Rakasa (4 page)

I
aimlessly wander the darkness, walking into walls and tripping in the muck.

The creatures make noises, but they’re far off, like they’re
watching from a safe distance.

I killed their alpha male. They respect me now. Maybe they
even fear me. I carry his head under my arm lest they forget what I am capable
of.

The thing’s tongue lolls out of its mouth and it’s almost
like the damn thing is licking my hand. In the pitch black, my mind gets lost,
and I think I’m carrying the head of a decapitated dog. Makes me sick and I
almost drop the thing.

I’m thirsty and I’m not thinking straight. I know what it is
that I killed and there was nothing lovable about it. Quite the opposite.

There’s light up ahead and I double-time it through the
sludge.

I stand beneath the light. It’s one of the holes. There are
trees and blue skies above me. I can almost cry.

Something doesn’t make sense, now that I think about it.
When I was up top, I saw the holes everywhere. How come this is the first hole
I’ve seen from down below?

I tell myself that it doesn’t matter, that it’s a question
best answered at a later time, but the puzzle bothers me.

I’m exposed in the light, so I unsheathe my sword and aim it
towards the shadows. I’ve walked into a spotlight. I’ve walked into a trap.

But that doesn’t make sense either. I think it goes without
saying that these things can probably see pretty well in the darkness. Why
would they need me to step into the light?

Dirt falls on my shoulder and a shadow looms over me.

The silhouette of a Rakasa stands at the edge of the hole
above. Its head and shoulders nearly block out the sun. If it was joined by
other Rakasa they could have totally eclipsed the light. I would have walked
below the hole and never known it was there. They’re blocking the holes with
their bodies.

One question is answered and another takes its place.

I’m stuck in their den. Why don’t they want me to leave?

I keep walking. Whenever I come to stand beneath the glow of
the sun, another Rakasa moves in and blocks my way. They want me to have hope
before they snatch it away.

Pretty soon they don’t have to bother. The sun is setting.
The holes blend in with the rest of the darkness.

I think I’ve been walking through this shit for hours.

The encroaching cold is affecting the sludge. It’s
solidifying and freezing up. Getting harder to walk now. Think I better sit
down and rest, but there’s no time for that. The things will come for me when
I’m too weak to fight them off. I may be exhausted but I can’t let them know
that.

But maybe I can sit down for just a minute. Yes, one minute
wouldn’t hurt.

I find something hard and sit my ass down. Probably seated
on bones but I can’t afford to care anymore.

Something splashes in the muck behind me.

I bolt upright, point my sword in the direction of the
sound.

They’re quiet, but I can hear them sloshing through the
sludge, making their way towards me. They’re done waiting.

There are too many of them. I can’t win this. I turn about
and run as fast as I can through the muck, though I know the entire effort is
futile.

I’m half-stride when I put my foot down and the ground seems
to fall away. The sludge offers no resistance and there is no solid ground
beneath it. I fall face first into the muck and descend beneath the surface.

There must’ve been a drop-off in the cavern floor. I’m
floating in fluid I do not wish to identify. But more than that, I feel I’m
being pulled somewhere.

There’s a current beneath the surface.

I gladly let the current take me where it wants to go,
knowing that if I choose to surface here then I’ll have monsters eating my face
in seconds.

The current intensifies. It slams me into the rocks and the
oxygen is beaten out of my lungs.

I swallow the putrid liquid and desperately attempt to
surface. Monsters be damned, I need air. But the current will not release me.
It drags me under, it drags me deeper. It drags me to where the liquid no
longer tastes like death and bile.

I’m spat out of an underground cave and left hovering in the
water.

The moon’s glow greets me from beyond the rippling surface
above. I’m out of the cavern. The current has taken me back to ocean that
surrounds the island.

I try to kick my legs but they don’t obey. I’m done and I
strangely feel okay with that. I’m going to drown but at least I’m not going to
be eaten alive. Gotta keep a positive outlook on things, right?

I start to lose consciousness. I hope I sink straight to the
bottom. I hope my remains don’t wash up on shore. I hope I don’t end up back in
those caverns either dead or alive.

I hope.

I
’m
alive… more or less.

Seaweed clings to my legs like it wants to take me back into
the ocean but the sand has my torso and it’s not letting me go.

I sit up slowly and the sand falls away. Waves roll up the
shore, slap my legs. It should feel good, but there’s something hard in the waves,
and it feels more like getting a caning.

Debris and driftwood ride the waves, battering the shore. Occasionally
they leave behind tidbits like a table leg or a picture frame, but mostly the
debris seems unwilling to get out of the water.

