By G.R. Nanda
“This man is ill,” declared a smooth male voice. It was crisp with age, but not old enough to be grating.
Farrul opened his eyes and blinked. He had been in the numb and dark trance that always led up to deep slumber and had been jolted awake by this man’s voice. He started to move his body, but his wrists seemed to be glued. Looking down, he was reminded that he bound at the wrists and ankles by rope. The hot anger that had kept him awake for so long returned, roiling in his chest. This wasn’t as bad as the numerous foster homes he’d been in and the labor camp he was in before the fateful hovercraft crash, but he still felt a burning resentment towards the man who’d bound him.
Just when he thought that he would be free when Steve, Nickel and he fled on the hovercraft. He now guessed that he had been too hopeful. What was he thinking? How could he hope for a smooth ride in the shit-hole that was the Desolate Plains of the Atlantic? However, he definitely wasn’t expecting to meet a whole group of people hiding out in the wreckage of an old power plant.
Farrul stopped moving, inhaled deeply and sighed. He was wedged into a loose sack of brown cloth that covered the top of his feet and head. He was right next to a series of cracked stone pillars, on the other side of which was Steve who had been lying down without resistance or much of a word since they had been captured and Farrul had been tied here for resisting and cursing at his feathered captors.
“He’s been quieter than the boy, but he’s been too quiet,” came the same deep cool voice. The speaker was talking about Steve. “I think some-thing’s wrong with him.” Farrul could see a tall narrow man in black clothes who had protruding red feathers at the shins and hands. He glimpsed him through the uneven spaces in-between the jagged pillars, looming over Steve. “Physically, I mean.” The man squinted at Steve through small beady eyes, seeming to take no notice of Farrul. The skin around his eyes and on his forehead was stretched in the tight lines of furrowed concentration.
Farrul tried cocking his head to get a closer look at the man examining Steve. In moving, he accidentally slipped the top of the cloth bag over his face, obscuring his vision.
“Glibb,” Farrul softly muttered under his breath. He wriggled, loudly shuffling against the cloth bag. He shook his head and tried rubbing the top of it up and down against the cloth. He managed to move the cloth away from his eyes.
Once he saw the tall man looking at him, he froze. His face was long,even for his already long body,and scraggly, covered with tufts of facial hair. The man slowly turned away and faced the floor where Steve was.
“How is the man?” the tall man said. “How is he generally? Is he physically able?”
After a period of silence in which Farrul was unsure who the man was talking to, the man said, “I’m talking to you by the way.” He turned towards Farrul, eyebrows raised in expectation. “You. This man’s accomplice.” He pointed a long nubby finger at Farrul and then lowered it.
Farrul contemplated many different things to say. He opened his mouth and made a quick slight noise, as if he was about to say something, but stopped immediately. He wanted to curse. To tell him Steve was a very physically able man- thank you very much. He wanted to order the man to unbind him. He wanted to tell him to be gentle with Steve because he’d been through a lot and he’d done nothing to harm him. He wanted to tell him to let him and Steve both go and the three of them would be better off for it. Finally, he gritted his teeth and said,
“Let me go.”
“I’d be glad to,” said the tall man, “once you show some more cooperation. You have entered the land of Great Father Hawk after all.”
Farrul’s cheeks flared with rushing blood.
“Did Great-Father-Hawk tell you guys to break into our ship?” Farrul said in a tight voice that was contained, but frothing with anger.
“A slight damage,” said the man, frowning, “but a necessary one.” He raised his hands, facing his palms outward. “Our land is sacred. The Atlantic tribe takes instructions seriously. We had to expect the worst from you.”
“You see? The thing is we don’t usually get visitors like your from the Past World.”
Farrul didn’t say anything. His mind was processing this man’s language, slowly taking in his convictions and his culture. He slowly shook his head and stopped frowning. He was staring without focus, dumbstruck by the changes and events that had transpired so quickly since Nickel had arrived with his hovercraft. Thinking of the hovercraft refilled him with spite and anger. He frowned again.
“You put a pretty big dent in our hovercraft, didn’t you?” snarled Farrul. “You guys glibbing rammed into it! Now there’s a big hole in it! How the hell are you gonna fix that?”
“The Atlantic Tribe is very strategic,” said the man. “We only cause necessary pains. We are also very resourceful-.”
“- Really?” interrupted Farrul,” you have the resources to fix a big hovercraft? You sure about that? You guys? Is this the first time you’ve seen a hovercraft? You guys don’t seem very high tech to me.”
