Chapter 2
– Written by Jute (@juteanworld on Tumblr, jutean on Discord – feel free to reach out to me there, on Bluesky or write an e-mail to jute [at] posteo.de)
Image of Toloka, the protagonist – Map of the island – Map of the village of Saavahai, Toloka’s home
He awoke, momentarily disoriented, to a strange he sound he couldn't immediately place. It sounded a lot like the cry of a storm or strong gust of wind, but he didn't feel any air moving around him at all. And it seemed to come from above, moving strangely across the sky.
He opened his eyes and looked up, but his sight was blocked by the thick canopy of the tree had come to rest under. He put away the jute fiber bag and large leaves he had used as blankets to keep the mosquitoes at bay and stepped into the open, near the stream where the trees don't manage to overshadow everything and everyone else. Searching the sky for signs, he could still not see anything with the midday sun shining so brightly, even when he tried to shield his eyes and squint, except for a strange black object in the distance. But that was no wave this time. It very roughly had the shape of a bird, but resembled more a stickman-like drawing of one, the wings were too rigid and weirdly shaped to belong to an actual bird.
He vaguely remembered hearing something about airships existing in cities nowadays that allowed humans in lands far away to cross the skies effortlessly, but wasn't if they looked like that. Maybe it wasn't a literal term and they didn't actually look like ships.
Well, whatever. There were other things on his mind now. Such as, how was he gonna get back to the village and from there to the nearest town or wherever these whiteberries were coming from?
Perhaps the book gave some clues. He went back to the tree, hoping the book hadn't been abducted at night by something living in the jungle while he slept. Perhaps some creature was out there that relished the chance to finally get ahold of a book, as the library had a strict „humans only“-policy? Or are there even humans living out here somehow? He had no idea how he would react to seeing one. But there was the book still waiting in the jute fiber bag, leaning against the trunk of the tree.
As he sat down and took it out, the papers he had swiped last night as well fell out. He picked them up and settled down to read. Instead of having all the noise of the village and all the voices from neighbors where he always had to anxiously listen if his mother's was among them whenever they came closer (or someone else's who wanted something from him) he was now surrounded by nothing but various sounds of nature, from animals, birds, insects, dragonflies – and who knows what else. But also the large, yet gentle stream and the various smaller creeks and trickles near him. Did he know where he was? Absolutely not. But he felt at peace nonetheless. He could worry about where to go next later. The right path would surely become apparent sooner or later.
Now for the book, a magnificent tome with a special ornamental and well-kept leather binding, a huge herb of some kind on the front above and a title spelling out „N U S A I F I“ – medicine.
As he was about to open it up, he saw a sudden gust of wind (a real one this time) carry the loose leaves he had gathered after the end of that strange session in the assembly hall all too close to the water. He quickly got up and managed to grab them before the wind nabbed them again.
„Amplitude – Modulating Soundwave Device“ one of them read on the top.
Below it said: „If you need instruction on how to get through the channels, check out the enclosed instruction book“ and then ended abruptly, only showing an image of the machine. Much to his annoyance, he not have the enclosed instruction book, it was in fact not enclosed.
The other paper read „JUTE – SAAVAL UDEL DAHOHIN HEHEL?“ In other words, „Jute – no longer an island with no airport?“.
He kept reading:
He stared at it for longer than necessary. It made no sense to him. Was there even space on this island for an air-port? Most of it was already covered by forest, fields and who knows what existed in remote corners of this huge island. Not cities, though, where the metal-laden overzealous people live that never have time for anything else but work. So what point was there evn to build anything like that? It all seemed like some overcomplicated joke yet none of the people during that sermon had laughed and in fact had looked like they had gotten too close with a spirit.
But now that he thought about it... what if he had been wrong? After all, he never cared much for the spiritual side of things, him wishing to be left alone also extended to these invisible, yet no less bothersome, even condescending and intrusive beings. Sometimes he wondered if they were closer than he would like, whgenever his stream of consciousness turned into choppy rapids or the small boat on it was attacked by those hiding in the dark. But he had to admit, he wouldn't know due to his refusal of all things school.
He basically only knew rumors about spirits, and maybe they were wrong – maybe they really did have human-like voices... or was it humans that had spirit-like voices?
And what about the machines that the elderly he spent time with had enjoyed so much, then? Although there he was told that these were caught human voices that were confined to the black disks. It wouldn't be right to distrust everyone and everything, surely. Now that would definitely be something a wild spirit might do, to get a rise out of him. He would NOT let anyone do that again, after having had experienced enough of that in the miserable week he did spend at school when he was very small, before deciding he would not go back, no matter what. His mother was never the same after that, though, and many people stopped talking to him after that.
But maybe his isolation was now to his and the village's benefit, with how everyone now either ill, busy or as if under a spell... He didn't like the thought of it one bit. Even if he had at least managed to learn defenses like meditation, someone or something trying to place him under their command, or even just appearing so and seemingly losing all emotion was his worst nightmare! Well, aside from waking up in school, only to be unable to leave it. That one he still had occasionally.
