Chapter 16, “Three Seas
Hates Jack” or "Ay, Bee, and Three"
“I still hate you,”
Three Seas said to me after five minutes of silence, clearly trying to break
the ice.
“Don’t worry,” I replied. “I’m feeling irritable too.”
I was. Readers never bother to wonder how tired a character can get on an adventure like this. And what’s worse is that authors generally don’t, either. So because of the silly “train in three days” restriction by which I’m bound, I have to do it all on their time.
Consider all that you’ve read so far of this never-ending journey that I’m on, and recall that I’ve only slept two nights of it, and possibly been unconscious for a third. I’m not sure how long I was out in that prison, but either way it doesn’t matter because you can’t count getting knocked out from a punch to the jaw as a full night’s sleep. No, wait, I was also unconscious for a while at the Cardaccians...hm...
Well so what? So what if I have no idea how much time has passed, or what day of the week it is, or even the year, or if I’ve slept for any given number of hours. And it isn’t just lack of sleep, you know. I’ve been moving constantly these past few days. Walking, climbing, running, all that exercise you normal flubs do willingly and on your own time. Morons.
Nor is it just physical fatigue. I came to this island to get away from my usual life. My trip was supposed to be a vacation on a tropical island, getting to know my long lost father, and then it turns out that everyone wants to kill me, as if we’re on some kind of terrorist nuclear submarine. Which is normal, but man do you get mentally tired from that! Getting shot at and shooting others, meeting people you don’t want to have to meet, rejecting a romance that could have been such a nice outlet, such a welcome release from all this dambed pressure...from having to do the same things over and over and over again. It’s exhausting.
I was. Readers never bother to wonder how tired a character can get on an adventure like this. And what’s worse is that authors generally don’t, either. So because of the silly “train in three days” restriction by which I’m bound, I have to do it all on their time.
Consider all that you’ve read so far of this never-ending journey that I’m on, and recall that I’ve only slept two nights of it, and possibly been unconscious for a third. I’m not sure how long I was out in that prison, but either way it doesn’t matter because you can’t count getting knocked out from a punch to the jaw as a full night’s sleep. No, wait, I was also unconscious for a while at the Cardaccians...hm...
Well so what? So what if I have no idea how much time has passed, or what day of the week it is, or even the year, or if I’ve slept for any given number of hours. And it isn’t just lack of sleep, you know. I’ve been moving constantly these past few days. Walking, climbing, running, all that exercise you normal flubs do willingly and on your own time. Morons.
Nor is it just physical fatigue. I came to this island to get away from my usual life. My trip was supposed to be a vacation on a tropical island, getting to know my long lost father, and then it turns out that everyone wants to kill me, as if we’re on some kind of terrorist nuclear submarine. Which is normal, but man do you get mentally tired from that! Getting shot at and shooting others, meeting people you don’t want to have to meet, rejecting a romance that could have been such a nice outlet, such a welcome release from all this dambed pressure...from having to do the same things over and over and over again. It’s exhausting.
I came out here for a
break---a well-deserved one, let me tell you---and then it’s just more bloody,
incessant adventure. And I use that first adjective literally.
So you’ll understand
when I tell you that I had no intention whatsoever of leading these guys to a
treasure. Not only do I not think they deserve or need it, I don’t want
to do this quest at all. I’m tired of adventure and I’m tired of the whole
treasure idea. The gods try my patience so often that now I’m going to try
theirs.
So off I led them into
the jungle, the dambed thin, bright, and promising jungle, purposefully not
retreading the path that would have taken us to the encampment, the spot I knew
the treasure to be near. Instead I went at random directions, taking long
strides that to them would hopefully indicate I knew exactly where I was
heading, but to Annie would give away that irritation I had so cheerfully
expressed to Three Seas.
“What are you doing?”
she hissed in my ear at one point. “Where are we going?”
“Don’t worry about it,”
I grumbled lowly.
In fact, I was looking
for some kind of jungle terror. Something that would distract and maybe even
take down the Johnsons so I could get away, Annie theoretically (but not
necessarily) at my side. It was a better prospect than just disarming them.
Three Seas had his very out-of-place crossbow and the other two, bless them,
had long but sheathed stone knives. I gave some thought as to how to best get
one of those knives so Annie could cut the ropes off me, but despite her little
moment at the encampment, I doubted her ability to summon at will that part of
herself that could do violence to others or at least stall them enough to get
me free. So no, I couldn’t depend on her. Not for any stealth or subtlety,
anyway. So I continued to search for that jungle terror.
