Henry opened his eyes. A galaxy of stars glittered overhead, however, the air still retained a musty, subterranean smell. How is this possible?
“They’re not stars.” Jell had his neck craned to the heavens. He turned back and helped Henry to sit up.
“Where are we?”
“Look at this.” Jell opened his hand to reveal a fat grub twisting about his palm. Organs inside its belly glowed a brilliant green, like a ghostly egg roll.
“Glowworms?” Henry asked.
“Yes, the ceiling’s covered in thousands of them.”
As Henry’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw that he lay in a cavernous chamber, the ceiling of which sparkled with constellations. This eerie light illuminated a sloping tunnel, like a dried out water slide, which curved out from the wall and into the pit where they currently sat. The sand here must have cushioned our landing, Henry thought. Riyal could have warned us about this. He checked his head for signs of injury but found no bumps. So Henry turned his attention to the rest of the cavern.
Rows of wooden scaffolding stretched ahead of him, dispersed amongst the stalagmite knobs. What appeared to be paper towel rolls threaded the length of the racks. No, they were scrolls, thousands of scrolls, cracked and yellowed with age. And that wasn’t all. Bookshelves, filled with thick tomes and reams of parchment, lined the outer walls. Everywhere Henry looked he saw paper and ink, a vast library bathed in eerie green light - the archives.
“This is what Riyal wanted us to find,” he said.
“Yes,” Jell sat back on a rock and stared at him strangely. “I’m hungry. Do you have any chicken? I really do love those tasty birds.”
Jell was babbling nonsense. He must have hit his head on the way down. Henry looked the priest over, but he seemed unscathed: no blood or bruises; no lumps on his head. Maybe he was just in shock. “You have the food, remember?”
Rummaging through his pack, Jell smiled. “Ah, my horse brought it. But no chicken. Pity.” He removed a mango and began to cut into the fleshy pulp with a knife.
“Your horse? What are you talking about?” Henry suddenly felt very alone. This was the worst place for Jell to loose his mind - stranded underground with little food or water. They needed to find a way back to the surface.
But Jell seemed unconcerned with their predicament. “The Jellyman, I should have known he’d bring food. He’s never without it.”
Henry stood up slowly. Why is Jell talking about himself in the third person? “Who am I talking to?” he asked.
“Azaka,” Jell said, smiling.
Henry decided to humor him. “Are you a spirit?”
Jell nodded and then tossed a slice of mango into his mouth. Great. Jell thinks he’s possessed. Henry groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Why don’t you rest, Mr. Zaka? I’ll look around for an exit.”
Jell smiled knowingly, as if sensing Henry’s disbelief. “The way out is right over there.” Henry followed his outstretched hand to a door at the opposite end of the cavern. It stood ajar, framing a staircase that spiraled upward and out of view.
“Do you mind if I test it?” Jell simply shrugged. So Henry added, “It’s not that I don’t trust you.” It’s just that you’ve lost your bloody mind, he thought to himself as he jogged through the scroll racks.
The stairwell spun upward for a few twists, before emptying into a hall. At its end, Henry came across a ladder that led to the ceiling. He guessed there was a trapdoor here and pressed his ear against the flagstone. Voices drifted through the rock, but they were muffled and unintelligible. This must lead to the hallway of statues where they’d first entered. Escape was unthinkable until the meeting adjourned, so he returned to Jell in the archive.
“We’ll have to wait.”
“Why do you want to leave?” Jell asked, his mouth full of mango. “The answers are all here.”
Riyal’s words came back to Henry as he scanned the rows of parchment.
The way to save Ginen lies within the archive.
Maybe some ancient text here explains how to deal with the baka, exposes a weakness? He wished Jell wasn’t delirious. The task before him would challenge a team of academics, let alone one person. Well, he was a religious scholar in an ancient archive; it was clear what he had to do.
* * *
The sun rose a violent red over the horizon of driftwood poles. Carlos lifted his head from the mat and took in the scent of dried fibers and salt. The first thing he saw was Ayzili, gnawing on a bit of dried meat.
