Insula de Verum
by Jonas Hyde
Act One
10, June 1790
Strait of Juan de Fuca
Through the gossamer obscurity of the evening’s shadow,
dwelling firm upon the tide spawned from the strength of Neptune’s shoulders,
rippled with his labored breath,
nigh a moment of Life’s pulse past the crepuscule,
I challenged the pluvious elements.
“Hark, fiend of a lost watery nirvana,”
my tongue lashed and derided from the edged incline of my bow out to the silent Spirit;
one hand compressed against my rima oris as if clenching Gabriel’s trumpet,
the other held steadfastly to Anastasia’s mast.
“I defy your accord,
leaving my earthly coil to be decided not by your whim,
but by the pattern adorning Nona’s loom.
My fate shall be decided by the Fate of fates,
not your tears of rue!”
My travailing blaspheme went neglected,
but I let it not weigh down my soul.
I sought solace in the concept of my existence being warranted
by my aptitude,
and as such,
swung my serratus ‘round toward the wheel.
For the shadowing hours that followed,
we were a veritable poet’s theme subsisting as truth;
Man versus Nature.
My vessel was jactitated through darkness’ tempest;
torrent rain,
as daggers of Brutus,
ravaged my cloth sails.
The open sea I erstwhile had such credulity for,
was ostensibly turning to be my orphic foe,
but I permitted it not to distraught me.
I struggled on through my own esoteric Crusade.
Finally,
with my consistence of life imbrued in salt,
and sea,
bloomy sails commenced to relax beneath the salving winds,
whilst Anastasia calmed her sonorous heaving ‘pon the water.
I had seen her through,
and she too had restituted the favour.
Her gyrd frame in length lay perpendicular to my four cubit
stature,
yet hither,
alone,
eremitic,
we were joined;
the former counting on the later for protraction of breath,
and vise-versa.
With Neptune overcome,
and my ain vitality exhausted,
I fastened myself to the deck,
consumed.
My inhalation paced with hers,
in harmonic concert.
We rested our weary bones whilst tossing about,
passion jailed by fatigue.
Time later I awoke,
as Apollo liberated his blanched,
fulgent rays ‘pon me.
My fibre suffered,
but my nous did not vacillate.
Positioned grandiloquent,
I susurrated an orison of substance to my beloved for her
deliverance.
“Hah!”
I next wrawled in rhapsodic jubilation toward the vastness of the ocean.
“As but a boy I have been tried with a crueler,
harsher eloquence.
The allegory of your trials far transcend beyond incertitude,
the peril and difficulty of the actuality encompassing the manifestation of engaging in them.”
I scoffed and jeered at Father Sea for far too long before then shifting my cerebration to a significantly more critical detail,
specifically,
the extension of our survival.
Tho’ my words of dustup spoke defiance,
my soul spoke otherwise.
Anastasia had been damaged,
but her legend held not besmirched in the unkind and barbarous storm,
and now I had to ascertain the obscure location of thus unchartered lands,
so I could mend her properly.
Her love saved my scorned life,
and now I had to reciprocate the deed with my own skill and science.
Long ago I was originally commissioned by a now fallen
monarch,
Second in the House of Hanover,
who himself hath since commenced a journey down the proverbial River Styx o’er a score and ten agone,
and have been in solitaire,
save for my fille,
far longer than originally foreknown,
all the whilst concentrating on the fulfillment of my seemingly infeasible task.
Tho’ my charge was no longer the work of regality,
I adjudged apodictically,
and sincerely true,
my dedication nonetheless,
as such,
the underivative intent,
and spirit of my labour,
radiated from the parchment of each archipelago I chronicled.
As a cartographer,
I had seen more of this world than the faulted scholars who lamented it,
and the cowardly explorers who claim to have discovered it.
However I bespoke them wholly,
how could you lay title to discover what had been the entire time?
Fear held them back,
but it had not enchained me,
nor tethered my resolve by any means.
Rather,
I had rushed into the wanting appetence of the unknown beast,
only to chart out the darkness others feared so much they ignored the reality,
and existence,
of it all.
Nevertheless,
for all my bravado,
the storm had hampered myself,
and my love.
We both needed the solace of land,
the affection of fire,
the stability of static life.
For far too long,
longer in realness than I ever had before,
I had sailed those open waters;
with nary the sight of another vessel,
nor another indicant of breath.
I had tho’,
about a hebdomad yore,
observed the current reposition against the wind,
a wonted indication of volume emerging from the depths.
Pursuing such trails,
had in the past,
and by the given familiarity of nature,
e’er shall in the hereafter,
lead me to an improvised harbour from which I could recumb my own weary sea legs,
all the whilst mending Anastasia’s wounds.
In tune with a lost nightingale’s song,
we found ourselves stalking the current toward refuge,
which I sought in the guise of land;
familiarity a concern,
as fleeting as the commonality of my own eupnoeic breath.
The midday luminance burned impregnable now,
once more igniting the fervour of spirit within me,
rekindling the purpose and potency which had been earlier purloined.
As the phases of the tide,
of the light,
of the Moon,
so seemed the shifting ebb and flow,
the imbalance of my own nature.
Even I could recount,
even I could agnize,
it was time to regain my bearing,
and my mien;
not merely of position,
but of sanity.
Men were not borne with gills,
nor with fins,
and even the most adept seafarers eventually postulate the necessity to solidify their spirit with dust,
stone,
sand;
elements forfeited amongst the salt,
wind,
and sea of Brobdingnagian waters.
By late day,
the snarled and knotted lust within my stomach began to preponderate the hunger,
and thirst,
in my soul.
Reality,
as ineluctable as the most vivid Star,
was setting in.
My head was becoming miasmic,
my biliousness nimble,
my vision bleary.
I yearned and pined for victuals,
any sustenance,
but I had earlier consecrated to savour my next repast on solid land,
and I was not about to go back on my declaration.
Exposed,
alone,
my word was all I had,
living by it as oft as I suffered,
and once I would commence to denounce myself,
it would be insufferable to reconstruct the pass of honesty.
A man’s promise is merely as inviolable as his exploits,
it must be kept sacrosanct;
I could not afford to become an enemy to myself,
nor a captive to my demons.
No,
I would arrive at seacoast,
and it would be then,
only then,
that I would incur pleasure in the salt-cured soup,
forged of the coriaceous carcase,
fished from the sea only a few sunsets agone.
