“It isn't a matter of forgetting. What one has to learn is how to remember and yet be free of the past.” ― Aldous Huxley, Island
Part I: “The Island”
The Port of Loiola
Erlantzga, Urrunaga, Luzarra
The decaying port town beckoned the man into its languid embrace. The nature of his work compelled him thus so. The deep, rumbling sea called out to him, though the endless waters were not what drew him there to begin with. As old as time it seemed, the sea was still steeped in magnificence, though unfortunately the same could not be said of the island that rose from the surface.
The island was named Erlantzga, a small subdivision off the coast of the large Urrunaga province in the northern part of the island of Luzarra. Luzarra was already a remote country, Urrunaga more so, and Erlantzga even more remote than that. It might have been the most remote island in the world, if the locals were to be believed. Perhaps it had seen better days, but that would imply that Erlantzga had seen anything that wasn’t bleak.
In bygone days of yore, the island served many unusual roles, ranging from a pirate den to a getaway sanctuary for the monarchy during times of plague, to a lookout over the western seas and as a destination for fringe groups. Throughout its history however it was an important whaling and fishing hub, and much of the local culture was built up around those maritime professions. The local populace took great pride in those traditions, often running through families going back centuries. In fact, some of the tallest tales and richest stories were the ones that were told in Erlantzga.
The island was a focal point of Luzarran superstitions as well. Many locals regarded it as sacred, hallowed ground of the Old Gods, who lurked beneath the depths of the sea and deep within the heart of the island. Some even said that the island itself was an Old God, slumbering since time immemorial until such a time came that he might be stirred. Though such legends were often the subject of great debate, none disputed that the island was unusual. Strange noises could often be heard from the heart of the island where the forests were old and thick, and where mythical creatures were said to stalk the mists.
With a steady gait, the man walked along the cracked and potholed-ridden paved path towards his ultimate destination. The man was tall and thin, wearing a long brown shearling coat, with black slacks and shoes emerging from underneath. His hair was a short dark brown color, and his eyes a foggy grey. Though largely clean-shaven, there was the hint of five-o-clock shadow on his face, especially around his straight, tight-lipped mouth.
He had been on the island for little over a week now, pursuing a lead in his field of work. It wasn’t a good place to be for an extended period of time if one could avoid it. The radiance of the dawn’s light had only barely penetrated the thick clouds above and the ominous fog below, casting a dull, eerie glow in the narrow streets of the port town. As a result, hoods of black shadow swelled faintly against the sides of fissured stone buildings and decaying wooden facades.
Coils of vaporous mist enwrapped the weathered street lamps and the gnarled leafless trees lining the streets. They writhed around them like a magician’s trick-smoke, mysterious and illusory. Sieves of misty waves caressed the lichen-encrusted sea stacks beyond, undaunted by eternal persistence of the sea to bring them down to the depths. All the same, the waves crashed with deadly intent. It amplified sound as it pounded the docks, filling all the empty spaces along the coast. A distant, yet reverberating noise filled the air all around him, subtle in the distance. In these wee hours of the morn, none stirred, the windows of the quaint harbor homes shuttered. Only the sound of the sea, like the constant tones of a great, ominous beast, entombed the island.
Slowly the light emerged to vanquish the looming mists. Like the luminal glow of the gods, it chased the shadows, but the gloom remained, and where the mist once stalked, now there were colors of rustic brown and grey. The sounds of dock workers split the silence just as the town became illuminated in dull light. A fusillade of whistles and shouting bellowed all around him as figures came into view off in the distance, laboring on the docks. The man noticed this, and walked into a narrow alley off of the street.
The poverty of the port town was revealed in the scarce light poking into the alleys. Worn brick exteriors stood tenuously, lined with rusty rail stairs and ladders, clotheslines reaching between them over the alley. The ground looked like burnt toast and a layer of grime clasped its crusty exterior. The first blush of the morn gave the filthy pavement an almost walnut brown complexion.