“Moro hasn’t returned,” she said, tilting her head. “Maybe he drowned.”
“We should search for him.”
Even if he were dead, his body might tell them something. Carlos didn’t like loose ends, and Moro’s disappearance certainly qualified as one. But Ayzili wasn’t going to spare another minute on a man she considered a traitor.
“We don’t have time. We’ve got to continue the harvest. Eat up, we move out within the hour.”
They continued on through the driftwood forest until the poles began to thin out and then disappear all together. The beachhead curved close here, and the sound of waves filled their ears.
“We should have seen a fresh crop by now,” one of the taller men said. He ran a hand across his sweaty mane and then, with a grunt of frustration, threw his pack into the sand. The group came to a halt at the base of a large dune, its towering height hiding the coastline from view. “We should return and help defend Ginen.”
The other men also heaved their packs into the sand and collapsed next to them. Canteens were unfastened and passed around.
The taller man continued his rant. “No wonder we’ve had such bad luck. Moro misled us. There’s likely no yamala for miles.” From the silence that followed this statement Carlos knew many were thinking the same thing.
But Ayzili hadn’t even taken off her pack. “We can’t return empty handed,” she said evenly. “There’s not enough yamala to defend Ginen.”
“At least we can fight,” the tall man said as he patted the sword sheathed at his side. “Instead of returning to a city in ruins.”
Ayzili walked over to the man and started arguing vehemently. But Carlos’s attention was drawn elsewhere, to another sand dollar that lay at his feet. Something wasn’t right. There were footprints underneath the shell, and yet it wasn’t cracked or damaged in any way. That meant it was dropped recently.
He reached down and snatched the shell up. Turning it over, he saw that someone had scratched a crude map onto the back. The etched lines clearly showed the coastline, driftwood forest, and their current path. Instantly, he realized the implications; not only was the spy still alive, but he was actively leaking their location through these dead drops. Carlos quickly scanned the group, hoping to catch someone looking at him. But no one seemed concerned that he held the shell. Ayzili’s argument with the longhaired man still captured most of their attention.
“We still have time,” she said, her face red with anger.
“No we don’t, and you know it.” The man stamped the ground repeatedly. “We must return.” Carlos noticed that his feet were red with blisters. Pain guided his words. But that was not all he noticed – the man’s sandals didn’t fit. They were too small.
They weren’t his.
Rising to his feet, Carlos brandished the sword Ayzili had given him. He pointed it at the tall man.
“He’s wearing Moro’s sandals.”
“What?”
The man yanked his sword from the sheath. Before he could raise it, however, Ayzili had knocked the weapon from his hand with a swift kick. The blade sliced into the sand several feet away.
“You killed Moro, didn’t you? And for what?” Carlos asked, shaking his head sadly. “Just to throw us off track?” This was a premeditated murder - he’d killed in cold-blood just to shift the attention from himself, to frame Moro as the spy. It made Carlos sick. He looked over the traitor, sizing him up. Well over six feet tall, he bore a puffy face as if his cheeks were stuffed with food. Long hair fell to his shoulders, and he stared through the strands with a stern, unblinking visage.
“You think you’re so clever,” the man said. His voice turned icy, laced with disgust.
“Who is this?” Ayzili asked. By now, everyone had drawn weapons.
“He’s a friend of my cousin’s,” said a man carrying a long spear. “His name is Trey.”
“Can anyone vouch for his loyalty?” Ayzili already knew the answer to her question and wasn’t surprised when no one spoke up.
Carlos locked eyes with Trey. But the man showed no fear at having been discovered – quite the opposite in fact. He appeared to relish the confrontation. “You saw that I was trying to match a sandal pattern, didn’t you?” Carlos asked.
“You think you’re saving everyone, but you’re only hastening death.”
Trey’s head snapped back, and he fell to the sand. Ayzili shook the fist that she’d hit him with and cursed.