Bemused in my own mentation,
with thoughts as momentaneous as Nature’s susurrant exhalation,
which called me out to perish upon the sea with Celaeno’s charm,
I resounded my determination to subsist my breath.
In mention,
if I were to share the totality of my disregarded exploits of yore,
it would be obvious to any attender,
be it child with eyes of a doe,
or cynic with pursed lip,
to each and all they would believe that this particular moment,
tho’ tumultuous,
with more than adequate sufficiency in dire and horrific event to guttle and devour most men,
is in realness an afterthought,
when equated to the unfeigned tribulations I have surmounted in times of yesteryear.
But beneath my narration to both,
in my own heart and soul,
I would agnize my bravado to be faithlessly pretended,
as with every passing day,
every ephemeral year,
the failing of my body,
and the impuissance of my earthly coil,
maturate in concert with the passing of time.
My soiled hair grew grey in concurrence with the evanescent clouds above,
and as the sky lent me a temporary reprieve,
from its vehement and savage squall,
I perceived myself,
also dolourous,
when the realization of my solitude floated to the forefront of my consciousness.
All I had was my labour,
and it was for that I awoke with every rising sun,
and struggled without fail,
through my trials against all of Life’s impedimenta.
With those thoughts resolute in my head,
I knew what had to be done.
After wiping the salty sudor from my brow,
I cracked my knuckles and skittered up the mast.
Comfortably atop Anastasia,
my naked eye scrutinized the totality of the region.
Unwrapping my copper spyglass from its tattered leather housing,
I surveyed the entire area.
Before the tempest’s vehemence and fury,
I had been sailing quarterpoint north from Drake’s port for what seemed like an eon.
Nether the iniquity of Nox,
Neptune tried to end my existence with his canines,
or to be denotative,
tides,
of war.
Nevertheless,
chroniclers would now utter narrations solely of my survival.
Only that means aught more than my intimation of this narrative,
or the value of the parchment it is scrivened upon,
particularly if I was not to uncover Nature’s own,
hopefully nearby land.
With that sentiment now unique and singular within me,
I recounted in my mind’s eye the constellations just prior to Neptune’s assault,
and with my burden of body and soul shifted against the mast,
extracted one of my surveys of the region.
I next spieled the memory of the event over in my mentations,
confabulating with Anastasia when the vision became muzzy,
or the memory too perturbed or disquieted.
Conjointly,
we were able to recreate and revivify,
with my finest approximation mind you,
the spatial relation the Sea’s breath maneuvered us.
Once I fell victim to my quiescence,
I lost track of which bearing we traveled.
Only instead,
trusting in Anastasia,
as deeply and profoundly as I have anyone else in life,
I knew she kept our course strong and unbroken.
Exploiting these things,
my faith,
my science,
and my gut,
I marked out a conceivable region of land mass on my map.
As suspected,
lacuna canvas stared back at me.
I knew more so than most this did not signify all to be insoluble,
but rather,
there was void and nullity,
which simply needed to be discovered.
Far be it for me to incline that I was the first to traverse those channels,
nor would I be the last,
but alas,
what the eyes of those before me appropriated were not a part of the noesis I was privy too.
So as it was presently,
those might as well be vestal,
and pure,
waters.
With a glance,
I once again surveiled the current,
and then it impaled me.
Looking high up in the sky,
both fretful and blase,
I caught sight of a flourishing bird.
Larger in equivalence to a hawk,
with a paler and pallid crown.
Its venter was far more round than mine,
which indicated nesting ground must be near.
The bird was an augury of my deliverance,
and in it’s own freedom,
I would discover my ain salvation.
Without vacillation,
I descended down the mast and took position astern Anastasia’s helm.
Her smooth skin felt comfortable and familiar against my calloused hands.
I positioned the wheel for a steady course in the direction of the bird,
then made my way to the sail,
expanding it fully.
As a father would his daughter,
I kept Anastasia steadfast whilst enabling her to billow her wings,
leading us to redemption.
The rotund canvas commenced to flutter,
and palpitate in the wind,
as if she were diffident and unsure of herself,
coercing me to once more commandeer the situation and tack into the wind.
Sometimes,
no matter how dauntless,
brave,
or inviolable,
a daughter needs her father’s help to guide her.
My sentiment wavered not,
nor did my grip.
For a long while I followed the bird’s trail,
long since attenuated in actuality,
yet still accented in my mind’s eye.
Then,
with an emotion akin to resting in the arms of a loved one,
my actions were honoured with success.
“Does my eye deceive me?
Does it delude me?”
I hollo’d as I once more unwrapped my looking glass.
“Do you see it Anastasia?”
For an instant the sail flickered and fluttered,
a sign of either variable wind or my love’s acknowledgment;
the answer to which I shall bequeath to life’s own poetic reason.
My vision enhanced by the arced glass,
I caught sight of beautiful,
lucullan land.
Even now,
the expanse was filled with a lively,
viridite hue ofttimes found in more tropical environments.
The fervour tumesced within me,
as I agnized our salvation had arrived.
My goal was to,
at present,
advance with circumspection,
so the sand of the sea would not creep ruffianly upon our hull.
With proficient hand,
I channelized Anastasia e’er near to the isle before us.
Conjointly,
we shared a placid jape as tension both waxed and waned with the moving waves.
We were nigh to deliverance from these waters,
yet the enigma of the beauty before us blanketed our fear.
I corresponded with my maps,
and my intuition was affirmed.
This islet had not yet been charted.
The isle was not merely my saviour,
but moreso an augury from the gods.
For why else would a cartographer be brought to uncharted pockets of mass within the incessant and unremitting sea of salt,
sun,
and rain?
Perceptive to the preindication,
I deftly commenced to progress our way ‘round the totality of the islet.
As we traversed its entirety,
near ten lengths forth the coast,
I made notation of the tract I viewed through my spyglass on my map.
For a long while we journeyed,
I,
disregarding the famish manducating within,
and Anastasia,
ignoring the earth’s pale,
salted-blood,
slowly occupying her cabin below.
I would have hastened our approach,
only I cognized the reality woven;
we would both endure,
so in its stead,
I opted for the refuge and solace of knowing the terrain of wherever we would be reposed.
It was then,
when the sight seized my vision.
“Is it truth?”
