did I feel hope and terror return to my quivering body. I laughed at myself, at the world, at the ocean, at the ship, at the sailors, at Preacher Sade. I just laughed. I could have been pulled under by the sea beasties, by whirlpools, I could have drowned from weakness or the weight of my clothing, my own inability to swim well, and I could have been founded and pulled back onto the ship. Dear god, what stupidity could have gotten me into. I laughed till I cried. My stomach filled with terror and thankfulness.

I dragged myself up from the water and collapsed, my body shaking like jelly. I collapsed at the edge of the jungle, a fern’s tendrils rubbing my face, watching over me. I fell asleep. I was asleep for only an hour or so, it was now very dark out when I came to.

I pulled myself up. I kicked my boots off, removed my stockings as I headed down the beach to the village. The air was rich with the smell of burning torch oil.

I began to stumble down the beach, my bones chilled and aching, but I was off that ship, and hopefully, I’ll stay off that ship. Stunned I stumbled down the beach, coughing up sea water every few steps. I looked back at the ocean, clutched my shoulders and struggled down the beach.

“Where do you think you are going?”

I thought I had gone insane when I heard that voice from the water. Preacher Sade stood on the beach. I could see a rowboat, a tiny lantern perched on a seat, bobbing in the waves. He was alone. Acid rose in my gullet. He stalked towards me.

“I saw you jump girl. God looks down on little whores who commit suicide,” he exclaimed. He grabbed hold of my face, squeezing my lips together. “God hates little girls who run away from their husbands…existing or prospective…he hates girls who shun their duties and run with animals!”

I slapped his hand. Preacher Sade reacted as if I flung acid on his hand. “Deban is not an animal! You lie in the face of God! You hide in the face of God you bastard! LIAR! Hypocrite! HYPOCRITE!”

He grabbed hold of my shoulders. “Deban? Deban is the name of the…the thing you nearly killed yourself over? You’re destroying your life for this creature?”

“Yeah, the life you and this goddamn society made for me!” I spat out. Sade slapped me hard across the face. I laughed at him.

“Don’t you dare use the lord’s name in vain girl. Society makes choices for girls because girls cannot make the choices for themselves,” he said. “A woman who is not under control is stupid, ignorant, and cannot do her duties. Society at least helps her with her own ignorance, makes her know her purpose.”

I laughed and point my finger at him. “Oh, we can make our own choices. You know that, that’s why you hit me, why you strike me down and hunt me down, Preacher Sade. This is my choice. MINE, not yours, not your fucking society. Men at home just want to control their women because they fear them…you fear us! You use the words of God…the words of a deity who loves all and demands fair treatment for all…you warp them to become God yourself! Your hypocrisy makes you the most ignorant of us all!”

He grabbed hold of the front of my shirt. “He fucked you, didn’t he? Fucked your body, fucked your mind. I bet you let him fuck every part of you…”

I slapped his hands free. “He fucked me, Preacher Sade...and I enjoyed every goddamn second of it.”

Preacher Sade threw me to the ground. “I will redeem you girl, I will purify you of your sins and clean that heathen from you until you can’t think or even walk straight.”

He pulled me up from the ground. “Girl, there’s a reason why I came after you. I’m gonna redeem you and make you my wife and together, we’ll redeem these beastly savages and show them our way living…the way you need to live your life. What did I say about little girls who shun their duties and run away?”

He yanked me up to his face. “They find themselves in bad positions! I’ll give you the proper duty! I’ll save you from eternal hellfire, I’ll save these people from eternal hellfire and cleanse the devil from their village…starting with this…Deban. I’ll skin him and cut that dick off of his. Hell, maybe I might just display them in my house. I’ll rule over these people, and hey, you don’t have to go to whatever fat ass wanted to marry your ‘old maid’ pussy. You'll be my wife, I'll be the preacher, and we'll all live happily ever after. We all win…”

“You don’t talk like a preacher,” I hissed at him as he dragged me down the beach. He was looking around, looking for some spot to toss me then toss himself on top of me. I kicked at him…hitting him square in his privates. “And with that plan the only one who wins is you!”

