Karadra's Shipwreck

The Island - Chapter 3

By that afternoon, Arsik found himself in the jungle again – where else could he go, after all? Phaelo belonged to Golderim Veyr’s crew, a guild that went by the name of “Fever”, the largest in Saraport for sure. Bandits, swindlers, murderers with or without a contract; an elaborate spiderweb broad enough to devour any insect that got trapped in it, because, ultimately, that was exactly what Arsik was: a mere bug, and not a very large one at that.

He had no hope of redemption. The hunt had already begun, the story of the assault on Phaelo had already reached Golderim’s ears and been blown out of proportion. Embarrassed, Phaelo would also make it seem like something more than a simple fistfight, and the rest would be history.

I should have killed him, but then I would’ve had to kill her as well, and anyone else who’d seen me…

Arsik put a stop to these chafing thoughts and squatted on the hard ground, letting the slowly setting sun caress his skin, relaxing him.

He considered leaving Saraport for good but couldn’t figure out how. Inside the city, the Fever’s crewmen would ferret him out and, even if he did somehow manage to set sail, someone would inevitably deliver him to Golderim sooner or later. Neutral men did not exist in Saraport. Everyone owed allegiance somewhere – friends or enemies, captains, merchants, mercenaries or deckhands; everyone was part of a network. At some point –days, or maybe even months later– someone would suddenly grab him, tie him up and hand him over to the big boss. Besides, how many times had he performed that same service himself during his voyaging days, for one reason or another?

Another option would be to seek an audience with the Judge. Lord Trentor Rye wouldn’t hesitate to do everything in his power to defend a citizen, but what exactly would he ask for in return? At any rate, there was still the issue of Talos’ body, and, by hook or crook, such stories oftentimes resulted in framing the victim instead of punishing the perpetrator.

If justice truly dwelled in this place, then the thieves’ lairs, the Snakeholes, the mighty bandits, wouldn’t exist. Ah, yes, they were Saraport’s justice alright, and Arsik was a criminal in their eyes, not to mention a fugitive. Ergo, there was only one option left: to flee into Sarathorn’s vast jungle.

Its expanse –acres and acres of wilderness– could swallow up an entire country. Mountains, lakes, thriving vegetation, caves, myths and terrifying tales, treasures and secrets and lies the sailors shared between them, but hiding places too – countless hiding places in which Arsik would now have to survive on his own, facing primitive challenges, but it was an option nonetheless. Certainly a better one than having to look over his shoulder all the time in the city.

It was decided then: exile would be his fate.

Resolved, he stood up. His morale had been restored and his body remained quiet – an auspicious sign. Arsik often hearkened his body as his sole, loyal advisor. When he opposed it, unpleasant things followed.

Unhurriedly, he walked between the trees, watching the red sunrays dwindling as the blazing orb dove into the sea. A long time he wandered, on a path beneath towering palm trees and imposing pines, graceful and still like statues under the starry summer sky. Insects traveled from bush to bush, and Arsik’s every step was accompanied by various sounds that disturbed the serenity of the landscape.

He hardly knew how many hours passed; he hardly even knew what he was searching for. All he knew was that he would rest only when he found it, whatever it was. As the evening’s darkness gradually thickened around him, he contemplated on a temporary lodging, or even something more: a den, somewhere to lay the foundation of his new life as a hermit. After that, he was certain he would figure out what to do.

He had learned how to hunt and how to fish on the island’s endless shores, the streams and rivers; he’d have no problem with that. He also possessed adequate skill and knowledge on how to collect a number of useful medicinal herbs, though he wouldn’t swear on that. There was only one problem left, one but vitally important.

Rum.

Arsik lacked the foresight of a stock or a cellar. Since he was always on the lookout, he always managed to find a bottle, but now, in the depths of the jungle, his options would be dreadfully limited. Doubtless, he wasn’t ready to renounce rum just yet. We agreed to make changes but not that drastic ones…

He chased the thought out of his head. Perhaps he could occasionally steal from passing travelers or pay someone to deliver the bottles to him. Or, to minimize the risk of betrayal, he could venture into the city from time to time, in disguise, and purchase supplies from a trustworthy merchant. But he didn’t have any money; nor was he acquainted with merchants of the trustworthy kind.

He felt his anger scaling up his nose. This… need spoiled his otherwise perfect plan. It was a c***k in his armor, and he couldn’t think of a satisfying solution. When solutions eluded Arsik, the anger found him, and when the anger found him, ugly things came knocking on his door.

Hearing a snap and the rustling of leaves, he turned to peer towards two trees that stood in the darkness, forming a dark arch between them.

Arsik knitted his brow. Suddenly, he saw a silhouette dashing from between the trunks and running furiously towards him.

The assailant’s head was shaved, his skin dark, and he held a machete high over his head as he rushed at him in a rage, naked – or as naked as one could be. His slightly open mouth produced no sound; only his light, bare feet did, an almost inaudible one, as they catapulted him over rocks and branches. Arsik stared at him, stunned, feeling like a rabbit entrapped and unable to move.

The machete arced down at an angle and Arsik had just enough time to move his body and dodge the blow – but not before the blade carved a path on his cheek, forming a deep, red gash.

“Ah!” he cried out, touching his face. Stumbling a few steps sideways, he fell down to escape his enemy’s fury. The naked man spun towards him once more, skillfully toying with the machete, slashing at the air and forming eights with it while he prepared for the next attack. Arsik still lay on the ground watching him when, from the corner of his eye, he detected movement on the other side.

The man in front of him pounced at him, holding the machete with both hands and forcefully plunging it towards him. Arsik skirted the blade, deflecting the man’s hands with his left forearm, and thrust his right fist onto his jaw.

The knuckleduster’s metal fractured bones and teeth, and severed the man’s grip on the machete, sending him to sprawl on the ground. A groan escaped him before he landed as soundlessly as he’d arrived.

Arsik drew Dimlight from his belt and threw it to his right, in a straight line. The knife whizzed through the air and ended up in the chest of a second man, who’d been racing towards Arsik wielding a spear. The blade buried itself in his sternum with a deep, crimson kiss, and the man lost his balance and fell face-down immediately. Before his torso touched the ground, however, the knife exited his body as if by a will of its own, carving a quick return through the air back into Arsik’s hand, contrariwise to the initial throw.

Arsik swiftly bent over with his knife in hand and slit the throat of the first man, who’d had no time to get up. The blade cut through the soft flesh as if through butter, and the man’s body collapsed on the ground, soaking it with the warm blood gushing from his wound. Still on his knees, Arsik took a breath, a sardonic smile of satisfaction curling his lip.

Before he had time to stand up, he heard a soft whistling approaching and, right after, a sting on his neck, a brief, piercing stab of pain. Reflexively, he brought his hand to it as if swatting away an invisible insect and gritted his teeth.

When he removed his palm, he carefully focused and, in the absolute darkness, saw something that looked like a short dart. He attempted to utter something, but his lips had numbed and produced no sound. The objects around him started looking softer around the edges and gradually losing their colors.

Everything grew dark pretty quick, and Arsik fell into that darkness and collapsed on the ground.