I hollo’d out into the winds,
as I elevated the arced glass once more.
Squinting out Apollo’s illumination with a sealed left eye,
I endeavoured to focalize in.
“And there it be verity my love!”
I lauded with uninhibited fervour,
as I delineated the deplorable distinctness of a diminished sea-vessel,
landlocked against the isle’s coast.
Somewhat smaller than Anastasia herself,
and far more dilapidated,
the vessel appeared to have been in quietus within its earth-bunkered grave for far too long.
As I regarded it with all volition of hope,
I inferred that in itself the vessel was likely nugatory,
tho’ as salvage for my love,
it was indeed invaluable.
With haste,
and void of contemptuous philosophy,
I manoeuvered Anastasia toward the wreckage.
Upon approach,
all appeared unambiguous to the point I bemused in the arrival,
reasoning aught of the peril.
With lax hand I directed Anastasia,
and thankfully so,
for if my grip were as tauten and unwavering as Heracles,
our fate,
for certain,
would have been equated to that of the vessel we hoped to attain.
For,
at the moment,
scarcely prior to Fate’s damnation,
a gust of wind heaved and surged in potently,
coercing Anastasia’s canvass,
and my own hand,
to the port-side.
“What?”
I gasped aloud,
enraged and surely maddened,
if merely for an instant,
by the gall of the gale.
Tho’,
then I substantiated,
that for once,
Nature acted upon my behalf,
for scarcely a short ways further toward inland,
a coral reef protruded from the sea’s utmost stratum.
Its acute and piercing exterior would have lacerated through Anastasia’s flesh likened to the vehemence of Pausanias’ own steel.
“Neptune’s guile has been foiled by the breath of Lady Luck!”
I skreighed out,
as now my grasp became unshakable around Anastasia’s wheel.
“If not for her timely intervention,
our fate would have been not unlike the salvage of yon and yore lost ship.”
When the moment spare arrived,
I made note of the wreckage on the map,
aware my arrival would not be forbidden,
only delayed.
With concentration duly now where it necessarily should be,
I concentred on an inlet with high enough and aeonian tide,
so as our situation would not become any more grievous.
We continued our way ‘round the coast,
with my watch on the distance,
and Anastasia’s on the depth.
Shortly,
I becharmed the view of a magniloquent cliff,
jutting up from the water,
and in supposition,
protruding just as far downward.
A helical,
crimson red branch hung outward,
casting a thin shadow birthed by the afternoon sun,
into the tranquil and pallid waters.
I ascertained that it led itself to a firm and secure base,
and trailing it with my experience,
saw it followed along a route guiding to surer ground.
“There be our harbour my lady…”
I signified to Anastasia,
and as if on prompt,
she made her way,
shadowing the current.
Within half a breath,
tho’ despite all intent I had not exhaled since spying of the timberline,
we were upon the bouldered coast.
Anastasia proceeded in alongside the corneous,
ossified,
moistened stone as I liberated the weight into the water,
enabling us to hold in pose.
It took only a brief moment to garner the supplies I postulated to be certain the region was innocuous,
for I desire naught of natives or buccaneers to scourge our spoils beneath Artemis’ luminance.
Tho’ I desired to reminisce once more through the darkened hours with my love,
my need for tempestuous fire,
and solid land,
was swelling within me.
Tonight,
we would each be solitaire in body,
yet as e’er,
our bond would be tethered strong in spirit.
Confident in my love’s surety,
I reached out for the branch.
Its bark was smooth,
and its root taut,
for it supported my weight with ease.
Then,
with adroitness astonishing even to myself,
I manoeuvered my way onto the ledge of the rock,
and commenced to examine this unknown,
new realm.
The vessel we saw laid verity to my intellections,
I was surely not the first hither.
Tho’,
the nature of the denizens had yet to be characterized,
and as such,
caution and fearlessness would serve me greater than any fool’s impatience.
Upon reaching a more expansive region,
I nocked the soil to betoken my position.
On the sea,
my skills of navigation were time-sharpened,
but on the solidity of land,
my comfort and guile were far from such.
‘Tis echt,
I did have some proficiency,
but without the salt in my face,
and the wind at my spine,
without the freedom of the waters all around me,
I felt mislaid in spirit,
even if in body my location was defined.
Tho’ eager to be moving on,
I knew I could not mend my love in an eve,
so my preparations for an extended stay were constrained to hap before my desire to leave.
After the tempest,
I fooled myself into reasoning Anastasia would be fine with but some minor tending to,
yet,
my inner coil knew the verity of concealed truths,
the storm had purloined the strength of her composition,
tho’ did not destroy her frame.
I could restore her hull,
fortify her spine and draw out the salty sea,
which still,
so slowly trickled in through her sufferings.
Through fortune,
the lurid,
rampageous torrent damaged her yes,
yet scarcely in a manner that was infeasible to remedy.
In contrast,
she was not even at her worst.
Alas,
tho’ deed may be within the realm of veridical possibility,
the time it would take to complete would likely be longer than the passing of a moon’s revolution.
With that being my existence to come,
I established it more clear-sighted to ready my encampment for the approaching eventide,
and the subsequent nights that would surely follow.
In my scrutiny of the contiguous region,
hope burned fervid,
and virile,
within.
It was obvious,
and evident,
this soil offered more than plenteous supplies;
natural flowing water,
fruits and flora,
and fauna both in the banks,
and in the foliage.
That,
coupled with the wreckage I had seen,
meant my survival was imminent,
as was my love’s.
All I dreaded presently was the terra incognita;
what enigmas this isle had yet to divulge,
only Destiny’s bounded eyes could see.
It required but a momentaneous while for me to clear the region,
and tho’ there was much in evidence of life,
all was indigen to the land and of species not equal to my own.
I feared not being alone,
instead,
I rather yearned for the solitude.
If the aboriginal creatures were felid in birth,
I should not fear their approach.
However,
the vulturous,
predaceous,
raptorial steps of men,
inaudible in the brush,
led solely by an insatiable craving,
no,
lust I would allege,
where the aroma of flesh,
irrespective of sort,
leads men on,
that engendered my worries.
Hunger,
pitted and wrenching.
I had seen the wickedness,
looked into the perpetual void of life’s deepest,
most unfathomable torment,
and I cared not to see it again.
Ravenous.
I feared the deprivation of my own soul,
yet I oppugned my ain ability to turn it away.
