Missing
men, lost children, burned crops, stolen texts. Rumours were always
gilded with some sense of truth, and I wondered what rumours would
circulate after the Consortium's departure from the Everglade. Two of the others
who'd been waiting earlier had fled into the forest when they'd seen
the Consortium and hadn't returned - perhaps they'd retreated from
whence they'd come. Cowards - if they had family on the Everglade
that they'd abandoned, I'd be sure to kick some sense into them.
The
Everglade was a tiny islet, and thus Delphajor was a tiny town - a
fishing village by label and a lethargic enclave in reality. Half of
the population in Delphajor had inherited wealth from vast family
fortunes across the country and stumbled upon the small city by word
of mouth; few had heard of it, even fewer had bothered to explore it.
The ferry was privately funded by one of the town’s more wealthy
components – though the dock man had been hired by the King to tax
the ferry’s patrons. Aye, Delphajor was tiny – its inhabitants
quiet, its history bland, and its presence incredible. I relished my
every trip across the inlet on the boat – to see the docks and the
market pier arise from the sea would relentlessly bathe me in
nostalgia. This said, I am certain the Consortium didn’t value
Delphajor’s aesthetics. Neanderthals.
These
are thoughts I add only to this journal, for they certainly weren't
in my mind at the moment – my thoughts were doused by the boiling
heat sizzling in my heart. I could not relax - some would say breathe
deeply, I would tell them that meditation is a failed pursuit that
clouds my head with smog as it pollutes everything bright in my soul.
I did not care what the Consortium wanted – or I did not want to
know – I only knew that I wanted to be on the island.
I'm
told that I wear a face when I'm bottling my rage; a dark-eyed,
sullen stare that obscures the soft glaze that often covers my
pupils; the orbs seems to boil; my lips - taut as they normally are -
curve in the most subtle of leers; the fork of Satan's tail arisen
in my sulk.
It
was this face that I'm sure I wore now as I sat, alone on the tree
stump, feeling each heartbeat fuel the thousand suns burning inside
me like a great bellows pumped by the hands of Vistah. I didn't have
the mental capacity to question why the Consortium was travelling in
such a large group - or, if I did, I was far too preoccupied thinking
about slicing them up to care. Anger is quite efficient at masking
clarity of thought.
My
gaze locked on the horizon, refusing to acknowledge the galley and
the oars that would soon began to churn the water around it.
Delphajor waited, erected barely in sight on a tiny island in the
middle of the inlet, forever unchanging. The village stood as
patiently for my arrival as it always had. Two more hours until I'd
see this boat again, two more hours that I risked my rage bursting
into a hemorrhage, two more hours until I was going to get the fuck
off this rock and back to Delphajor.
I
had never been prone to blackouts, but my there is a gap in my
memories between the time I sat stewing on the stump and the time
when I stood back on the dock with my knife out. There was no fear in
the dock man's eyes as I pointed my dirk at his chest – I saw only
a reflection of my own rage. Was I being irrational? Doubtful.I
didn't have time to think about rationality it before I felt an arm
wrap itself around me from behind. I'd neglected to correct my stance
and neglected to notice the consort standing on the ramp that led
from the dock to the boat. It didn't take lot of strength for the
Consortium crony to toss me off the edge of the dock. An arm coiled
around my throat and a jab at a focal point behind my kneecaps was
all it took to send me tumbling into the water to make myself some
slimy new enemies.
Water
and seaweed quickly took up residence in my throat and left me
spluttering too hard to be angry; I had a brief moment of
thoughtless appreciation for the fact that the water was warm and I'd
dressed lightly. Had I worn heavier clothes, I would have sunk to the
sea floor and had to shed my gear, crawling back onto the seashore
entirely exposed to the laughter of the dockhand and the Consortium.
I did not know if the Consortium had a sense of humour or not, but I
had a sense of dignity that I intended to maintain.
My
sword had vanished, its sheath floated limply by my side like a lazy
piece of kelp. Dampened by the sea and by the humiliation; I gauged
it unworthy to dive in search of my blade. The water was murky and
deep. Besides, I had a boat to catch.
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