I take a casual glance to my right and see the chewed up
lifeboat is right where I left it. I’ve washed up in almost the exact same spot
as last time.

And I’ve got company.

All up and down the beach, littered in between the pieces of
debris, are the burnt bodies of my shipmates. Most of them are lying face down.
Others are missing limbs, presumably thanks to sharks and other marine life.

The only detectable signs of life come from the crabs that
make a home in their guts, searching for a soft and tasty treat.

I vomit into the ocean and the rolling tide throws it right
back at me. I gag and wade out into the water to clean myself, only to find I’m
now standing in surf crowded with corpses.

I’m screaming before I realize it. Too late to stop. Let it
all out.

The mind reels. I recognize faces in the waves and I beg a
waiting shark to mistake me for the dead and bring the nightmare to an end.

The birds descend upon the beached corpses. I run at them,
swatting water their way like it’ll possibly make any kind of difference.

“Get out of their heads!” I cry as a parrot sticks its beak
into Ahmed’s fractured skull.

The birds take flight. They squawk and dribble blood behind
them as they return to the trees. The crabs take more convincing. I beat the
corpses with driftwood to drive the crustaceans out. They flee, claws raised in
challenge, and disappear into the frothing surf.

I fall to my knees and pound the sand.

One-Eyed Jack is missing his last remaining eye, likely
thanks to the birds. It’s awful.

I decide to bury the bodies.

I find a suitable piece of wood to act as a shovel and dig
away a big enough hole to bury them all. It won’t be deep and they’ll be
stuffed in pretty tight, but it’s better than leaving them to the scavengers.

I grab No-Eyed Jack and Ahmed the storyteller and put them
in first. Feel a bit like a heel for dropping them in so unceremoniously… but
then Ahmed did start the fire that sunk the ship and Jack had tried to kill me.
Or did I try to kill Jack? Can’t recall. Either way, I don’t care. They’re just
gonna have to forgive me for not taking the time to write individual eulogies.

I find the ship’s doctor and other assorted crew and throw
them into the pit, clearing the sand of its corpses.

I wade out into the water where I count three more bodies
plus one dead tiger. I’m surprised to see the tiger floats. Not exactly sure
why it
wouldn’t
float, but still I’m surprised.

I take the tiger by the paw and lead it to shore. It’s
heavier than two men combined, despite how sickly it was in its final days.

There’s a brief moral debate about what to do with the tiger
before I throw it in with my shipmates. Burying men with a tiger might break
some rules, I’m not sure. But I figure, why not? The tiger never killed
anybody. I figure that makes it a more trustworthy passenger than most my
fellow pirates, and thus more deserving of a respectful burial.

One of the final three bodies that I pull out of the ocean
is the charred corpse of Jarvis Jenks. His skin is black and purple and
actually smells a bit like a steak dinner. My stomach growls before I can tell
it not to.

Oh God, anything but that. I bury Jenks fast, lest I do
something I’ll one day regret.

I pat down the sand of the makeshift grave and collapse into
a heap. It’s not emotions that beg me to fall and take pause, it’s exhaustion.
Burying a dozen men takes a lot out of you, especially if you’ve gone days
without food or water.

Something begins tapping me on the back of my leg.

Bobbing at the edge of the surf is a crate. I fish it out,
open it.

There are thirty sticks of dynamite inside. They’re wet and useless
to me… but maybe there’s a way to dry them.

I take out the dynamite and line them up in the sand,
letting them bake in the sun. I’m not sure what I plan to do with them, but I’m
thinking I might be able to sink the island beneath the waves if I try hard
enough.

While the explosives dry, I’m slowly dying inside. Need
water. I know I shouldn’t, but the ocean’s looking mighty tasty right about
now. I’ll drink the ocean only as a last resort. The birds and the Rakasa are
living well, so there must be a water source somewhere on the island.

Gotta find it.

I must’ve lost my sword in the ocean and the pistol is
somewhere in the jungle. Must improvise. I pick up a piece of wood that’s sturdy
enough to act as a club then I walk back into the jungle, knowing that I am
expected.

T
here’s
a pond at the center of the island. Most of my time on the island has been
spent running back and forth from the beach to the mound, only stopping in
between to get dragged down a hole. This area of the island is new to me.

The water tastes old and deadly but I fill my belly with it
anyway. Beggars and choosers and all that. Won’t get a better drink until I’m
back in port and saddled up to the bar in a smoky saloon.

The thought makes me shiver.

I know that’s not gonna happen. I think me and my mates knew
we were destined for the grave weeks ago. Never did I really think survival was
a possibility. Not then, certainly not now.