And then I remembered
the boxcutter in my boot.
I would have slapped my
palm to my forehead if I could.
So no, I would not have
to depend on Annie’s cleverness to get free. Just on her cooperation. And that
was a relative given.
I did find it remarkable
that after all this time trekking through and traversing a wild, uncivilized
island, we had yet to come upon some menacing beast or venomous serpent or any
real threat at all. The jungle should have been filled to bursting with panthers
and snakes and hellishly horrifying insects. Even with our protection from the
gods, it seemed a little suspicious that the only beast we crossed paths with
was Carl Sagan.
Where was that guy,
anyway? I felt like he should be making his reappearance any time now.
But that was...
And this was...
My plan. It depended on
the gods. I sighed as I realized there was no way I could really “search” for
something to come along and eat the three Johnsons. It would happen randomly,
if it happened at all. And just as the gods protected me and Annie as we walked
through the jungle, so would the gods be in control if we stumbled upon
something violent. Either way it would be up to them, a deus ex machina.
Indirectly, but one nonetheless.
Damb it.
And of course, that was
when I came upon the empty patch of ground surrounded by ferns. I knew
instantly what it was, and how to use it to my advantage.
“Annie,” I mumbled. The
Three Johnsons were a couple seconds behind us, but Annie had stayed close to
me. “Go around. Hug the ferns. Do not step in the middle of that.”
Before she could protest
or wonder out loud or whatever it was she was scripted to do, I dashed quickly
and leaped across the patch. Because I had no arms to balance myself I fell
forward upon landing but rolled on my shoulder and ended up back on my feet at
the far edge. When Annie saw my steps sink slightly on the fringes of the dirt,
she understood what the patch was and did exactly as I directed her to do: stay
on the edges.
As I predicted, my speed
made the Johnsons give chase after me.
“Hey!” Three Seas
barked. Ay and Bee made some other threatening, monosyllabic sound in their own
language that probably equated to the same thing. Not that “hey” has much of a
meaning in ours.
Three was ahead of the
other two by a bit and he crossed the patch first. But he never actually did
cross it. No, his feet got stuck in the very middle. The quicksand slowly
started sucking him under, the pull getting more and more intense as he
struggled to free himself.
“Help! HELP!” he cried
in despair. The two other Johnsons just stared dumbly at Three. “Quicksand!
Help me, you idiots! Curse you, and curse the chief for sending you with me!
You and your lack of English! Augh!”
It was dragging him
under very slowly, but also, as they say, very surely. Annie was staring at
Three with shock and horror.
“Annie,” I said again,
quickly but clearly. “Don’t look at him. Look at me. I need you to help me.”
“Is he going to die?”
she said, breathing rapidly and flaring her nostrils.
“If he is, it’s because
you’re not helping me right now. I need you to reach into my right boot and
pull out what you find there. Hurry.”
She did exactly as I
asked and came back up with the boxcutter. “How am I supposed to help him with
this?” she said in consternation.
I sighed and with all my
might resisted rolling my eyes and cursing her the same way Three, now up to
his knees in quicksand was now cursing Ay and Bee for not being helpful in the
slightest. I did take a moment to appreciate the parallel between us before
returning to the situation at hand.
“You’re going to cut
these ropes off me. That’s how you’re going to help him.”
Realization dawned in
her eyes and prompted a little “oh!” out of her mouth as it tended to. She got
right to sawing the ropes off with the boxcutter. It took a little longer than
would have been preferable; boxcutters aren’t terribly sharp and I felt very
strongly I should help the poor guy out. Now that I was in the moment, I
realized I couldn’t very well kill these people, or even let them be
killed, even if it was by their own stupidity. How can I kill a man whose name
I know?
The ropes soon dropped
away and I could move my arms again. Time to be a hero. Or at the very least, a
nice guy.
“Okay, listen up,
people,” I said, stepping as close to the quicksand as I could while staying in
perfect view of the three Johnsons, including the one who was now up to his
belly button in sand. “I am your friendly local action-adventure hero, and I
hope this little experience has taught you a valuable lesson. You don’t tie up
Jack McDowell. That’s the lesson. Now, here’s what you need to do, friend.”
I proceeded to explain
to him how to escape the quicksand. It wasn’t the most complicated thing. All
you had to do was wiggle your legs. This allows the water part of the quicksand
to loosen the thicker parts and you can gradually rise out of it. Real
quicksand can’t suck a human being all the way under anyway. Indeed, Three
Seas, once it was up to his belly, had stopped sinking. As to whether this
quicksand was real or not, well....well, whatever. He had stopped and was
trying my advice. Not without a harsh and humiliated glare or two.