Idling past the occasional flowerpot sitting upon windowsills and back decks. He caressed them softly, getting tingles in his otherwise steady fingers. His ears perked up at the sounds of people shuffling about behind open windows, no doubt feeling the brisk mourning air. It flashed with a tinsel tint through the lace of garb hanging from the clotheslines by clips and pins. When the alley parted he could see, in the heart of a small plaza, a pool with a fountain rising from it. Even from there, he could see the pool’s water, an almost lime-color, with skeins of swirl-grey twisting slowly on the surface. An old, dull spillway led to the choppy pond below. Large stones swarmed around the edge of the pool, buffed with pillows of moss. They caused a rocky gurgling as water met stone; a swish, a clunk, a swell and a clop. Pungent fragrances, sanguine and off-putting, seemed to flit in and out of his awareness. Sight and smell vied for attention in this soul-draining dream world.
The man put his back against an ivy covered wall near the edge of the alley, leaning his head briefly against the rough, uneven surface. He closed my eyes, and even if just for one fleeting moment, let his stream of consciousness take hold, and drifted into infinity. When he opened his eyes again, he couldn’t recall where his mind drifted, but surely it was to a better place than where he found himself.
I have been alone. This man is an island.
The cliffs of my shoulder blades
hang heavy with grief, ore, suffering.
I am draped with the permanence of gravity,
So do not believe that you cannot move.
Come to me, water babes fully grown,
Allow yourself to be swept in salt and ash.
Tumble with your brothers into my arms
and be at peace, at last, on the shore.
I too was once drowned, but I arose
and as the caps melt, all things will erode
For no man is an island alone.
The man turned into an adjacent alley on the right, where his destination awaited him at its end. Like the other houses it was connected, with no gaps between them. Most of them were two stories, either all the same house or a split level, the house in question being the former. It featured the main door, a window on each side of it, and then two more above. Like the others it was a worn brick and stone building with a flat roof, where a chimney peaked over the edge.
Approaching the front door, the man looked around to his left and right. There was nobody in the alley behind him, nor to his left or right. Looking ahead once more, he quietly and carefully approached the door and turned the knob, only to find it was locked. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out his lockpicking kit, and extracted the tools he needed to open the lock, which he did quickly, locking the door behind him as he entered the house.
The inside of the house was dark, though the man could see that it was sparsely decorated. There were a few old, ragged chairs arranged around a round coffee table and fireplace, as well as a small bookshelf with only a few books arranged upon it, mostly historical fiction. The small kitchen looked hardly used, and it too was bare of any abundance of food. Likewise, the bathroom was small and relatively clean.
Walking up the narrow flight of stairs, he found a bedroom with only a bed, nightstand and dresser in it, and another room that was empty aside from some baskets of clothes.
To his satisfaction, there was no one home, and so the man walked back downstairs and approached the light the hung from the ceiling. Gently, he pulled out a serrated knife and cut the cord before picking a chair to sit down in. Then he waited, looking at his surroundings in a little more detail. Above the fireplace, resting upon the mantle was a pole hook, which featured three large fish hooks fitted onto a long wooden pole to create a fishing implement, used for hauling in fish.
It was while the man was examining the pole hook that he could hear the door begin to open again. In stepped a middle-aged man of average height, with black hair and blue eyes wearing a coat, thick grey shirt and overalls with tall rubber boots. He shut the door behind him and went to turn on the light. When the light wouldn’t come on, he groaned, and entered the room, walking at a brisk pace towards the kitchen.
“Mr. Ochengaray,” the seated man called out gently. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Mr. Ochengaray stopped, and turned around slowly. When he saw the seated man, he let out a long sigh. “Danel Uharte…it’s been a long time. You were much younger when I last saw you. There’s no need for this mister shit…you know my name is Benny.” Looking towards the kitchen, he added, “you want some tea, Danel? Maybe some biscuits.”
“…No,” the man known as Danel answered. “Mr. Ochengaray,” he continued, “You know who I am…do you know why I’m here?” Danel leaned back in his chair, and sat crossed legged with his hands resting on his leg. “Maybe you’d like to sit down? There’s much we need to talk about, so you may want to…for this.”
Benny hesitated, choosing instead to remain standing in the living room. “I know what you’ve been up to, Danel. What you’ve been doing the past four years. All those accidents…you caused those, didn’t you?” Benny laughed, and added that “you know, I never would have thought you’d be capable of all that. You were always timid. Never willing to make the tough decisions.”
Danel shifted in his chair and tapped his knee as he thought about what Benny said to him. “If you know what I’ve been up to then you know why I’m here. Mr. Ochengaray, His Majesty’s Government is aware of your participation in the Revolutionary Front, and I don’t have to explain to you why that’s a problem. I solve problems…that’s my job. I make them go away.”