I ruminated my own truth,
for naturally I would reject it.
But would I in actuality,
when faced with such penury,
an indigence far worse than even my current situation?
I have witnessed the appetence directly,
and to this breath,
I am in terror of it.
‘Bout a score agone,
I made my way to the shore with Ganges in its heart,
porting near the southern plains to take advantage of the favoured trade privileges.
What I met upon my approach,
I had not been prepared for.
A partial deficit in crops,
which to the local magistrates was reasoned naught unwonted.
It was followed by a grievous and unrelenting drought,
and disquieting accounts were arriving with utterance of rural distress and suffering.
By my arrival,
deaths due to famishment were occurring at an accretive magnitude,
and announcements were made of the survivors feeding on the corpses of the fallen.
Not since the hearsay of such iniquitous and unholy acts afflicted the countryside of the Old World during the Great Famine had there been such a vociferous disregard for the damnation of the phenomenon,
but yet dare I verbalize the necessity for feasting on the pulp being all too discernible.
Scarcely after my arrival,
I was constrained to remain docked by the sire of the tempest I only just endured.
Upon rumination,
I seemed to be capable of delineating each significant moment of my existence to the torrential deluge of savage storms.
That in itself seems to be the root of another narration,
for another eve.
To return to point,
trapped for the nonce likened to my situation presently,
my curiosity had acquired mastery of my senses.
In my youth,
I was much more vivacious,
and awash with verve,
fearing not life,
but in its stead,
in reverence of it.
I had to see if the apologue concerning flesheaters was born of truth,
or disruptive,
riotus,
turbulent legend.
What I uncovered haunts my moonlit thoughts to this day.
Whence leaving port,
I knew I would have an extended,
grievous journey to reach the region in which I sought.
For the fish,
crab,
and other shelled minions of the sea were far too readily forthcoming in my prevalent locale to put forth any veridical hunger.
No,
I had to travel inland,
where the sun and insect had despoiled the harvest,
where the meat and marrow had all fallen ill,
and the sole vestige of nutrient that remained was to be recovered in the laboured breath of man.
I needed to venture where Pestilence and Plague hung their hat,
desolating the soil to such a magnitude,
even the Fallen dared not embark.
I took a two day journey by caravan,
and then another ternion by my ain step,
before I reached the fringe of my boundary.
What stupidity,
what folly laced with foolishness,
blurred and confused my thoughts I deliberate at present in hindsight,
for of course I brought with me my ain nourishments.
To summate,
I was plump and flourishing myself,
and as an outsider,
held no chaste,
moral or emotional bonds to the society that had already far progressed beyond the tabu of norm.
In both my satchel and my skin,
I held a fine feast for those whom I sought out.
What foolishness indeed,
I held entrapped by my innocence!
To return to point once more,
I began moving with circumspection on the third day of my walk,
at leastwise with sufficient sense to agnize the peril,
tho’ I neglected it.
Late that eve,
a diffused,
orange hue,
engulfed the darkening twilight sky,
drawing me to it as a moth to flame.
My senses became charmed,
beguiled,
if not wholly enslaved by the possibilities,
for I had little foresight in what to expect.
As I made my way through the scant copse,
I manoeuvered,
exploiting the same stars in the same sky I had for so long punctuated as a guidepost whilst at sea.
You would opine it to persist,
just in consummate honesty,
it took much time to adapt.
Travel by sea is not as journeying by land,
the latter of which I discovered a natural ineptitude for that I would have ne’er surmised without actually engaging in.
Thusly,
there I was,
hunched and deliberate,
moving with the grace of a lion,
tho’ I knew if discovered,
my form would cursorily ferment to that of the hunted gazelle.
And not knowing the soil,
nor having the experience or ability of survival,
I would surely not subsist.
As I approached,
I did thus cautiously,
for as I have explicated,
my situation was surely grave.
My throat became desiccated,
and my skin tightened as I endeavoured to master my now strained breath.
This was the augury of fear,
which in the zest of my youth I would oft neglect,
until naturally this experience,
which helped alter my persona.
Only I intend to be at that point briefly.
At the tempo of a crawl,
I forged my movements forth,
approaching e’er near the beacon of light.
Upon arrival to the ending of brush and the outskirts of camp,
my eyes widened.
Hovels,
sparse and weather torn,
filled the area.
Their ability to render shelter could merely be delineated by theory,
as upon seeing them I could be sure in practice they were useless.
Dried stick and raddled pelt,
rotted and broken,
was to be its brick and mortar,
tho’ candidly,
I could not envisage it doing any benefit.
Shifting my weight cautiously,
I strained to look deeper into the camp,
to ascertain if I could observe anything more.
At first,
my vantage point was uncharitable,
so I rotated portside to try and post myself in an improved position.
Upon doing so,
my nostrils told me I moved windward,
as the scent of human decay ravaged me.
I tried placing my hand over my face to subdue the odour,
only my actions were futile.
I wished tho’,
the bedevilment would have simply ended there,
but it did not.
For my eyes next caught sight of something I would ne’er have conceived possible.
Beneath the vivid,
lustrous moon,
and blanketed in a quelling heat,
I tried to pace my breath as the fibers of my vesture fastened to my body from the salted sudor,
only I could not do so efficaciously.
For before me,
scarcely a journey in distance,
swallowing the rusted hue I took notice to earlier,
engendered by a fire aflame so glorious,
and so fiercely,
I fancied myself in the kingdom Scheol,
bearing witness to sin in its cruelest,
most unbelievable soma.
Writhing on the earth,
surrounding the ember and flame,
I watched transfixed,
humanity,
or so I enjoined,
falling into the lowest stratum of debauchery.
Prior to that moment,
I could not even ideate such things,
and yet forthwith recalling it,
I question my ain memories.
Bodies upon bodies,
intertwined in a ferine lust.
Scores upon scores,
perhaps more,
for I could not count them wholly.
Their flesh was linked,
without care for gender or age,
in an animalistic delirium,
or dare I say pure euphoric hysteria,
void of all genteel nature.
The sweat and seed lathered the manlike wall as a grumous daub,
binding everyone in concert.
Only as incomprehensible as that may be,
it was not what took me aback.
As any man would,
once faced with the sight of such carnal intimacy,
I could not draw away.
My curiosity kept me rooted,
and centred my vision in concert with an rising swoon within me.