And as to why I had a
change of heart? Well, it had somewhat to do with my attempted rebellion
against the gods. It’s like when a teenager wants to do something, then finds
out her parents also want her to do that thing, and then suddenly she hates it
and refuses to do it. Childish? Yes. Petulant? Sure. Rebellious? Heck yes. Especially
yes. I had to rebel any way I could. Every moment where I can successfully
rebel, no matter the end result, is a triumph. So when the gods provided me
with an opportunity to do just what I wanted to do in causing the death of my
captors, I decided to use it to save them. Gain freedom and some power over my
captors, yes, but not kill them.
This whole thought
process happened in that instant when I saw the quicksand for the first time,
just a page or two behind here.
And eventually he got
out, but not without me snatching his crossbow first. I handed it to Annie, who
looked like she had no idea what to do with it. The boxcutter went back in my
boot. Then my gun came out of my waistband. The Johnsons had never thought to
take it away from me, or even look for it. I waved it around, getting their
attention.
“Guys, guys, guys. Look,
I have a gun and I also have some concerns about this expedition we’re on.
Here’s my first question: how did you expect me to find the treasure without
using the map that you think I have?”
They looked at each
other, two of them because they didn’t understand a word I was saying and the
other, Three, because he was trying to find some allies who would help take the
fall for his stupidity.
“You said you would lead
us there,” he finally said. “You made a deal. A promise.”
“Did I? I don’t really
remember, and I’m too tired and irritable and pissed off to think it all the
way through right now. The fact is, I’ll lead you wherever you want me to lead
you, but you’re going to have to trust me. If you don’t trust me, I’ll do
something like this again.”
“Do you have the map,
then?” Three asked.
“Why would I need a map?
I’m the hero, the One Who Was Chosen By The Gods. I can find anything I need
to. I found this quicksand just now without having a map for it. The gods are
on my side. They wanted me free, and thus I am free. You see that?”
“Look, I don’t like
being dependent on you,” Three said with spite and a harshly pointed finger.
“But---”
“But we’re going to have
to work as a team, is that what you’re going to say?”
“---but you said you
needed the map to get there. Do you?”
“I implied it.
Not the same thing.”
Three looked at me.
Cold. Confused.
I relented.
“Okay, maybe I’m not
making any sense right now. Like I said, I’m tired. But we need to get this
over with. So let’s just go.”
I suppose what I was
really trying to do was rationalize my decision not to kill them, yet still
give myself an opportunity to leave them behind, yet keep them from finding the
treasure, yet trying to dance with the gods and dodge their designs, yet...
I turned to see Annie.
She surprised me. But only for a second.
While at first she had
held the crossbow awkwardly in her hands, when I next saw her she looked like
she had practiced and hunted with it for years, holding it loosely yet
confidently. A very peculiar image to one who knew only Annie. But not me.
I met her eyes and she
looked away, shoulders slumping and her grip on the crossbow faltering. She
looked like Annie again.
Finally we did “just go.” Past the quicksand, deeper into
the unpaved, untamed, uncivilized jungle. And I had no idea where that was; we
were completely at the mercy of the gods. I wondered if the gods had wanted me
to lose the Johnson tail all along, and even though it was probably true, I
stopped and gave up that line of thinking because of the utter futility of my
life if it were true. If I accepted it I would be totally defeated. So even if
I was defeated, I didn’t want to know it.
We came across a hill
with a steep slope that had incremental ridges of rock every ten or twenty feet,
like layers of walls meant to protect a tightly-protected city at the top from
a siege. They weren’t tall like walls, though, they were more like steps,
similar to a ziggurat. Switchbacks could have been paved from level to level,
but I felt like climbing this slope up straight. It looked impressive, like it
might lead somewhere significant.
There were no trees on
this slope, only vivacious green grass and the intermittent lines of stone
going all around the hill, so we came out from under the canopy as we ascended.
Every time we met a ridge we had to hoist ourselves up. All this under the hot,
humid, late afternoon sun. Things got sweaty fast. But of course that didn’t
matter to Annie or me as we were very attractive people and physically
incapable of looking or smelling otherwise. The Johnsons, meanwhile, in
addition to not being great to look at, started to stink real bad. It became a
very pungent odor, and at the same time I noticed it, we all heard the
high-pitched, almost crackling roar of a tiger.