“That’s what this is about isn’t it?” Benny laughed. “I get it…you’re just a glorified hitman for the royal bigwigs, aren’t you?” searching Danel’s eyes, Benny flashed a sad expression. “What did they do to you, Danel? You were the best of us. You’ve changed…Gods be good, you have changed…”
“Mr. Ochengaray,” Danel went on, unfazed. “By order of His Majesty’s Government, I ask you to come with me for questioning. Terrorism, Sedition and Treason are very serious charges. I have all the papers I need to do as I must, but I’d very much prefer this gets done quickly and easily. Look at it like this…depending on what you’re willing to share, whatever they try to stick you with might not be so bad. Hell, I’m sure that if you’re especially forthcoming, they would consider wiping the slate clean, and letting you get a fresh start. No more hiding in alley houses on the fringe of the kingdom, working on the docks. You could go back home…back to your family.”
“My family…” His voice trailing off, Benny seemed to think long and hard about that. “I’ve been away for too long. They probably think I’m dead, or at least that they’ve moved on. There’s no sense in beating around the bush with you, Danel. The Revolutionary Front is something that has given my life purpose. It’s goals are something I can leave to my children once realized. A better future for them. That’s worth the sacrifices I’ve made.”
At this, Danel cocked his head and furrowed his brow. “There’s no glory to be had in this life, Benny. It never ends well. It didn’t for the others, and it won’t for you. There’s only two ways you can proceed. One works out reasonably well for you, and the other doesn’t. You’re a smart man Benny, I know you realize the truth of what I’m saying.”
“What happened to all the rest?” Benny asked. “All those others that died…did they take you up on your offer? Did you kill them anyway? Those were good people, Danel. Those were your friends…your father’s friends. I know they didn’t truly die in fires, car accidents or hunting incidents. That would be too coincidental, now wouldn’t it? You see this isn’t about what’s smart and what’s not, this is about doing the right thing, even when doing the right thing won’t end well for you. That’s what your father believed, and that’s what I believe.”
My father… Danel for the first time felt acutely uncomfortable, before recomposing himself. “We can go on all day about right and wrong, Mr. Ochengaray. It’s a matter of perspective.”
Benny snorted with incredulity at that statement. “Is that what those corrupt, morally bankrupt royal sycophants told you? They’ve got your head so far up your ass that you can see the light.”
Danel sighed. “You know what happens to marked persons who resist, Mr. Ochengaray.” Exhaling deeply, Danel conceded, “you’re a good man, Benny. Yeah, I still know your name. Come with me peaceably, and this will go pleasantly for both of us. I’d like that… I really would.”
“I’m sure you would,” Benny countered angrily. “Problem is, if I talk, a lot more good people are going to get hunted down, threatened, and possibly killed. It’s been years, and you’re just now finding me. All this time I’ve been right under your nose, living a quiet life working at the docks. Killing me won’t make a difference, Danel. The revolution is coming, and it doesn’t matter how many people you murder. The more of us that die, the more people emerge to take our place. Would the monarchy kill everyone if it came down to that?”
Danel closed his eyes and shook his head. From his coat pocket he pulled out a silenced pistol, and laid it on his lap. “That’s none of my concern, or yours, for that matter. The King and his Government do as they shall. So shall I, Benny. It’s nothing personal…it’s business.”
“Your father would be ashamed of you” snorted Benny, his face flushed red. “What he lived for, what he stood for…what he died for. You’re just pissing on all of that now, aren’t you? All those wars, all that death. Look around you, Danel. The monarchy will be the ruin of this once proud nation. I’ve heard that the king is ill…do you think that his son and heir will be any different…any better? If you do you’re a fool. All you have to do is leave…walk right out that door, and I’ll forget that anything happened. We can save this country before it’s too far gone. You were once a Paragon, Danel…you can be that again.”
“…I don’t have time for this, Benny.” Danel let his hand rest atop his pistol. “I need you to make a choice. We all have choices to make. I made mine long ago. It’s your turn now. What’s it going to be?”
“…I already have.” In a swift motion, Benny dove at Danel just as the latter gripped his pistol. Benny tackled Danel and pushed over the chair, causing both of them to come crashing to the floor. Benny was a large man, but Danel was stronger, grappling with Benny in order to get a clear shot, but to no avail. The gun was knocked away from Danel’s hand as Benny began punching Danel in the face.