Watching for a long while,
I nearly found myself yearning for their touch,
to lose myself in their sin,
yet that was a fleeting feeling,
a moment so nimble and foregone,
I scarcely knew it was there,
only I would be laying tale to mendacious narration if I did not acknowledge the arousal somewhere within the recess of my psyche.
Withal,
it was then I was reminded of why I was here.
Legends of their intimate transgressions were not what drew me,
and as I gazed on,
the final manifestations of their culminating pleasure was merely foreplay to the apodeictic intent of the evening’s events.
The rhythmic pulsing,
likened to that of a heartbeat,
began to satiate the night.
Initially,
I was marveled by the conjunction of the sound,
yet presently,
realized the dissonance was an intumescent crescendo,
not born of body,
but of tympans from off to the side.
Intonations in an idiom I am foreign to shortly followed.
My eyes remained spellbound on the darkened assemblage,
illuminated softly by the tempestuous fire that was ostensibly intensifying with every passing moment.
I could nearly feel its desiccated warmth upon my cheek,
burning my skin.
Yet in remembrance,
it was likely just the torrid midnight air stifling my core.
Still tho’,
in the moment ‘tween the heat,
the fire,
the chanting,
and the sin,
I wondered if I had left my finite existence unwittingly,
only to be damned to an Inferno I ne’er expected.
A breath passed,
only each moment seemed to be a tortuous eternity.
I yearned to retreat,
to hollo for salvation,
yet I could not.
The Tempter had me within his grasp,
tantalizing my ain hagridden soul.
The pounding of the tympans soon were accompanied by mewls from the interwoven mass.
O’er time,
the whimpers turned to cries,
and cries evolved to screams.
The translucent liquid that bound the group together,
slowly began to turn crimson in semblance.
Initially,
I believed it to be my eyes playing trickery on me,
yet I could not avoid the truth.
The heads of the strong,
the teeth of the mighty,
began to feast upon the flesh of the weak,
and the old.
Carnal pleasure transformed into ferine hunger ‘fore my very eyes,
as I stood witness to the damnation of souls.
Let it be said,
nothing before in any of my travels,
nor since in any of my nightmares,
could match the sickness ‘fore me.
There it was,
as the tales told,
yet far worse.
Man feeding upon man.
Strong devouring weak.
The screams of anguish,
drowned out by the constant,
unwavering,
throbbing of the tympan heartbeat.
The night had come alive in the guise of damnation,
and for the first moment e’er,
I comprehended what it meant to unfeignedly dread for one’s life.
My stomach revolted against the vision,
and my body discharged the fluids and mass roiled within me.
I heaved,
braced myself along the astonishingly cool earth,
then heaved once more.
I reasoned initially,
that my presence would go neglected,
but almost as if picking up on my scent,
if not by the noise created,
then by my ptyalizing bile,
I garnered the attention of bystanders observing the ceremony,
or shall I aver,
feast,
before me.
First a squall,
and then one more,
forced me to regain my senses and still myself.
I retrieved my belongings,
turned and began to race.
Running with a fevered madness,
running in search of a moment to offer atonement for what I just witnessed,
running for my very salvation.
Fleet of foot,
vernal in years,
I was able to develop a tenuous start.
The night was dour tho’,
and the territory foreign.
I was on their land,
in their domain,
and my inherent aptitude could only do so much.
For seemingly an eternity I moved,
without stopping to acquire my breath or rest my bones.
I moved in dread of losing my life,
in fear of losing my soul.
I raced without pace or caution,
and that well-nigh cost my life.
For it was then,
without admonition,
the soil collapsed beneath my step.
I plummeted downward.
The maiden moment seemed to last an eternity,
and in that time I oppugned to where I was descending,
for I already believed I was walking the path of Scheol.
The trice expired tho’,
and my body collided with dirt .
I rammed brutally into the nethermost region of a pit,
nigh a gyrd in length.
As I fell,
my flesh rolled against the side,
as my foot slued along the dirt,
giving way ‘neath me.
I rotated o’er onto my aft,
then my burthen repositioned to the side,
vacillating me ‘round.
And then it came to be.
I impacted heavily upon a significant bit of wood,
cut and sharpened on its jutting end,
piercing my flesh through the side,
back to front.
My foremost instinct was to hollo in anguish,
to shriek out to the empyrean darkness.
Fortuitously tho’,
my reason kept fastened clasp of my consciousness.
If I were to liberate such an outcry,
it would lead the flesheaters directly toward me.
Leastways,
nether the blanket of Nyx or Nox,
whichever to you can so colligate,
would perchance induce the Sin to forgo their hunt,
falsely reasoning my escape,
imparting to me ‘til their dawning rounds to ascertain my unfeigned path to freedom.
Regrettably,
I had not the strength of will,
nor the concentre of nous to valuate my damage properly.
I simply knew this pit rendered my deliverance,
in its own irony,
tho’ it would solely hold true as such for merely a truncated moment.
No,
I had to make way.
Using my best effort focused toward remaining mute,
I drew myself off the tooth of the trap.
Blood ptyalized from my lesion,
as if a geyser,
as the pressure gave way.
Hastily,
I seized the maimed area tightly with my hand.
I next searched my pack for an unsullied fabric,
a segment I saved for any likened exigency,
and placed it dry into my wound.
Shock,
infection,
deprivation of blood,
these fears all ravaged my mind.
Tho’ still,
the conjuncted fate of three was not to be as ghastly as being victim to the life sacrifice.
I did not want my soul to expire on this soil,
soil desecrated by the vile,
by those seemingly banished by He himself.
After taking a heartbeat to seize my breath,
I surveyed my situation.
Wounded,
in anguish,
trapped,
my circumstance seemed grave as I excogitated the possibility of the pit becoming my tomb.
At long last,
I decided upon a course of action.
Exploiting my remaining strength,
which I can aver by this instant to be emphatically and unquestionably enhanced by the fervor of spirit within,
I rived from the jaw of my confine one of the wooden teeth,
and angled it toward freedom.
Then using it as a lift,
I made my way up toward the edge of the pit,
digging soft holes into the dirt to conclude my way.
Astonishingly,
I found it not difficult at all to escape from the entrapment,
and surmised that its purpose was likely intended to be less imprisonment,
and more execution.
Embracing my liberty,
I looked about to be sure it would not be passing.