But it wasn’t a tiger.
No---it was a Super Tiger.
That was what I hoped.
And expected. Theoretically it could have been another tiger, but how would
tigers have ever gotten to that island---isle---in the first place? No, I was
fairly sure that Carl Sagan was the only one who matched that description in
this place. “That description” being “a tiger” and also “one who roars.”
So there stood Carl
Sagan at the bottom of this hill, roaring up at us like a regular big old cat
who’s found either unwelcome visitors in its territory, lunch, or both. And it
started leaping up, one giant step at a time.
The Johnsons freaked
out. As they realized they couldn’t climb fast enough to outrun such a strong
and agile beast, they decided to run across the hill rather than up it. So they
took off, following the curve of the stone ridges around the side of the hill,
with a stream of shrieks and yelps and not a moment’s concern for us, their
now-liberated captives.
Carl Sagan soon reached
us and accepted a pat on the head from me as greeting. I realized that he
wasn’t really roaring at us at all, but rather using the only sound he was
capable of making to say, essentially, “hello.” He wanted us to stop so he
could catch up to us and rejoin our party!
“What a good Carl Sagan
he’s being!” Annie said as she patted him on the head too.
I knelt down to his
level. But given his size, he ended up being taller than me so I stood back up.
“Carl Sagan, Annie’s right. You’re being an excellent Carl Sagan, and so we
have another job for you. Chase after those guys for us. Don’t kill them or
anything, just scare them and keep them away from us. Chase them in circles if
you can. We just want to get away from them. Can you do that?”
What I heard was a sort
of huff, or it could have been a sneeze, but it was accompanied by a nod of his
head, so I assumed he had agreed to it.
“We’re just going to the
top of this place. Track our scent when you’re done with them, if you have to.
Shouldn’t be too hard, I don’t think.”
And Carl Sagan took off,
now following their scent, which was sweat.
“Well that was a
freebie!” I said cheerfully. “Come on, let’s get up there.”
We did. The grass faded
near the summit of the hill, making it look like the head of a poor balding
man. Were there any bald people on this island? Isle? I couldn’t remember.
Anyway, the top was mostly a dry dusty brown, boring on its own terms but for
the view. The view was utterly magnificent, especially so given my sudden
ascent in mood as well as altitude. It looked out over the entire upper canopy,
a sea of green with our little bald summit the only land in sight, all under
the cerulean sunset sky.
“Wow,” Annie breathed.
“It’s something,” I
agreed. Then I noticed the sign. Just like the one on the shore Annie and I had
seen at the start of the story. Right in the middle of the summit.
Windswept Peak
of Mount Diabolo
(Don’t get swept off!)
And like that my
cheeriness died.
“This is Mount Diabolo?”
I said. “We’re right next to where we were before? The encampment? This is
where those bastards in the clouds led us? Aw, son of a---”
“But look at the pretty
view!” said Annie, pointing one direction but turned around to face me.
“I’ve seen it,” I
grumbled as I stared at the ground.
“No, down there,” she
said, and I looked up. She was pointing not just ahead at the endless canopy
top, but down the mountainside. I walked over to her and peered down.
The slope was
practically vertical here, and at the bottom, surrounded by dark, practically
black rock, lay a large pool of water, colored bright turquoise.
“I’ve never seen that
color in nature before,” she said. “We should go down there!”
“Hmm. We should go down
there, yes,” I said. “But not because you’ve never seen that color in nature
before. That’s a ridiculous reason. But see, look carefully, through those
trees. Do you see what I see?”
Her gaze followed my
pointing finger, but didn’t see what I saw. “I don’t see what you see,” she said,
not seeing what I saw.
“It’s a rope bridge.
With wooden slats. Going across the water.”
She kept looking for it,
but unsuccessfully. “So?”
“That means someone’s
been there before. And I think we should figure out what that’s about.”
A sudden blast of
curiosity had just ignited my brain. It didn’t feel entirely natural, but I
knew I had felt it before. It was partially what drove me to solve the various
mysteries I had come across on this island, isle, and why I was still here at
all.
“I don’t see the
point---”
“I’m just feeling
curious today, damb it,” I said impatiently. “Is that okay? Am I allowed to
feel that, am I?”
That’s when we heard
more yelling, more of those shrieks and yelps, a veritable stream of them.
Annie and I went back over to the edge we climbed up and looked down. The three
Johnsons were still being chased, Carl Sagan at their heels, and back from the
direction they had gone.