Anyway, he now had another reason why he couldn't go back home. But he still didn't know where to go instead either, and with his sense of peace shattered he definitely couldn't stay where he was either. He wished had any idea about jungles at all, but he never had had as much of a passing interest in what happened behind his home in the wilderness, learning about the green sea of leavesseemed as unnecessaryas learning about the blue sea of waves or the sea of stars above him at night. It always seemed he was equally unlikely to end up in any of the three, and now he wondered just when he'd be at the bottom of the sea or when his visit of the celestial spirits would be. Maybe he should ask the fisher or the birds sometime. He now realized how much he missed that red cardinal, would he ever see that one again?
A sound on the stream finally jolted him awake from his trance-like state and brought him back to the jungle. It seemed to come from behind the tree he was sitting at and gradually get closer. A regular, repeating sound of water being pushed away – a paddle!
His excitement could barely be contained. He must have ended up somewhere near one of these people who probably live a sad library-less life. Or maybe even one of those other, similarly bookish creatures existed here? On the way to ... well, most other people that didn't live in his home village. He had heard you needed to use the waterways, because the vegetation here was so dense, the canopy was keeping out even the sun. So it was hard not to get lost. Whatever that destination was, a village, maybe even a larger one, he hoped it was not currently under the attack of black sky waves nor under the spell of a spirit.
He waited patiently until the boat would appear in view, hoping quietly for an empty seat. When a long, narrow boat had navigated the corner of the stream, he threw a small stone at it, then another, to get its captain to notice him at the shore, waving with both arms. The boatsman, aside from bandages wrapping his chest and upper back only wearing some black shorts, looked at first confused in Toloka's direction, before breaking out in a wide grin that showed his bright white teeth.
But then he steered the boat with its tantalizingly empty second seat away from Toloka, whose face fell for a moment before he realized the captain was silently pointing pointing to it, daring him to walk through the river to get what he wanted. Happy to oblige someone who didn't shout at him, or maybe just taken in by that grin, Toloka started wading through the murky water, holding his few possessions over his head, shielding him from the relentlessly bright midday sun. His new acquaintance broke out laughing, perhaps not having expected this offer to be accepted so willingly.
When Toloka had crossed half of the stream, or half a banana later that the captain had picked from a small banana cache at the front of the boat, Toloka heard a sound that was now strange in its familiarity. He looked up, careful to not fall over backwards, and did in fact see an air ship or whatever in the sky again. Were they going to be a nuisance now like some kind of weird oversized mosquito? But he couldn't even continue that thought, as the black wave appeared out of thin air, and to the other side of the noisy machine a cloud poofed into existence, only to then move itself suspiciously fast to the contraption, followed by the black wave doing the same. It wasn't long before they got dangerously close to the air-ship. And then closer still, and closer – in the blink of an eye they were gone, having collectively become a blazing fireball rapidly growing appendages made of smoke reaching towards Earth. A moment later the air around them was violently torn apart with a sound of gigantic primordial stones colliding, in a fierceness that Toloka though must resemble two stars clashing in the sky.
He didn't think his ears would survive this a second time. A powerful jolt moved through his body that left him strangely unable to look away, and a single thought vibrated in his mind: Was this the power of the black wave?
He kept staring at the same spot, even when the smoke had dissipated, as if expecting to find a hole forming in the sky. Only when a still smouldering piece of metal crashed into the water just a finger's length in front of him did he finally look away. Then he saw more pieces raining down further away. He watched the boatsman move up to one floating on the surface and carefully study it. When Toloka had waded to it, he saw that some color on it was still remaining. It was red and yellow, with what could be the outline of a strange bird Toloka had never seen anywhere – not even in the fancy birdwatching books in the library. In fact, nothing seemed even remotely familiar about it.
Toloka felt his arms getting tired, but fortunately a single pleading look towards the captain was enough for him to be allowed to claim the prize of the alluring empty seat in the boat, where he gently set the bag with the book and other things with him on his lap. Now out of the water, the mosquitoes quickly became a problem again, for every one he managed to get away two or three landed on his arms or legs. He noticed now his skin was already full of little red marks, while the captain, despite having much more exposed skin seemed to have none at all. Toloka found it downright puzzling.
After a while, and many more attempts at mosquito swatting the man in front of him snickered quietly and turned around. In his hand, he held a small glass vessel with some liquid that was colored an extraordinarily bright yellow. He tilted the bottle, dipping the small brush attached to the cork sealing it in the liquid and then began to brush the exposed skin of his passenger with what turned out to be a rather oily substance. Toloka lifted one of his arms up and smelled it. It seemed to be made from lemongrass. Before he could dwell on it, the brush had found its way to his nose and cheeks, too, prompting a giggle from Mr. Lemongrass that Toloka quickly joined in on, realizing he had given a nickname to a man because he had no clue about his real name. But that was fine with him. And soon he realized the tincture seemed to miraculously work, too: the mosquitoes barely ever got close to him anymore.