By fortune of fate,
there were no aborigines within sight or sense,
and so using the same navigation that drew my ego into perdition,
I reversed course to incur the salvation of apodeictic humanity.
To close my segue there,
let me simply convey that I endured,
which should be obvious.
The damage to my side took fore’er to mend,
and the infection I received as consequence well-nigh arrogated my existence.
Nevertheless,
both were tended to by physicians with invariant,
steadfast hands.
In the score since,
I have nary mentioned a thought,
let alone a breath on the moment.
However,
sitting here alone,
on this isle,
I could only sense a kindred trepidation,
birthed by the dread of those events.
And tho’ this isle was lavish and alive,
the fear remained strong.
I faced the threshold to Scheol erst,
I desired not to regard it anew.
Thusly,
retaining those events at the forefront of my intellect,
I concluded by surveying this region.
Felicity tho’ and through,
I found nothing in the vein of peril,
so I settled upon my cleared position to ready camp,
near enough to my love,
in the event of enigmatic mysteries unbeknown,
by both reason and fear.
From atop the cliff,
backed against rock for shelter from the winds,
I set my place.
Eve’s crepuscle,
was coming swiftly ‘pon me.
At long last,
with task and list complete,
I conjured flame to warm my meal,
the first I had in time not remembered.
With my venter modest and snarled,
the sparse broth,
of which I opted to save the heavier contents for when my body would readily receive it,
was more than adequate in serving my appetence,
particularly when pooled with foraged berries from the neighbouring thicket.
As Apollo made his way o’er the horizon,
I forged my means ‘round the precipice to face westward.
It had been far too long,
since I had the opportunity to revel in such a view,
particularly from unmoving placement.
With a delicate zephyr,
ruffling my soiled shirt,
whisking through my hair,
lank from jaw and crown,
I relished in the moment.
The ginger-tinged sky,
void of shadowy fog,
was being overtaken,
by darkness’ manus.
The outreached tendrils slowly made their way athwart the land,
as Apollo melted off ‘neath the heavens.
As the natural transformation was taking place,
shifting everlasting radiance into unbounded obscurity,
I reviewed through my mentation,
the strategy for the forthcoming day.
I would foremost,
and without pause,
need to seek out the beached vessel I took notice to when circling this isle.
By Anastasia’s guide,
such excursion would be elementary.
However,
I wonted not,
to bring further trauma upon my love,
so,
in her stead,
opted I to journey by foot and step.
I imagined such a trek would take considerably longer,
and as such,
would need to commence my departure early in the morn.
Once the vessel’s position had been navigated by land,
I had to next ascertain its condition,
and pray that its degradation would not be to the point of inutility.
And if all were to go well,
a concept in life that ne’er seems to be so,
my following challenge would be to perceive a way to either port Anastasia near the wreckage,
or channel the wreckage to her port.
Regardless,
the challenges that stood before me were daunting.
Nevertheless,
I had been in far worse positions through previous and past trials,
so ‘morrow’s burdens bore little consequence on my nous.
Shadows now blanketing the land with all its depth and steadfast intensity,
I decided time to be judicious and prudent in moment for returning to my encampment,
and invite a serene,
and still,
slumber.
Exploiting Luna’s light as my steer,
and the pinholes in the heavens as my markers,
I skillfully returned to my haven.
The walk back came with a familiar ease,
as if I shared a breath with Diana herself.
I took quite particular attention to this feeling,
as I had never felt this way prior upon terra firma.
No.
In past,
seafaring vessels are where I found solace.
As such,
this innate comfort felt unco,
yet assuasive in the same breath.
I had little understanding of what this isle had in store for me,
but in that moment,
I thought it to be something,
altering.
Within a short while,
I had arrived back,
my navigation made easier by the untiring firelight I had left in my place.
After stoking the flame with yet another brick of branch,
I lastly lay my crown down,
and body within my bedroll.
In hindsight,
and given the fact that it has been longer than Chronos’ breath since,
I cannot recall the duration that passed before I drifted,
tho’ I assure you,
it must have been merely a moment,
for my fatigue could not be overstated.
No,
I was as weary as you are now imagining a man who had been through my trials,
that day and the ones prior,
would be.
What I do recollect specifically tho’,
and in vivid detail,
likely in fact as I have since returned to the night vision at least once per Luna’s visit since,
are the images and tale that ravaged my mind’s eye that eve.
I was but a lad,
tho’ with my full and current consciousness,
trapped in my shell of youth,
in the weakness,
torment,
and confusion.
I awoke as this youthful doppelganger of myself,
on a lean bed,
enveloped entirely in darkness.
My vision tried to adjust,
but it was not meant to be.
For the shadow that encircled was grumous and weighted.
My inhalation was laboured by its force,
while not in a way familiar,
or given to,
smoke of flame.
Instead,
more so as if air thick as stone were pressed flush against my now feeble and frail chest.
I exserted my hands,
small and smooth,
yearning to discover any point of reference.
As I moved to the edge however,
true granite entombed me.
On all sides,
from edge to edge,
wall,
cold,
deep,
and encompassing.
I pummeled hand against stone,
but this vernal exterior was of no match for the barrier,
and within only a moment,
flesh was torn,
and blood flowed.
I looked up,
yet all I could regard was the infinite darkness that suffered my breath.
I tried to prod ‘neath the woven string that I lay upon,
but it was unremitting.
There I was,
trapped and alone,
my mentations captive to my youth,
and my juvenility,
prisoner to the transcendent.
This realization caused my breath to hasten.
Perspiration poured from my flesh as if a river strong.
My inside began to quiver,
as my throat became clinched,
and desiccated.
I tried calling out,
yet no sound echoed.
My silent resonations only further damned what modest control over my sanity I retained.
Without consent from self,
the primal darkness within commandeered,
and began bludgeoning my flesh against the ramparts that confined me.
With every gust,
ache shot through my arms and down my spine.
Tears began to masque my face.
My psyche knew it pointless,
but the fears of puerility were so fiercely ablaze,
I could not garner control over them.
Ultimately,
the pain became intolerable.
Yards of white were now tainted with the blood of my youth,
my crimson life painting the sheets as if the Tempter’s canvass.
I then passed out,
subdued by the unbearable anguish.
As my shell fell under,
my true mind awoke,
and in a scuttle,
and with a gasp
I awoke from my slumber alongside the isle’s contoured breast.