“Aw, damb it again,” I
muttered, scratching my hair. “They’re back. Carl Sagan didn’t get rid of them
for good.”
And that’s when I
thought of an idea.
“I thought of an idea!”
I exclaimed.
“When?”
“Just then.”
“What is it?” she asked
predictably, so much that I mouthed the words as she said them.
“You’ll see,” I told
her, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed that she mouthed those back.
Fair enough.
“Hey!” I shouted, and
started down the hill where the Three Johnsons and I would intersect. I lost
control over my footing and began to slide down the grass. When I reached the
line of rock I used that as a springboard to jump down to the next level, where
I slid down to the next rock, and so forth. It was stylish, though accidentally
so, and frankly, really, really fun. The image of me doing this in my mind’s
eye made me cheerful again, which was lucky as I would have to convince the
Johnsons to follow me across that bridge, and that needed hope and optimism and
a grand dream for the future of, well, the Johnsons’ treasure horde. Or
something.
I don’t know. I’m tired.
Go away.
“Carl Sagan!” Jack yelled as he landed on a ridge of rock. “Herd those guys over here! Back to us!”
Carl Sagan, who continued to chase the Johnsons, turned his head and perked his ears up to Jack. Then he obeyed the alpha male. Still running across the hill, he overtook the Johnsons, who grew very confused, and hopped around to face them, skidding backwards to a stop. This caused the Johnsons to halt as well, and in that second of silence, Carl Sagan roared a terrible roar at them. Then they began pushing and shoving each other as they turned around and ran in the opposite direction.
But here Jack stood, very stylishly, holding his gun in a half-casual pose, preventing them from escaping Carl Sagan’s clutches. Carl Sagan wasn’t really clutching them; that was a metaphor. They were stuck between a Hero and a Super Tiger on the x-axis, and a ridge of rock and another ridge of rock, presumably also a hard place, on the y-axis.
The three Johnsons
looked frantically between Jack and Carl Sagan, wondering what to do. One of
them, it could have been Alligator Ay, tried hopping down to the next level of
the hill, but before he could drop down, a crossbow arrow flew right past him
and into the grass exactly where his feet would have landed had he actually
dropped. He quickly scampered back up to his feet to join his fellows.
Jack looked up and saw
Annie lowering the crossbow. He hesitated a moment on the image, then pulled
himself away to address the Johnsons.
“This is my friend, Carl
Sagan,” Jack said, indicating the Super Tiger. “And he’s going to help us out
with this mission of ours by making sure you’re no danger to me ever again. In
essence, guys, you are now my prisoners. Not the other way
around. Got it?”
Jack eyed Three Seas in
particular. Their steely gazes met and Three Seas had something like shock,
something like confusion, something like deference on his face.
Welcome to my world, Jack thought.
“Okay then, let’s move
on out,” he said. “Carl Sagan, you stay in the rear, make sure they don’t try
any moves on me.”
Now, Jack thought, to lose them completely.
They didn’t find the
pool of water immediately. Jack supposed it was something of a lagoon, and he
was probably right. It had been a long way down that cliffside from the top of
Mt. Diabolo, much lower than the spot where they had initially climbed up the
hill. With this in mind, Jack decided to lead them down. They clambered
down a slight ravine onto lower ground. When asked by Three Seas if he knew
where they were going Jack only replied, “Shut up.”
And Carl Sagan kept them
all in line. A literal line, with himself at the rear end.
The ravine got deeper
and deeper until it became a gorge, until it became familiar, until it became
suspiciously familiar, until it became hauntingly familiar, like something Jack
had seen in another life. This rang false to Jack until he saw up ahead a
smashed smoking wreck of a vehicle that had evidently crashed headfirst into
the stony gorge.
Jack stopped the second
he recognized it, and Annie gave one of her little “oh”s. Jack eventually
turned around, looking puzzled. Then he winced.
“Was that really earlier
today?” he said, rubbing his neck.
“We have to see if he’s
all right!” Annie said.
“I’m not checking.
That’ll be a gruesome sight indeed. And anyway, he tried to kill us.”
“I think we should help
him if he’s still alive,” Three Seas said flatly. “And you especially. Aren’t
you supposed to be a hero?”
“Gah, yes, damb it, I
guess so. As if I didn’t have enough going on...”
Annie ran to the wreck.
The smoking jeep stood vertically, nose down, leaning against the steep side of
the gorge, its front end completely crushed. Jack, feeling obligated, jogged
lightly in Annie’s wake.