He could now marvel at a landscape he hadn't ever seen before. Granted, he had seen like three in his life, so that wasn't saying much. But whatever. He also enjoyed how for the first time he was going down a literal river, not just his metaphorical stream of consciousness. This one was much more vivid, varied and vastly richer in details. It felt so much more alive because, well, it was.
There were many insects (in addition to the mosquitoes) fluttering in the air or crawling on some driftwood, birds crying out harshly for prey or singing about love, wild cats peeking out of the trees for a moment before bolting, squirrels – just barely visible in the distance – hurrying across the same trees and a lot more animals Toloka couldn't name. Not like he could name much in general, he had always recognized people, pets or plants rather by the way they act, what they do or sometimes how they looked, because that was what mattered to him.
After a while, the river became noticeably more difficult to navigate, driftwood being more frequent, often in the shape of large branches or even parts of tree trunks rather than the smaller branches and twigs from earlier, and gradually the riverside trees seemed to grow larger, their canopies denser with less and less sunshine able to shine through. It got murkier much faster than Toloka had expected, and so it was almost too dark to continue much earlier in the evening. But Mr. Lemongrass didn't seem to think about stopping and continued, still wordlessly down the stream.
Not much later they moved past a sign, almost impossible to read now.
GARDEN TOWN
A smaller sign had been attached on top of it. It just had a single word written in squigglyletters on it.
VAN
This means "fire", or "danger"... but also "wildness"
Putting such a sign in what felt like the deepest and darkest part of the rainforest was like putting a sign reading "Water" in the middle of the ocean, Toloka thought. Was it a joke? An invitation to philosophical discussions? But who would even put it up here at a remote spot like this? It was just ridiculous. Toloka's laugh disrupted the silence and ascared some animals away until it was silenced by a death glare from the man in whose hands Toloka's life was lying. Toloka only gulped silently in return, startled.
The part about a "Garden Town" seemed like a practical joke, though. Until a few minutes later, when they passed an archway made from some kind of bricks that spanned the entire river, a fancy construct that felt even more out of place, like something that had inexplicably been stolen from maybe a city and put up here for unknowable reasons. And soon after it strange lights started appearing at the shores, first just a few isolated ones, barely enough to safely keep the course on the river now that the daylight had completely disappeared, but it didn't take long for their numbers to grow and resemble some kind of festive lighting.
It slowly dawned on Toloka this couldn't be possibly fireflies flying in formation or some other strange trick of the jungle. Someone had turned part of the jungle into a community square. Or, no less likely, perhaps they had crossed into a sort of liminal space between the material and immaterial world, like the Veil around the island the fishers had warned him about, a place no one can escape from on their own anymore, a place where the spirits reigned and – he stopped himself before his imagination could take him down that mental river of paranoia. And decided to research what spirits actually did do, and where, as soon as possible so he could stop worrying about it.
He tried to get a better look at the lights, almost leaning too far out of the boat, only to be violently shoved backby a quick motion of Mr. Lemongrass' arm before hehad managed to make anything out. To not have to face another glare, he simply looked down, feeling awfully like a smallchild that had to be reprimanded again.
As the number of lights increased furtherm he started being able to see vague rectangular shapes barely visible against the jungle, pitch black at such a late hour, and even various shapes walking or hushing past them. On two legs, not four. And too tall to be birds. The thought that he was in a place inhabited by spirits, maybe even some underworld, popped up again in his mind, but he was determined, as much as it seemed to go against his apparent instincts, to ignore it this time. He had to trust the captain. Well, really, he had no other choice except from jumping into the water next to him. Lacking anything else to hold on to, he began to clutch his bag.
Eventually they reached an area where everything was downright bright compared to the archway and seeing the large, sprawling garden on both sides of the river, divided by various smaller channels into smaller islands that were connected with bridges removed any doubt: The sign had in fact not been a practical joke. Thez had arrived in Garden Town.
The people here seemed to chiefly be growing various colorful herbs and plants used to make spices, the the green of the many leaves and stems mixing with red, purple, yellow petals, some far enough from all lanterns that they were only illuminated by the moonlight that was now shining down, unobstructed, as many trees had been cut down to make room for the herbalists (and whoever else was living here) and their plants.
Their scents, sharp and refreshing, floral, woody and earthy, were dizzying together. It must have been dozens of plants, a few he even recognized from cooking at home, as they were growing in his mother's and her neighbors' garden. Coriander, patchouli, ginger and there was also lemongrass again! But there were so many floating into his nose right now... A faint hope welled up in him that maybe one of those could be from a whiteberry bush. One would be enough.
While he was still under a herbal spell, the boat came abruptly to a halt, enough to shake him back and forth. The captain was tying it to a tiny pier near a bed of galangal shoots (or was it cardamom? They both have those long, vaguely surfboard-shaped leaves growing all over...) and got off, emptying the banana cache alongside what else there was in it into a jute bag that had also been stored there and then walked over to reach behind where Toloka was sitting, who turned around and noticed another cache.
– To be continued –