In dread,
I surveyed the area.
My breath was still strained,
and my pulse raced,
likened I imagine to Icarus’ final moment.
It was then,
as I finally began to gain control,
the sensation of seemingly unceasing pain ravaged my intellect.
I hollo’d out abruptly,
cursing God and self,
memory and life even,
as I examined my arms.
Bloodied and swollen.
Discoloured and damaged.
I wished them away,
the arms or the ache,
I did not care which,
but neither fell victim to my prayers.
That night,
I slept not a moment longer.
As mentioned,
on occasion since,
I have awoken in that same state.
Upon my return,
the sheets are still tainted,
tho’ the air is not as dense,
nor the walls as solid.
I find myself able to work them without mercy for the remainder of my slumber,
and no trauma when I waken.
Therein lies the rub tho’,
for I can only awaken after I sufficiently calm myself to sleep within.
Once I do,
and both the psyche of my youth and the mentation of self find a harmonious existence,
only then can I open my eyes once more to reality.
That night tho’,
the suffering I sustained was all too genuine,
and prior to that eve,
the delusion had ne’er been a part of my being,
yet since,
it cannot be shaken.
For the rest of that night I lay there,
incapable of sleep and unable to judder the pain and torment both body and mind were suffering from.
Once Apollo finally began to loom,
I welcomed his warmth and solace.
Mercifully,
the vessel which housed my mentations now was of coriaceous constitution,
so tho’ damaged,
it was tolerable enough to proceed with my day.
And so,
without further thought to the experience,
my discount born of fear and not ignorance,
I ventured forward with my existence.
In time since,
I have exhausted untold time brooding o’er my ghastly night terrors,
and what they are to signify.
Regrettably,
for all my strengths,
comprehension of man’s psyche is not among my skills.
I have depleted far too much time in my own solitude to be an inspector of the human element.
Perhaps in that is where the answer truly rests tho’.
Alas,
may it be for those far more in touch with the sciences of man to harvest insight into my torment,
whilst it is simply my place to play the bard,
and lay the tale.
So,
with the heavens above me cycling back to their illuminated state,
I ply’d my hunger with salted bread,
and wild berry,
whilst preparing my pack.
In only took a short while to prepare myself for the journey,
and barricade the encampment from foraging animal.
The morn’s dew lie thick on the greens of the realm,
and dampened my clothes as I made my way ‘long the natural trails.
I followed close to the coast,
as my destination rested against the water-wall anyhow.
Strapped to my back was the sheath to the lengthy steel I now clutched in my right hand,
enabling clear passage when the brush became too dense.
As I made my way,
the tranquility of the isle was all too eerie.
I saw not a creature scurry,
nor a bird in flight.
I took notice of no rustling of panic,
nor squelches of defense.
In point of fact,
for such an isle bountiful in fruit and greens,
it seemed desolate of any breath,
save my own,
something I determined to be quite curious.
It took all of the morn,
and a dip partly into the ‘noon,
‘fore I at last caught view of my destination.
I advanced from the sou’west,
heading toward the nor’east.
My course had been remarkably simple,
having ne’er lost sight of each step previous,
nor confused by any step forward.
I was thankful to whoever ruled my spirit on that day,
for allowing at least,
that one manageable task.
As I made my way,
it was along a route of even grade,
and after my labour with the steel,
cleared foliage.
This would make any relocation of salvage all that much easier,
an invited circumstance considering the trials I had been through of late.
I merely longed to be on my way,
back with my love,
on the waters that harboured my solace.
Looking frontward,
I perched behind a tree,
wider in girth than my own frame,
and pressed my mass against its rough,
and crumbled,
bark.
I opted to sit for a moment,
silent as my own laboured breath would permit me leastways,
and wait.
Wait for signs of peril.
Wait for signs of life.
Tho’ neither came.
Beyond the break in green was a diminutive barrier of timber,
washed in from the sea.
Past that,
minuscule grains of sand merged into a halo of minute gravel and kelp before the water began.
The seashore was beautiful,
tranquil,
and serene,
as if charmed by the whisper of Dionysus’ breath.
With all seemingly harmless,
I cautiously ventured a step to the fore,
and then followed it with another,
calmly.
My awareness was heightened,
keen to glean any category of hazard,
be it conscious or not.
Verity be told,
I was just as disquieted by a snare in the sand,
as I was brute in the brush.
For since there was a vessel,
likely there would be a crew,
captain,
or survivor.
And if not,
then likely more there would have to be indigenous threats,
so far of which I had seen no sign.
Either way,
this vessel did not depart port on its own,
and the obscurity of its legend had yet still to be defined.
By the moment my mentations were finalized,
I had arrived at my destination.
Still no signal or sound of fury bristled,
so I lightened the duties assigned to my sixth sense,
and focused on examining the wreckage before me.
“Yes,”
I uttered under a low breath,
as I moved my hands slowly,
carefully,
‘long the still firm wood of her hull,
“You shall compliment Anastasia well.”
I made my way to the stern,
which with the tide out,
was resting in wet sand,
but no immediate water.
From the rear,
the shell was too dilapidated,
worn,
and unfit for use.
However,
in my scrutiny I caught sight of the vessel’s name,
Raine,
and as I whispered it to the breeze,
for a moment I could well-nigh hear the anguished cries of a lost crew.
For a long while I examined the vessel.
Its mass was slighter than that of Anastasia,
and much more manageable for a solitary crew than even my ain love.
I made my way within,
staggered to find not an article of man’s vestige had been left behind.
No garments or provisions,
instrument of intellect,
or beacon for aid.
I found this unforeseen,
for it meant Raine’s chattels had either previously been pirated,
or removed by their lawful possessor and taken away.
As I maintained my search,
I studied the aggregated damage to the vessel,
a bit taken back.
By now,
much of the hull on the starboard side toward her stern had been ravaged by the salty tides,
seemingly having been here a long while.
Given tho’ the spoil,
which seemed as if caused by a cleave from the coral of the sea,
it was rather negligible,
and with the adjacent driftwood,
and even minimal supplies,
should have been effortlessly serviced by any capable sailor.
It caused me question,
who would captain such a vessel,
one that could be so effortlessly overcome by the winds and storm of Neptune’s tempest.
I would balance it to be either one of great skill,
or one severely lacking in the proper proficiency,
and upon my primary examination,
would wager it to be the latter.
