Cracks in the Shell

Chapter 20

Gradually, the towers of Ginen shrunk to a speck on the horizon. The expedition party was now alone in the vast expanse of unspoiled dunes and water - although not quite alone. Carlos thought he saw someone off in the distance, watching them. A second figure materialized through the heat waves, followed by a dozen others. The dune ahead was soon crowded with them: tall, stationary figures looming dark against the sky. As the expedition party drew closer, however, Carlos saw that they were not people at all, but wooden columns sticking vertically out of the sand like telephone poles stripped of their wires. And there were thousands of them.

“The drift forest,” Moro said. “We make camp there tonight.”

They entered the forest of driftwood, hiking through a surreal landscape that Carlos realized must stretch for miles.  

“Where does the wood come from?” he asked, prying at a salt-worn splinter.

“From the sea,” Moro answered as if this was this were obvious. “The forest is home to angry lwa, the petra. The baka don’t like to come here. So we should be safe.” He lowered his voice. “But I hope they do come. I have a debt to settle.” 

“Killing them won’t bring back her back.” 

“But we’ll be even,” Moro said, his eyes tearing up. Carlos wished Henry were here. His friend was an excellent grief counselor – a fact he knew from first hand experience.

“You should talk to Henry when we get back. He can help you work things out.”

Ayzili scoffed and began rummaging through her pack. “Yes, and make you feel guilty for years.” 

“What’ve you got against him?” 

“He’s a priest. Need I a better reason?” She looked up from the pack, her dark hair whisking to one side. 

“The Jellyman’s a priest, and you’re friends with him.”

“That’s different.”

“How so?”

Ayzili scrunched up her eyes. She didn’t have an answer, and Carlos knew he’d better change the subject. He suspected that Henry reminded Ayzili of her late husband, but he didn’t dare ask for details. This was bottled up deep inside her. Best to leave those emotions alone. 

Instead he remarked, “I noticed we didn’t pack a tent, I mean a tapo. I’m guessing that’s to make room for the poison. So, we just sleep out here in the open?”

“No, there’s a place we use.” After consulting a tiny compass, she pointed ahead through the timbers. “We must hurry, before the tide rises.”

The group soon made their way to a section of the forest where the driftwood poles clustered together in tight formations. Carlos noticed a rusted dagger protruding from one of the timbers. He tried to remove it, but the metal disintegrated in his hands.  

“This is where we camp,” Moro said. 

“Why here?” All Carlos saw was the endless forest of poles. With a mischievous grin, Ayzili grabbed his chin and tilted his head skyward. Carlos couldn’t believe his eyes. 

“What is that, a tree house?” An elaborate spider web of platforms and bridges hung above him, all built upon the towering driftwood. 

“This used to be a village, before the baka came. Now it belongs to the dead,” Moro explained. “This way.” He motioned to a thick pole notched every few feet. The group had already begun ascending this crude ladder towards a wide platform and opened walled hut. Here, the men unloaded their packs.