The Wielder of Death Magic

Left of the sand-ridden scape, climbs a big cliff of steep proportions, at the edge, on glancing up, lives a womanlike intrusive figure. She looks upon us with contempt, such was the projected image by the somber skyscape. The breeze carried a salty aroma mixed with the freshness of the humid jungle. Atn high, before the mentioned cliff, was named by the first crewman who conquered its sharp slope. Multiple trips carved a path, and during said trips, we came across a grotto, thus providing shelter. No more reminiscing, currently, the grotto’s expanded – and Marinda seems tame. Every fa?ade examined, another builds. If not for the grotto, many would have perished in the rain, a lesson taught the hard way. Atn, a brave and competent man, died from poisonous rain, droplets hit his head, the hair and skin melted almost immediately. We assumed rain to be unhealthy and kept into the damp shadow.

On expeditions, tis best to have an entourage of multiple professions. By fortune, on the first trip, we hauled with us a scholar. He soon drew on his books and wrote, ‘-Marinda’s rainfall isn’t of natural belonging. If rain actively melted matter, there would remain nothing of the isle. Therefore, we can conclude, the rain is triggered when certain criteria have been met. The working theory, strangers to walk the land,’ such he carried the study with pride, and ultimately figured, ‘-we tested meat during many rainfalls, captain Aidn ordered the crewmen to not adventure during shroudy weather. The safety of the crewmen came first. The call was intelligent, for upon further examination – the melting of a man’s skin came to these criteria, exposed to the element and in direct sight of a rough-edged cloud. Sound insane, however – the shape is distinct, I shall include illustrations to better help gutsy voyagers.’

As the scholar said, after many long nights of debates on empty stomachs – the pain of hunger outweighed the idea of death. Many of us figured if death came, ‘twould be painless and quick, a bearable thought when faced by insanity and hunger. We believed the words, tied leaves to sticks, and formed rudimentary umbrellas. The plan was simple on that cold, famished evening. Spotters from the ship located the cloud, and from what we saw, didn’t affect matter on the sea. At the suggestion of my crew, we ventured into the jungle, the isle’s mystic destroyed our collective commonsense. What is right, what is wrong, we walked blindly – a babe experiencing the world. It rained that day, one burnt his arm – however, we had hope. The trees weren’t affected, the leaves simply shrugged the poison. In the later week, craftsmen tied together with a chest piece, arm brace, and a helmet made from the leaves. By the end, we all looked like bushes come to life. Ridiculous as it seemed, and by God, we all laughed till tears and coughs; they worked. We were able to hunt and scout the area – my friend, a cartographer, had trouble sketching and scaling the area – his compass failed, as did the many other measuring equipment. In the end, we used a stick on the beach, the shadow cast to determine time and location. The first few months were tough – nevertheless, we fought and explored. The bliss and bemusement of discovering a virgin land – it was majestic. By the end of the stay, we managed to cross the thick jungle by way of bridges amidst the branches. The deeper one is, the taller and wider stand the trees, leaves can grow to be the size of an arm or a leg.

The night, arguably, was the worst part of the stay. Demons’ roam and prey, the noises, we’ve yet to encounter the prowling beasts... glances here and there, close calls. The unknown is best left unknown, we weren’t going to walk into the lion’s den. Half a day’s trip along the suspended path comes to an open field. Herbivores are docile behemoths who calmly graze on the tall grass overlooked by a massive valley. We killed moderately, dried the meat and fish – and overall, kept a low profile. We ended the stay after six months – the initial plan of leaving after three months cut short by the changing weather, the seas suddenly cried furiously, there was no escape, the island became dangerously active.

‘Keep high,’ became our motto. The more height one has from the ground, the greater the chance of survival. Many lost their lives to the isle’s unpredictable climate and norm. Some eaten by plants, others poisoned by little pricks – the list goes till a total of twelve. To them, I pay my respect; Henry, Falter, Douglas, McGree, Jonathan, Permilla, Anson, Jozep, Balsmo, Tony, Cartner, and lastly, Atn. To you, my fellow comrade, I pray for thy well-being in the afterlife. The graves stand at the peak of Atn’s cliff, on watching the vague outlines of their gravestone, our ship resumed its journey east.

From then and till now, various unsuccessful trips have been made. Five years later, I embark once again with a new crew to the unknown land. We arrived safely as predicted by the season. To my surprise, nothing changed, the place seemed the same as when we left. Five years is a long time, and the expectation of any settlements standing in good shape is pretty low.

.....

The cliff waved on high, the sky clear and spotless, the reflected sun – seemed to me the isle welcomed us. The footprints remain, I’ll never forget that first day, excitement, and enthusiasm of the crewmembers, enough to make a grown man dance. Later down said week, we discovered our paths and progress unfazed. Contrary to the first, random crash with Marinda, we came prepared to discover the place’s secret.