With all this in consideration,
I moved to the edge of the vessel,
stood tall on her side,
my hand gripped tight upon her weathered mast,
and surveyed o’er the shoreline.
It was then,
off in the distance,
further downward in which I had not yet been,
I caught sight of netting,
large in bulk.
Curiosity perked,
I resolved Raine should hold firm,
and Anastasia fine for the time,
that it would merit the brief voyage to further enquire what lie afar.
Thus,
I plunged my weight to the sand,
and with prudence no longer at my forefront,
quickly made my way to the roped netting I witnessed from the ship.
My hurried steps imparted a wide and deep trail in the grains beneath me,
but the thrill,
enthusiasm,
and anticipation of man’s salvage forced my rationale to be neglected.
My steps seemed to trudge along no matter how fleetly I attempted to move,
and my breath billowed with every metre I travel,
tho’ it detered me not.
Upon reaching my destination,
the purport of the netting became obvious to me,
if not ill-conceived.
It seemed to been used in effort,
in attempt even,
to capture sea creatures,
fashioned homemade,
with gaps far too spacious to seize anything of meaning.
It nearly made me chortle,
but then my thoughts drifted to the elegiac soul who felt,
and likely hoped,
this would render his own deliverance.
What uncertainties I did have were now fleeting,
as my emotions shifted now toward concern.
The notion was strong within that whoever tailored this netting
knew very little ‘bout marine survival,
and would perhaps be in need of assistance.
Therefore,
with that deliberation premiere in my nous,
I scrutinized the area for proof of life.
Tho’ I caught sight of no marks,
or trails in the beach,
I did take note to broken away brush at the foliage’s break,
and swiftly made my way up.
From there,
I noticed a trail,
fashioned of step and weight,
and made my way ‘long.
I likely should have been more wary in my advance,
but my concern was not for self,
but instead for Raine’s own love.
I pursued the path,
and soon was upon a clearing from the trees,
and brush.
Before my eyes,
a small encampment had been crafted,
cluttered,
and now in disarray.
I hesitated,
listened for signs of life,
but as had been quite common ‘pon my arrival,
only unstill silence permeated.
If not for Zephyr’s howls,
the crashing of the waters,
I may have thought myself deaf.
But back to point.
By encampment,
what do I mean?
Let me clarify,
to give your own intellect the ability to envisage my ain recollections.
The locale was clear,
with dirt and short grass circled about.
Trees,
thick forestry in detail,
encircled it to my path,
with a small trail leading ‘way from the inverse side.
Within the encampment was a small,
canvas shelter,
triangular in form,
and staked to the soil.
A line ran from it to a neighboring tree,
and garments hung from that line.
I ventured forward,
now a bit more cautious,
in control,
so I could seize a closer glint of what was on the other side of the obstructions.
“Egad!”
I then suddenly shrieked,
devoid of facility to control as my stare centered.
My body buckled as I took a step back.
I twisted my crown in abhorrence,
dread,
and terror.
For just a short distance ‘fore me,
lie a man.
However,
the man ‘fore me was not as one would suppose.
His remains lie still,
silent,
whilst his soul had since departed this realm.
Now,
given my exploits o’er the past,
gazing upon a corpse should not have troubled me.
Yet it did.
For this carcass was unlike any I had e’er seen.
With caution,
care,
I braved my way forward.
My curiosity perked,
I needed to,
I wanted to,
perceive more.
True I could run,
but this vestige would be burned in my mind’s eye fore’er now.
I simply had to uncover more.
I stepped frontward,
and the odour of decay,
recognizable to my senses as you now know,
ravaged me.
I could not only smell it within my nose,
but actually taste it ‘pon my tongue.
Bitter and rancid.
Circling ‘round the corpse harboured a mass of flies and gnats,
feasting on the decay.
Moving closer,
I further scrutinized the body.
It was outstretched ‘long the dirt and grass,
resting beside a fire pit that looked as if it had been used lately,
if not recently.
The crimson life that once flowed within this man had made its way along the ground,
following the slightest grades,
and pooling together as if miniature oceans of thick,
viscous death.
I have reserved the most ghastly,
gruesome,
and grisly part for last tho’.
For I cannot opine what your own thoughts are as to the cause of such horrific misery.
Thus,
I shall force your curiosity to wait not a moment longer.
This man lay there,
on his back as I had mentioned,
with hand on hilt,
and blade pushed deep into skull and flesh.
I wish I were Dante,
so I could weave the horror for you more proficiently,
but ‘las,
I am not.
Nevertheless,
I can do my best to let you know,
that if you were to conceive an image as dreadful as a daemon’s darkest delight,
this would be worse.
If you were to observe a sight so repugnant it made you churn,
this would be worse.
If you were to contrast tale of your own shadowed sins to Beane’s,
this would be worse.
Yet needing more,
I moved in close,
inclined myself down,
and tried to push through the sickness of sight,
of smell.
On my knees,
I examined closer.
‘Tis echt,
his blade was plunged deep,
breaking through his brow.
Peculiarly,
his hand was roped to the hilt,
covered in his own blood,
plainly spit from the gash.
His mouth was malformed in a monstrous position,
as if ‘tween scream and mirth.
“What madness?”
I found myself whispering out,
“would bring a man to such fate?”
I searched ‘round the remains as best I could,
to see if there were signs of other steps,
or indicant of foul play.
And even tho’ my skills in such inquiry were novice at best,
all seemed at rest.
By now,
the swarm had become too much.
For I noticed it was not just the winged variety that were feasting,
but the slithering as well.
I was a bit surprised no superior creature had yet found its way here,
as the odour of such spoiled decay and demise usually tugs at their wanton appetites.
That enigma tho’,
simply fell as yet another with this isle.
As that thought escaped my psyche,
my gaze peered downward and caught sight of a small leather wrapping,
tied taut against and shielding,
a tattered assemblage of parchment.
A journal it seemed.
I felt an anticipation rise within,
for perhaps through his chronicle,
this man could offer clue,
or insight e’en,
to his demise,
or his ship,
as I imagined him to be Raine’s passenger,
or to his time here on this isle.
I knew not what I would find,
or if it be better I not know.
Nevertheless,
when one has the opportunity to receive a dead man’s tale,
it should be done so with the attention of all the senses.
Lest his fate becomes your own…