Still, doesn’t feel right abandoning all hope. If it did,
I’d be drinking from the ocean like it was whiskey and dying in the sand.

However hopeless it all is, I don’t intend to let go of life
quite so easily.

My whole life’s been a struggle and dying should be just as
difficult. When I was a wee lad my dad kicked my ass on a regular basis. Got to
be so good at it he started beating on other people like my Ma. Didn’t enjoy
watching that, but it did ready me for the world.

A man with my kind of pocket and a certain lack of luck must
be constantly wary. Something’s always trying to eat me. Used to be that I meant
that figuratively, but lately it’s taken on a certain literal meaning.

I didn’t kill all my predators but I did let them know that
I’d outgrown their lessons. They’ll remember me long after I’ve forgotten them.
I’m sure of it.

They’ve all been practice for this test. Aye, mere child’s
play as I prepared for my days on the island of monsters.

Even so, I feel the lessons have left me unprepared for this
place. For even if I kill my monsters, there’s still no escape.

My stomach growls and at first I mistake it for an animal’s
call in the jungle.

I suppose I could eat the birds… but I’m not confident I’m
skilled enough to catch them.

… I could dig up the grave and pick through the human flesh
that looks fresh enough.

No.

I won’t do that. I’ll eat the sand before I eat the men that
reside beneath it. I’m not a cannibal and no amount of suffering will make me
fall so low.

Stop thinking about it. You’ll start reasoning with yourself
and then next thing you know you’ll be taking a bite out of Jarvis Jenks’ hand.

I stand up, brush myself off, and walk back towards the
beach.

I hope my dynamite is ready. I don’t expect all the sticks
to be serviceable, but a few might be.

I have to sink this place before I forget who I am.

S
ome of the dynamite feels
dry on the outside. I have no idea if it’s still usable, but I have to try.

I collect six of the driest sticks of dynamite and wrap them
up in a big, green leaf. My only weapon is my club and I don’t think that’s
going to be enough to keep the beasts at bay.

I begin my search for the flintlock pistol, but I do not
intend to use it as a weapon. Not exactly.

I cradle the explosives in the leaf like a baby in a
blanket. Don’t drop the baby, don’t give it any reason to get upset and make
noise—this baby will kill you in a flash.

Mary wanted kids.

Fuck, what am I thinking about? Stop it. Focus.

But I can’t. My mind drifts.

Mary’s going to start a family with a different man. She’s
had many suitors, including some respectable Navy men with the sort of legacy
that I could never have. Her last name will change and I will not know her. She
will be lost to the world of privilege and rank and even if I survive this I
will never find her again.

I want her to name her firstborn son after me. It feels
selfish but it also feels like the very least she could do.

Focus, damn you.

Aye, mustn’t let the mind wander in a place like this.

Up ahead is the hole the big alpha male dragged me into.
They’re down there somewhere. Sleeping? Not likely. They’re watching me,
listening to my footfalls, tracking my progress back to their lair.

Except I’m not going down the hole. I’ll never go down there
again if I can help it.

When the big bastard pulled me below, I dropped something
along the way.

The pistol shines in the light of the sun. The creatures
haven’t touched it. They don’t know the power of man’s inventions.

I will enlighten them.

Without taking my eyes off the hole, I pick up the gun and
tuck it beneath my ever loosening belt.

A growl escapes the dark lair and I think I see movement.
It’s not much, just the hint of raggedy hair shifting in the shadows.

It’s probably my imagination. You can see a whole world of
monsters if you stare into the abyss long enough.

But these monsters don’t belong in my imagination. So,
instead of writing it off as nothing but a shadow trick, I respectfully
distance myself from the hole and run as fast as I can.

The birds follow my progress from up above. Their squawking
lets me know that the Rakasa are not chasing me, but I don’t slow down. Can’t
slow down. If I stop now, I’ll collapse.

The ground is becoming more brittle. I come to the edge of
the trees and stand in the shadow of the mound of dirt.

Like a teenage mother leaving her baby at the doorstep of a
rich family, I leave my bundle in the place where it has the most potential to
succeed.

The green leaf unfolds, exposing the dynamite to the sun.

This feels good.

I crawl up the mound, taking my time, knowing the end is
near.

My legs don’t want to carry me any farther. My arms are weak
and my fingernails are pried off the skin. I’m crying by the time I reach the
summit.

I spin myself around so that I may look down upon the gift
I’ve left for the occupants of this god-awful place.

It’s in the perfect spot.

I can do this.

Now I only have to wait for my guests to arrive.