“Did you kill Moro?” she screamed.
Trey wiped the blood from his mouth and spit into the sand. “I did what I had to.”
His voice wavered slightly, and Carlos picked up on it. There was a hint of fear. Now was their chance.
“We know you’re not the mastermind,” he said gently. “Give us names and I’ll guarantee your safety.”
Trey seemed to weigh this for a second, but then he shook his head. “I don’t think so…” From behind his back, he removed a small conch shell with a hole at one end. He raised it to his lips and blew a long note that the wind carried aloft. One of the other men ripped the shell away, but it was too late.
High on the dune, a dark shape skittered into view. Many others joined it, until the silhouettes of dozens of baka filled the horizon. Trey’s mouth curved into a sick smile.
“Now you see who controls the power in Ginen. Not the elders, the priests, or the guards. It’s us, those who’ve allied with the baka. We decide who lives or —” Ayzili kicked him squarely in the jaw before he could finish.
“Fall back,” she screamed. “Get to higher ground.”
The sand below them started to vibrate with the pounding of dozens of crab legs. Like a stampede of wild horses, the baka moved down the slope with alarming speed, their claws outstretched and snapping. The designs on their shells gleamed in the sun, elaborate crisscrossing red spirals, Celtic looking. As they approached, several baka let out a chattering war cry.
One of the men let loose a volley of arrows, which clattered harmlessly against the nearest shell.
“Wait until they’re closer,” Ayzili yelled back and sprinted up the nearest dune. Carlos followed close behind her.
“You won’t have to wait long,” he said. “Hurry!” Soon the baka were right on top of them. The creatures rushed past Trey without giving him a sideways glance and charged up the incline.
“Now,” Ayzili screamed. “Take them out.” She reached into the folds of her shirt and palmed a marble. Without hesitation, she flung it at the nearest baka, shattering poison across its front in a rain of shards. The creature reeled up on its hindquarters and toppled backwards into the sand, its legs curled into a death embrace. Other members of the party followed Ayzili’s lead, flinging their orbs or shooting arrows into the oncoming fury. Most hit their mark and the first wave of baka fell back. But one of the older men had aimed too high and missed his target. The baka in front of him thrust out its pincer and severed the man’s head with a quick slice. His lifeless body fell to the sand like a discarded rag doll.
Carlos stared on in shock. He had seen people die before, but not like this. He felt a sharp pain across his face. Ayzili had slapped him.
“Wake up. We need higher ground.”
The next wave of baka had already started up the dune. Ayzili handed Carlos a few marbles. “Aim with care,” she said and ran towards the crest. The expedition party retreated behind her, and Carlos felt his calves burn as he hurried up the loose sand. The ground tremors were coming quicker now, and he saw that the baka had picked up speed. These creatures were far more maneuverable in this environment, their legs churning the sand like thoroughbreds. Why has Ayzili led them up the slope? She read his concern.
“Calm yourself,” she said as she reached over her shoulder and drew her bow. Carlos hadn’t even noticed that she was wearing one. In a quick succession, she let fly three arrows. They connected squarely with the mouth of the nearest baka. The force sent it toppling backwards, knocking over several others in the process. The confusion slowed their advance considerably. Ayzili smiled mischievously. Then her eyes widened. A shadow crossed the sand and she stepped backwards.
Carlos spun around to face a towering blue shell. He had never seen a baka like this – an alien form of purple blotches stretched over a thick bumpy surface. The pincer came down fast, but he ducked in time, and it sliced deep into the sand behind him. Carlos rolled out from under the claw and clutched one of the marbles tightly. But the creature was too close, and he knew shattering any of the orbs now would likely doom him as well. Another pincer flew through the air. Carlos barely sidestepped it. The creature pulled back and reeled up on its hind legs for a final attack. As it did, several of Ayzili’s arrows connected with a soft patch beneath its belly. The baka let out an ear-piercing scream before rolling backwards into the swarming mass. Dozens more jockeyed to take its place.