I struck him hard again, causing him to gasp. I kicked him as hard as I could in the face. I could feel blood, from his nose or eyes or mouth, I didn’t know, but I ran, ran as fast as I could, stumbling over my feet, over shells, and drift wood. I ran until the orange torches of the village were in sight.

I heard a splash, a plop, a stone striking water. A lone notadrach stood by the water throwing stones…angrily skipping stones…out into the water. Most failed to skip. He almost appeared to be aiming to hit something, something too far away to be hit or unseen, something that cannot be hit, and growling angry as he failed, as if looking for that one in a million chance, that one in a billion chance he strikes it.

“DEBAN!” I screamed. He stopped, looking over his shoulder as he attempted to toss a stone, unsure of what he just heard. He fell over himself when he saw me. Like a charging bull, he pulled himself back up on all fours, sand kicked up from the earth as he raced to me.

He took me off my feet, swung me around then set me back on my feet. He patted my shoulders, my arms then cocked my face up to his so he could directly into my eyes. He realized it was me. We kissed. Then we collapsed, the two of us, onto the sandy beach. Sand clung to me, to him, water began to seep into our clothing, and we clung to each other…one being, one person…whole. We did not make love, did not want to, did not feel the need to.

His hand searched for mine in the darkness. I wove my fingers between his. I felt happy, whole, safe. I cried; he caressed the side of my face, wiping my tears into my hair. Grains of sand from his finger tips, like little diamonds in the rough, stuck to strands of my hair. He picked me up and began to carry me to the village. My body was stiff, curled in his arms, head pressed to his chest, to his beating heart, where I could hear, feel his happiness. Deban turned suddenly. He gasped.

“PUT HER DOWN!” Preacher Sade roared. At first I thought Deban was going to set me in the sand and prepare to grapple with Sade, but instead, Deban darted towards the jungle…completely throwing Preacher Sade off, who tripped over his own feet. I saw a glint in his hand in the starlight, a knife.

Deban ran up onto the spire, he deposited me in the bushes, somewhat unceremoniously. Preacher Sade did not see where Deban and placed me. Deban stood in profile, staring down at the beach. Preacher Sade swung at Deban with the knife, and Deban ducked, the blade with a woosh cut through the air where his chest once was.

“DAMMIT HEATHEN!” Preacher Sade snarled and slashed and Deban again, sending him back a few steps.

His slashes were wild, cutting soundly through air, but not striking Deban, however his wide strikes were sending Deban straight back, towards the edge of the spire. Deban was forced to hold his arm up to keep the knife from slashing his face as he worked away from the edge. The blade slid across his forearm, Deban remained steadfast, his wounded arm pressed against his body. Deban’s steps were faltering. He was growing dizzy, his steps more and more unsure. Preacher Sade nicked Deban’s good hand with the knife. Another slash, another nick. Sade laughed with each cut that sliced Deban’s body. Deban’s blood blotched Sade’s white robes. Every time Deban attempted to swat the knife out of the way or strike at Preacher Sade, Sade would outwit him and strike him at any opening he had.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” I cried, rushing Sade.

I rammed him from behind. Preacher Sade fell forward, me on top of him. There was a popping sound, a horrible sound I could not describe and not forget. Deban’s eyes widened. The world around me became quiet, I heard nothing. I crawled off Preacher Sade, towards Deban. Sade rolled over, his eyes white and wide. The handle of the blade stuck out of his chest. Not a glint of blade was to be seen. Blood…black and glittering in the night…dripped down, dyeing his robes black. He bled and bled as he stalked towards us. The blood spread and spread until the front of his robe was dark and molded to his body, like a straight jacket. Only his hands…oddly…appeared clean.