Then they all heard a
voice.
“Hey! Hey out there!
Please help me!”
Needless to say, all
were quite surprised. It even sounded like the guy was completely fine.
“I’m okay, just stuck!
Please!”
Mystery Solver Mortimer,
as we know him, was completely fine. Just, as he said, stuck. He had
faced death in the eye, just as so many of his henchfellows had, but been denied
the answer to the greatest mystery of them all. We do enjoy toying with
the mortals sometimes.
We kept him in this
isolated, immobile state for several hours by means of the jeep’s roll bar, the
crushed seat belt mechanism, and the scrunched-up steering wheel giving him a
mere centimeter of free movement, not enough to actually escape but just enough
to toy with him. Jack saw this instantly and made the first step without so
much as a warning to any of the party: pushing the barely-balanced jeep back
onto its four tires.
As he did this Annie
uttered a scream of fright, then a squeal of protest. Mortimer screamed too,
but with a slightly lower voice than Annie.
“What?” Jack said after
the vehicle had landed with a bounce on its shocks. “He’s fine. That thing was
teetering dangerously as it was. You’re fine, right kid?”
Mortimer, despite his
rather antiquated name, was indeed pretty young, about twenty to Jack’s thirty,
and looked younger. And while he may have been “fine” in reality, he appeared
quite shaken by the experience. Both experiences, really.
He nodded, trembling.
Jack swung open the jeep door.
“Well, get out and come
along, then,” Jack said with a wave of his hand. “The more the murkier, or some
such crap like that. But don’t go explaining to us your life story. We’re not
interested.”
“I---I can’t get out,
I’m stuck,” Mortimer said. “I’m Mortimer, by the way.”
“Don’t care. About the
second part. The first part is simple---” Jack reached over and started
tinkering with the seatbelt. When he found it not so simple, he went about it
even simpler. He reached into his right boot and withdrew the boxcutter. It
took a while to saw that belt down, but he managed it, and soon Mortimer was
able to slide right past the protruding steering wheel and out of the jeep,
with only a few scratches and some severe psychological trauma as a result. But
the second thing wouldn’t come back to haunt him until years later, when he
would go through another similar experience. Can’t tell you anymore than that.
Spoilers, you see.
“Okay, you can follow us
if you like, but you have to stay back there with them,” Jack said, pointing at
the Johnsons.
“Who is he?” Three Seas
asked Jack. “Does he work for Golbez?”
“Yeah, but just ignore
him. If you try to kill him I have to save him. I know his name now. He can
never be truly worthy of death at my hand again. If you don’t ignore him, Carl
Sagan will eat your face off.”
After some more annoying
conversation, Jack continued on through the gorge. Then Mortimer started asking
stupid questions. Questions about Jack and Annie, who they really were, what
they were trying to do, that kind of thing. Jack didn’t answer a single one of
them, but kindhearted Annie did, and it further annoyed Jack until he succeeded
at putting them in the background. Eventually Annie caught him up fully, that
is, he came to know everything you know now and he seemed to have achieved a
great deal of satisfaction.
“Mystery solved!” he
declared brightly.
And that was when Jack
once more came to a halt. Before them was an intersecting gorge, one that was
just as high and just as long in each direction.
“And X marks the spot,”
Jack said dryly.
“What is this? Is this a
game to you?” Three Seas suddenly said, outraged. Then he spat on the ground.
Carl Sagan growled. Jack
didn’t seem to notice or care.
“Guys can’t take a
joke,” Jack muttered under his breath. Then, louder, “Okay, I’m hereby deciding
that if we go this way”---he pointed left, down the other gorge---”we
will find what we’re looking for.” Then he looked up, up toward the canopy
where one sliver of blue sky was visible. “Okay? Is that good enough for you? Can
you make that happen? Please? I’m sick and tired of all of this, I really am!”
Oh Jack, do you really
think we dwell in the sky? We dwell all around you! We’re everywhere, seeing
everything at every possible angle. You can even speak in a whisper and we’ll
still hear you. You don’t need to shout or make a fool of yourself. We’ll get
the message.
So sure, we can make
that happen. But only because we already wanted it to happen.
Much fuss and quarreling
later (which to explain would be superfluous), they trekked through the gorge
Jack had chosen, and soon the brown cliffsides were turning darker and the path
was leading upwards. They were coming out of the gorge.
And approaching a wood
slatted rope bridge.