Danel gave Benny a ferocious headbutt before scrambling across the floor to pick up his gun. Benny meanwhile stood up and took the pole hook off the wall above the fireplace and swung it down at Danel, in an attempt to bury it in the man’s back. Noticing this out of the corner of his eye, Danel rolled to the side, causing the pole hook to drive into the wooden floor.
With a savage kick to the belly, Benny staggered backwards as he crunched over in pain, while Danel crawled forward and reached out for his gun. Taking it in his hand, he rolled over only to find Benny standing over him again with the pole hook about to come crashing down on Danel’s head. As the pole hook was coming down, Danel aimed and fired one silenced shot.
The pole hook went flying out of Benny’s hand as the bullet struck it, and Benny once again fell down on Danel, grabbing his wrist and squeezing it so tight that the pistol escaped Danel’s grasp, and choking him with his other hand. Big mistake. With his one free hand, Danel reached for the serrated knife in his coat pocket and pulled it out. Just as this was happening, Benny reached for Danel’s gun.
With a grunt, Danel kneed Benny in the groin and had an opportunity to flip him on his back, which he did. Benny had the gun in his hand ready to bring up and shoot Danel, but before he could do that, Danel slid his knife into Benny’s chest. Not wanting Benny to make too much noise, Danel put his hand over his mouth, and then he waited. Before long, Benny was dead, bleeding out on the floor.
Damnit. Wiping his knife off on Benny’s coat, Danel put away his gun and surveyed the living room. Carefully, he put everything back to where it was before the scuffle, and dragged Benny’s body into the kitchen. Once there, Danel began maneuvering around some of the appliances. Once he found the gas line, he cut it, and then he turned the stove on.
Danel already knew what the story was going to be. Mr. Ochengaray left for work late last night not knowing there was a gas leak in his house. When he returned home from his shift the following morning, he went to the kitchen and turned on the stove in order to cook breakfast. By this time his house had been filled with gas, and the lit stove ignited it, causing an explosion that killed Mr. Ochengaray.
Once he was finished arranging the scene to his satisfaction, Danel went back out the door and locked it behind him. Back out in the alley, he looked around before settling on walking in the direction of the dirty pool and fountain. The street there had a few cars parked along the curb, and a few people were out and about, though none paid him any mind. Danel began walking down the length of the street, letting his mind wander as he went.
Glitter of a blade,
Piercing of a scream,
Splatter of red blood
As it runs into a stream.
Footsteps in the darkness,
Heavy breath from behind,
Rush away to escape,
As was first designed.
Ignore the plaguing nightmares
Ignore the taunting voice
Ignore the niggling doubts
That you didn't make the right choice.
Though death do you face,
Do not ever turn aside,
'Tis as destiny has planned,
That the hells may you reside.
Several blocks down the street was a quaint bed and breakfast establishment called the Seafarer’s Sojourn, if the sign swinging from the post above the door was to be believed. Danel’s eyes seldom strayed from the establishment as he made his way to it. The building was old, no doubt, a two-story wooden building in the heart of old town Loiola. On sure feet, Danel approached the wooden door and opened it.
The interior was as quaint as the exterior, and smelled of cooking food. There was a bar and more than a dozen round tables and half as many booths inside, as well as men and women’s bathrooms and an old jukebox that looked like it had been there since the seventies. The only other person there besides the servers was an older man reading a newspaper at one of the tables.
Danel picked a booth and sat down, taking a menu from the rack against the wall not long thereafter. “A little young to be coming in this early for breakfast eh?” the old man said with a smirk, poking above his paper to see Danel.
“I’m a morning person,” Danel answered before turning back to the menu.
“Is that right? Well then, you’ve come to the right place,” laughed the old man. “My name is Jacobo…I’m a regular here. Never seen you here before…must be new around town.”
“…Yeah, you could say that.” Before long the server came to take Danel’s order. “Salted ham and marmitako please, with cider.” Then the server was off. “I don’t suppose you’d have seen me before.”