“You bitch, you whore, you’ll burn in hell,” he wheezed, his eyes narrowed in anger, but filled to the brim with insanity. “Bitch…whore…worthless…”

He threw himself towards me to take me off the edge of the spire, as if it was one last ditch attempt to lay on top of me, to sleep with me, but Deban pushed himself in front me, and stood stiff like a tower. Preacher Sade weakly toppled into Deban. Deban grabbed Preacher Sade by his head, his entire palm engulfing his face and pushed him away from us. Sade stumbled back, arms flailing like a swan…elegant at first, then oddly comical as he did fly off into the night, but fell, backwards off the spire. It wasn’t a thud, as I would expect, but just crunch, a crack. No screams, no cries, not even a gurgle.

I did not look over the cliff edge at Preacher Sade. I covered my mouth, but succeeded in vomiting anyway, a mixture of bile and saltwater. Deban looked half sick as well, his bottom lip trembled.

Deban pulled me to him, pressing me against his chest, against his beating heart as best he could with his wounded arm. I clung to him. Blood dripped from numerous cuts on his arms, dripped onto me. Upon realizing this, he attempted to pull away from me, or at least loosen his grip. I did not let him. They’re just cuts…not scars…simple nicks of the flesh…they’ll heal over, and if they don’t, scars may mark, but they do not damn. No one damns another, only one damns only oneself, damns one self by confining ones self in some form or another, or perhaps better, damning the very world around them, and confining themselves from the world. Deban brushed a tendril of hair from my forehead with his left hand, the hand that covered in small cuts. His right arm hanged at his side.

A night bird called, indeterminate noise happened below us. We kissed. That moment I realized it was not worlds anymore…not my world, not his world…not our worlds…it is our world. But for the moment it will be just us…just us…

CAPTAIN’S LOG

We had discovered the disappearance of Miss Amber two days after leaving the small unnamed Notadrach village on the west coast of Lost at eight hundred hours, during breakfast. She had complained to me of her womanly cycles and wished to be left alone, which was the most I could offer her at the time. Her mind and body did not need any unnecessary attention. I supposed it was mistake brought on by manners to let the woman be, especially in her state of mind at the time, and that is why she had gone unnoticed for the first two days. The poor woman had suffered from fits of hysteria and I was worried that she may have attempted to kill herself by flinging herself off the side of the boat at first. We all believe that is what she had done initially.

Upon discovering Miss Amber’s absence we became aware of the absence of the Preacher, Sade, as well. All of Sade’s belongings were gone, the book of prayers, the holy candlesticks, and such from his room. A boat was absent. We turned the ship around and headed back to the beach. The winds proved favorable and in a day and a half’s time we anchored and rowed to shore. We found the missing boat bobbing around on shore, anchored and empty. Farther up on a beach, near a lagoon, we found the young lady’s boots, tucked away in the foliage. There appeared to be depressions in the sand, very weak depressions that may have been at one point footsteps.

We were not greeted by the Notadrach, in fact. At first I thought they were merely suspicious of us, thinking we were another alien boat, but we soon discovered the village abandoned. Houses stood as the very day we left. No fires burned, no children ran. The houses were empty except for a few pieces of rotted food or heavy furniture. Nothing remained. Their fishing boats were laid out on the shore, and we were sure that they were some where since they have left boats out. We went up the path to their gardens and mines, and discovered all the harvestable food was goon, only bare patches of soil and green fruits remained. The mines were empty; calls only resulted in empty echoes. There were no footprints to say where they have gone, and no signs saying that two humans were traveling with them.

There were no signs of the Notadrach or Miss Amber and Preacher Sade. We scoured the land looking for the remains of the two latter, and found nothing, no rips of fabric, or blood, anything that would speak of an untimely demise.

They did not want to be found by us, to be taken away, and so I leave the two to their choices.

I supposed Miss Amber and Preacher Sade had found their happiness and place, and wanted to be left at that. She found a husband to love and he found another way to service God, and the Notadrachs found faith.

I pray for all,
Captain Marius