Everywhere now, the baka fought in close quarters with the expedition members. Screams filled the air, but Carlos didn’t have time to look. He followed the lithe form of Ayzili up the dune towards a crest that never seemed to get any closer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man fall to the sand in a spray of blood. The baka descended on him and tore his limbs apart. The sight of blood seemed to drive them wild.
Carlos saw a young boy, no older than eighteen, cowering beneath a baka’s claw. Without thinking, he flung a marble over the young man’s head – straight down the creature’s gullet. It took a second for the poison to work, but the baka stumbled and then collapsed into the dust. A smaller crab crawled over the fallen carcass and pounced on the teen, but the boy kicked it off and ran towards them up the dune.
Ayzili tugged on Carlos’s arm. “Keep going to the top.”
He pulled back. “They’re being slaughtered.”
“And so will you.” She yanked his arm so hard, he thought it might pull from the socket. Carlos relented. He tried to ignore the screams as he followed Ayzili to the crest of the dune. Not until they’d reached it did he look back. The dune below was littered with the bodies of expedition members, mangled and trampled by the advancing baka horde.
“They’ve wiped out half of us,” he whispered.
“And for that, they’ll suffer.” Ayzili dumped the contents of her quiver into the sand, thin arrows sliding out like a pack of spaghetti. She emptied a tiny sac of marbles next to it. Carlos noticed that all the men who’d made it this high were doing the same. Only a dozen or so of them remained, forming a ring around the top of the dune. The creatures paused their advance, wary as to why the attacks had momentarily halted. An especially large quartermaster jerked up from the body it had been feasting on, its face smeared with blood.
“This is for Sasha,” Ayzili said and let go of the bow’s string. The arrow whistled through the air and sunk into the baka with such force, it skewered through to the back shell, echoing a resounding crack as it connected. Before the creature had fallen to the sand, however, Ayzili had threaded a new arrow and let fly. “This is for Hungar.”
Her eyes darted across the dune’s face, searching out target after target. Soon a rain of death descended upon the baka. Arrow after arrow spiraled into the creatures, the poisoned tips always finding their mark. Carlos grabbed a fist full of marbles and heaved them one at a time into the fray.
Finally he understood why Ayzili had led them up here. From this vantage point, they could strike any of the creatures. And as the dead fell away, they left the ones behind exposed. Carlos easily picked off the crabs one after another, their legs curling backwards, shells crashing hard to the sand. Everywhere below them now, baka coiled up and screamed. The air rang thick with their cries. And then the tide shifted. The horde began to back down.
“Don’t let them out of range.” Ayzili leapt from her position and raced down the slope. She mounted the shell of a retreating baka and thrust her sword into a crack between its joints. Prying open the seam, she stabbed the underlying meat with her ankle dagger and rolled off. The baka tripped and stumbled in a spiraling cloud of dust. Through the swirling particles, Carlos caught a glimpse of Ayzili, sword in hand. She looked mythical - slashing at the claws that barely missed her, the beads in her hair swinging round in a complex dance. And then the dust settled. Dozens of the creatures lay dead in the wake of the expedition’s charge. The remaining baka retreated across the valley and out of sight. The battle had been won.
Now a deathly silence washed over the group. Carlos could barely fathom that he was still alive. It reminded him of the drug cartel busts in Miami – extreme violence followed by surreal disbelief. He scanned for Ayzili and found her crouched over her sword, exhausted and drenched in dust.
“How many? she asked.
“Survivors, you mean? I count only ten.”
“That bastard. Did he survive?” It took Carlos a second to register whom she was referring to. In the confusion of battle, he’d forgotten about Trey, the spy who’d launched the ambush.
“There’s no sign of him,” one of the men answered.
“Good,” Ayzili said. “I’ve had enough killing for today.” She sheathed her sword and rose to her feet. “Let’s bury the fallen quickly…before the baka return and slaughter the rest of us.”