The man stared at Farrul with furrowed eyebrows for a while and then inhaled deeply with frustration. He turned away as he sighed and walked out the door.
Shortly after, three people including the same tall man burst into the room, quickly entering and quickly slamming the door behind. One other was a tall adolescent boy, shorter than the man and sporting black clothes and a curly beard that was disconnected to a furry mustache. Another was an adolescent girl with a small face and pulled-back ponytail. She was also wearing black clothes and was the shortest of the two.
They all stared at Farrul with grim faces. Their eyes were all troubled and unnerved as if they expected Farrul to cause harm in an unexpected way. The tall man’s eyebrows were furrowed the deepest. His tightened mouth was lost in his bristly mustache.
“If you choose to cooperate and act within our limits, we can lead to your friend,” and pausing he said, “Nickel.”
“If not- If you cause anymore trouble, you will be back in this sack, more forcibly than the first two times.”
Farrul tried scowling at the three of them. It didn’t work because the three of them continued to stand there, waiting unflinchingly. Deep down, Farrul welled with a desire to see Nickel again. Steve was too weak to talk much and strangely enough, it was now Nickel who was his link to the familiar, a person he’d once detested for the abundance of technology that he came with. Farrul felt held back from jumping to his feet and begging to take him to Nickel. He was held back by a fear of coercion. He didn’t want to be forced into actions by people like he had so many times in his life.
Finally, the desire to see his ally triumphed. It was still strange how quickly he had come to regard Nickel as an ally. He closed his eyes and sighed.
“Alright,” he muttered. He opened his eyes. “Let me see him. I won’t resist or attack.”
The tall man walked over and pulled out a dagger from his pocket. Seeing the short tainted blade coming towards him, Farrul flinched. Instead of stabbing him, the tall man used the dagger to slit holes in the knots of rope tied around Farrul and disentangled Farrul from the ropes. The tall man walked away and Farrul wriggled his ankles and his wrists. He was slow to get up. His whole body felt like lead. In moving up, his vision blurred and dizziness swept over him. He managed to stand upright, teetering on the heels of his feet. He still felt tipsy, as if the slightest imbalance could make him collapse.
The girl grabbed a stone jug at the corner of the room and gave it to Farrul. He took it and was surprised to find it heavy. Black water with orange flashes of reflected firelight lapped at the rim of the jug.
He dipped his lips inside and slurped loudly at the water. Farrul was surprised to find that the water wasn’t as brackish as he thought it was going to be. What was even more surprising was that the water was less brackish than the water that he and Steve had to drink back at their encampment. As the water flowed down his throat, he felt a bit better in his own body, stronger and more relaxed.
He exhaled and handed the jug back to the girl as water dripped down his chin. She looked slightly distraught, grimacing at his thirst and the extent of his needed replenishment. She placed the jug back in the corner of the room.
“We will escort you to where Nickel is,” said the tall man. “He is waiting with Elder Hawk. She has something to tell the both of you when you are together.”
“You are to stay with us until another course of action is decided for you.”
Farrul scowled upon hearing, “another course of action decided for you.” So, after fleeing with Nickel on his hovercraft towards potential freedom and betterment, did he fall into the hands of an even more restrictive group of people?
“I can see you already don’t like this, but let me tell you that the Atlantic Tribe has lasted for generations because of discipline and adherence to the way of the Hawk.”
“Great Father Hawk has blessed us because we showed discipline. And besides, you’ve already promised to listen to us. Did you not?”
“Yeah,” Farrul muttered softly. “I did.”
“So, if you are to disobey orders or try to escape our escort, you will be back here as I said you would, tied by ropes.”
“If you are to get lost in our land, you must know our names so that you can safely return to our escort.”
“My name is Aziz,” said the tall man. Pointing to the boy and the girl next to him in order, Aziz said, “This is Jerome and Cindy.” Jerome and Cindy gave curt nods when he said their names.
“Come,” Aziz said.
Farrul stepped forward, averting his eyes. Cindy and Jerome immediately flanked his sides, holding him by his arms. He felt a creeping discomfort at their strong clasps below his armpits. He gulped and opened his eyes wider, still averting them. Somehow, being escorted felt even more limiting than being tied in a cloth sack. The latter felt a guileless restriction where he was left to himself. Now, however, he was being held and directed in the guise of being allowed to freely move his limbs.