Passing the jungle, a path was etched to brave the valley, tall mountains, rivers, and open-air. ‘Keep high,’ the mentality never changed. The crew split into smaller expeditions, each built their settlements and focused on the independent task. Personally, my interest was drawn by the inhabitants, weird creatures I’d never seen before, that whomst we hunted and ate. Three months into the trip, my living-quarters is barged by the panting of a frightened member of the alpine crew. I hurried to find the rambling of a traumatized fellow, “-the island is alive,” he cried and wept, “-the volcano will end us, it’ll blow and destroy the world. The voices, they speak, and they say we’re not invited beyond the valley. Cross the border and they’ll hunt us... let’s leave, let’s leave, let’s leave.”

The team leader stepped in, “-Captain, we don’t know how it happened, we were about the reach the peak, and on the final stretch, he collapsed and went crazy – the man tried to jump and kill himself. We halted the climb and returned – supplies ran low.”

“Good choice,” I replied, the poor fellow was taken to the ship where he remains fatigued, moving in and out of sleep. Soon after the incident, weirder things happened – many went missing to return naked and bruised weeks later. Blueness in the ceiling above faded into grey – the rivers pelted, the wildlife scrambled, change was upon us. The bay where we docked moved, large tentacles wailed, the very core shook – it was unbelievable, distant rumble – a high-pitch screech rendered many unconscious. I somehow survived – as did a few of my crew. We were stranded, the ship, fortunately, didn’t take damage – by a lot of unconscious crews, there was no escape.

Two weeks later, a few reawakened, tis then, I began to think – what if the isle wasn’t a landmass, but something which lives and breathes. It’d certainly explain the sudden vanishing, hence, I ordered the braver men to climb and continue the alpine expedition. This time, I’d fight with them. We spend the worst part of five-month catching on the previous team’s progress, we built rudimentary stop points at key locations.

At the peak, we clambered and instantly were washed by a tempest. The view, nothing to what I’d seen before, the mountain gently descended onto meadows and forests. There laid settlements, yes, villages or towns, the volcano breathed molten orange. We weren’t alone, no – the island of Marinda wasn’t fit to be called an island, the scale was far bigger and deeper. Rich land of undiscovered potentials. A little village caught my attention, and we ventured deeper. The downward climb was simple until the village gates – the inhabitants were people crossed with animals; rumored demi-humans. The village elder, a strong man with strongly shaped members muddled through the crowd and glared, “-foreigner,” he spoke, “-the might and wrath of our guardian deity have spoken. You, brave soul, beat the mountain’s rough terrain.”

By sundown, we sat cross-legged inside a circular hut. The elder walked in followed by younger ladies, “-stay the night, fellow venturers. We’re on the Yamto land. The rulers live to the northwest in the palace of ice. Tis not often we get visitors, and when we do, they often last a few days. Heed me well,” he spoke directly at me, “-I say this with good intent, do not pursue further. Halt the quest – the grand bell must have caused quite the commotion. Stay the night, fellow venturers, stay the night.”

An old man’s warning and a little feast for our pleasure, “-elder, may I ask a favor?”

“If tis in my capabilities, I will aid.”

“Are there anything I may bring back to save my crew?”

“-and items to sell,” interjected a merchant, who pleaded to get onboard.

Nothing else needed be said, we were soon graced by a barrage of potions and strange concoctions. They used magic, and were very proficient, little children stronger than our mages at the capital. We accepted the gesture and promised to leave the next day. This on said night I truly understood the meaning of overwhelming fear. I laid on a gentle-grassy slope to stargaze till a massive floating body calmly passed my vision. I drew on my spyglass and zoomed onto the object – there, I saw a figure staring directly at me, a woman beside whomst stood other outlines, a palace,” I gasped, “-it was floating island on which laid a palace,” then and there, my heart sank.

“That’ll be the nobles,” said the elder, “-they use the floating island to host grand celebrations across the land,” he placed a hand on my shoulder, my eye suddenly pulsed, the vision blurred, I looked down to see tears of blood, “-you gazed upon a celestial, tis the price a mortal must pay. I, also have paid the price,” tis then I realized, “-I lost both my eyes,” the elder was blind. Dawn came, the great expedition of Marinda ended.’ Marinda, the land of the mystic, written by Aidn of the Western Wind. After he returned from the journey, the king and people celebrated the courageous voyage. He kept the details hidden and traveled the world, none knew the reason why he lost an eye. The previous passages were pulled from a journey he gave to his grandson, the legacy of Aidn.’ The book shut, Yui exhaled, ‘-Marinda sounds exactly like the place master would escape to.’