Aziz moved in front of them and although Farrul tensed when Cindy and Jerome jerked him forward, he stumbled along with them, feeling an inevitability of fate. Unless he wanted to stay stuck here, imprisoned by rope, he might as well try to go along with the plans of the Atlantic Tribe. Why bother going back to the sack?
As they stepped outside of the hut, he willed himself to stay silent and calm, but also stubborn for the sake of his own independence.
It wasn’t storming anymore and the sun was coming out. Although the sun itself was not visible, rays of bright orange cut through from the sky to the left, illuminating the fog. People walked to and fro in dark attires similar to what Aziz, Jerome and Cindy wore. Some of the people had tufts of red feathers in their clothes like Aziz. Not only were these people uniform in their attire. They were nearly all uniform in their grim expressions and somber, disciplined movements.
Farrul was led through a rocky square surrounded by circular huts with thatched roofs. They passed cauldrons, crates and people carrying cauldrons and crates. They even passed a small see-saw next to a hut that emitted wailing sounds. Two small children wearing head scarves that wrapped around their mouths were teetering back and forth on opposite ends. They slowed down to look at Farrul, who now realized how oddly he would stick out among this tribe, not to mention because of the tainted and splotched rags he was wearing that was so unlike the attire of the Atlantic Tribe.
From Farrul’s experiences in foster care, the labor hovercraft and the streets of Philadelphia, sticking out usually meant trouble. He remembered oddballs and nonconforming individuals facing trouble, whether it was him or someone else. In hostile environments, being different from the herd meant trouble. Even his faintest and earliest memories of the polluted and neon-lighted Philadelphia confirmed that. In fact, now that he thought of it that was where he’d learned this lesson. Every other time he stuck out reinforced that lesson. There was no other way. All Farrul had known since his mom died were hostile environments.
Together, they entered a wide intersection marked by two opposite openings bereft of huts. They walked around an open hut with steam pouring out of the top. Clanking metal sounds came from inside. They quieted and became less abrasive to the ears when Farrul moved into the next wing. Here, he felt even more alienated and different.
He felt drab and somewhat empty and naked as he passed so many people in this area or “wing” who were adorned with even more feathers than Aziz and the people in the wing of the tribe they had just left. He felt like a skinny rat amongst puffy feathered birds. Their red feathers lined their sleeves, legs, masks and stuck out of their hair.
Farrul passed a group of leaner feathered tribespeople who leaned against stone posts at the entrance of a hut. Some were boys and some were girls. They laughed and chattered among themselves. Two boys were grappling each-other. All of them turned their heads to peer at Farrul being escorted.
He thought he could feel their eyes. It was a feeling he’d experienced countless times before in his life. Most of the times had been when he’d come to a new foster home.
“Is he from the thing that crashed in the towers?” whispered voices. “He’s from the Past World, isn’t he?”
However, this time, he felt more intensity than he had before. He wanted to walk ahead, looking unimpressed, instead of sulking as he was doing right now. But he couldn’t help himself from looking towards them, gauging their reactions to him.
Two girls standing right next to a middle post stared at him wide-eyed with fear. The whispers died as he neared them. Kids behind stared at him from shadows with mingled anxiety and disdain. Four boys stood at the first post. In front were two lanky boys, sulking over Farrul with squinting eyes. Behind were the boys who had been grappling each other. They scowled at Farrul. The mean glint their eyes made them look like they were about to pounce on him.
Farrul felt his head swarm with a dizzying anger.
“Why the glibb did I end up here?” he thought. He wanted to scowl back at the boys, but Cindy and Jerome rushed past them too quickly, forcing Farrul to turn around and move on.
#
Walking quite a distance, they made their way through bumbling children and marching adults towards a hut that was much wider. In front of that hut was a squat old lady who stood while holding the arm of Nickel, both of whom were obscured in fog. As Farrul moved closer with his escorts, he could see more clearly. Nickel wore a disconcerted expression and he was bleary eyed.
“Where’s Steve?” was the first thing Nickel said.
“He’s…………………………..resting,” said Farrul. “He’s not in the best shape.”
Nickel looked disheartened.
“Everything’s been rough on him,” said Farrul. “He hasn’t been able to stand up in hours.”
“You land dwellers are not suited for the acht-chi like myself and my fellow tribespeople are,” said Elder Hawk, the woman to Nickel’s left. Farrul’s heart skipped a beat at the assertiveness of her voice. He had not minded her too much, as she appeared so shriveled and was so small that he took her to be insignificant and even thought of her as mute. “You have not lived in the heart of this old ocean floor for as many generations as are in my blood. Many generations of accustom and discipline to the acht-chi flow through my veins. And of course, there’s the discipline I was born into and which I have practiced for my entire life.”
“The same does not flow through the bloodline of your friend Steve. Or either of your bloodlines.”
“So…………….what exactly are we doing here, lady?” blurted Farrul. He gave an impatient laugh. “You gonna cut to the chase or what?” Farrul clasped his hands behind his back and shook back and forth, shrugging his shoulders. Nickel gave him a sour look and shook his head. “I can take some mysticism,” he said slowly pronouncing the last word, “but I’m not used to all this hawk-.” He shook his hands in front of him to illustrate the murkiness of the hawk religion, “- mystic- stuff. I’ve done the acht-chi before and I’ve never come across hawks- like ever in any of my dreams. So, all this hawk stuff kind of sounds a bit like-.”
Farrul cut off mid-sentence when he caught Nickel’s dangerous look and recognized that the reason he was getting that look was because he could be jeopardizing his only shot at getting answers. The word he was about to utter rang in his head: bullshit.
He looked down at Elder Hawk. She had a sour look too. Despite how distant her wrinkled features and unfocused eyes made her seem, distaste was apparent. Her eyes were half-closed, but her sinking eyebrows and mouth indicated annoyance. Still, she seemed more disappointed than annoyed. Her air of disdain seemed to say that she had better matters to attend to.
“Listen,” pleaded Farrul. Nickel just stared at him with distaste as if he was expecting nothing but provocation to come out of his mouth. “We have a place to go. It’s called Hedonim. I’m sorry for coming across as rude, but we really need to get there, so I don’t have the time to be polite. If you could just point us in the direction of how to get there-.”
“It seems that you understand the Desolate Plains less than you let on,” interrupted Elder Hawk. Nickel opened his mouth, then closed it. He stared at his feet, distraught by the conversation.
“No, no, no,” said Farrul, shaking his hands. “I’ve been here a really long time. Enough to know that I can’t stay here. Like- I’d rather be on a hovercraft all alone, alright. But I can’t. Because I know better. I know that the isolation destroys you or whatever-.” Farrul laughed nervously. He avoided looking at Nickel’s baffled and disconcerted face and focused on Elder Hawk, hoping to get his message to her by staring intently. His mouth was open and slightly moving, but he only made a few stammering sounds. He felt utter despair weigh down on him and constrict his body, creating tension and panic. All he knew at that moment was that,
“I-I-I have to leave, okay!” He caught sight of Nickel’s surprised and troubled face, but he willed himself to bend down and stare directly at Elder Hawk, practically breathing in her face. Elder Hawk continued to stare back at him. Her eyes were still half closed. She didn’t make a sound.
“I can’t stay here with you. Just fix up Steve if you can because- because-.” Farrul’s voice wavered with the onslaught of a sob.
Nickel placed a hand on Farrul’s shoulder. He was trembling.
“Hey, hey, hey,” said Nickel. “It’s okay. Just back off a bit. It’s-.” Farrul shoved Nickel’s hand away. He gritted his teeth and willed himself not to cry. He frowned and blinked rapidly. Elder Hawk’s face had now softened a bit, but it was still unmoving, now stolid— expressionless.
“Fix up Steve,” said Farrul. “Please. Because he’s a really good person and he’s helped both Nickel and me a lot. But we can’t- or at least I can’t,” he said, giving Nickel a cold look, “be a part of this tribe. We have to get to Hedonim.”
“You aren’t entirely wrong,” said Elder Hawk. “However, your impatience drives you far from the truth. I, for one, have no patience for impatience. My role as Elder Hawk calls for many matters including conversing with Great Father Hawk to provide a spiritual latticework for my tribe, all of which drains me of my stamina and energy.” She widened her eyes and looked at Farrul with a sullen expression. “Good day to you until we meet again for your initiation rite— that is, if you choose to meet me again. Nickel can tell you what I had planned to tell you if you had shown more willingness today. If you choose to show the same willingness Nickel showed, I shall speak to you again. Now, I shall return to the slumber that today I was interrupted from.” Elder Hawk turned around and hobbled off into her hut. The door behind Nickel creaked as Elder Hawk slowly closed it.
G.R. Nanda 