Jacobo laughed. “Well there are over…twenty-five million people in Luzarra between these islands. Can’t know em all. I suppose I know the people worth knowing though. I knew the old king from our time in the Royal Navy. He was a hard man. He was nice, but stern, that one. We were in the war, saw the worst of it. You know how the old saying goes, ‘old men declare war and young men die in war.’” Casting a piercing gaze at Danel, Jacobo asked him “have you ever been in a war, son?”
“…Life is war, old timer,” Danel answered. “It’s a war that doesn’t end, and you always lose. Yet we fight it all the same, for one reason or another. Some for duty, some for love, some for enjoyment…others because it’s all they know how to do.”
“Well said,” nodded Jacobo as his food arrived. It consisted of scrambled eggs, grapefruit, bacon and juice. “My war is going to be coming to an end soon. I’ve lived long and well, and seen a great many things. There’s not much else for me to see that I haven’t already. This country has run out of surprises too…in my day it was so full of promise, but now? I pity you, son.”
Danel gave him a puzzled look. “Never doubt what this country is capable of. His Majesty’s Government has a plan to keep things on the up and up.”
The old man laughed again, and countered “look around you and tell me if things are on the up and up! The world is a big place, certainly a lot bigger than Luzarra! I’ve seen a lot of it over the years. It amazes me just how big it is…and just how small we are. You’ll realize that once you’ve traveled the world.
Who says I haven’t already? Danel witnessed some firetrucks sounding their sirens as they went rolling down the street from around the corner, and then his food arrived. The salted ham was crisp and steaming, while the marmitako was hot and fresh, consisting of fish stew, potatoes, onions and tomatoes. He did not order a drink, opting instead to drink the water provided before breakfast. “I don’t think the world is as interesting as you make it out to be, old timer. Maybe it is at first and for a little while, but then it becomes very old hat.”
“Nothing’s more old hat than Luzarra, son. There’s a reason why they refer to these islands as shit-stained rocks,” Jacobo laughed for a few seconds until it turned into a cough. “I’m from right here in on Erlantzga, born and raised. Worked on the fishing boats. I don’t really mind it because that’s all I’ve ever known. As the saying goes, ‘be happy with what you have to be happy with.’ Those are words to live by.”
“And if you have nothing?” Danel asked as he cut into his salted ham. “What then?”
Jacobo grinned and began to chuckle at that. “Well I suppose that if you have nothing, and you can be happy with that, you’d be the happiest man in the world.”
“…That’s one way of looking at it.” Talking to this old sailor made Danel consider what Benny said earlier, ironically. Here was a man who loved the sea, spent his whole life working it, but now in the twilight of his days, realized that others might not be able to enjoy the same opportunities that he did in his youth. To spend all your life doing something, only to realize in the end that it may have been in vain surely would be a terrible feeling indeed…
Where had I heard this wind before
That scatters wreckage across the shore,
The ocean races wildly before its breath
And some poor sailor meets his death.
Upon the land angry waves do crash
Trees bend low and their branches lash,
Yellow streaks spear 'cross black skies
And salty tears sting sailors’ eyes.
Thunder roars and rumbles on high
Winter comes when the night is nigh,
Scours the land with rain and hail
While beside a fire an old man tells a tale.
Of ghosts that walk along the beach
Back through time bone fingers reach,
Pirates and Kings’ men replay old battles
As in its frame the window rattles.
Creaks and groans heard through the wind
Under wreckage poor souls are pinned,
No starlight nor moon that glows
As long as powerful tempest blows.
Where had I heard this wind before?
Twas when death knocked at my door.
While he was eating, Danel noticed a vibration in his pocket. My phone, he thought as he pulled it out to see what it had said. The message was most troubling indeed, and one that he certainly hadn’t expected. The old king had died at last, after battling an illness for the better part of the year. While that news in and of itself wasn’t beyond expectation, what followed was…unexpected to say the least.
The Crown Prince had moved swiftly upon receiving word of his father’s death in the night. He quickly assumed the reins of royal power apparently, and among other things, say fit to recall Danel to the royal court in Aberasturi. Danel hadn’t been in the capital in almost four years, having been in the field ever since he was last there, and if truth be told, he was in no hurry to return either. Too much politics…
“Something wrong?” asked Jacobo as he spooned his grapefruit. “The food’s so good here that you’d only stop eating if something’s wrong,” he laughed.
Danel just shook his head. “No…nothing’s wrong. Not yet anyway.” Quickly, Danel finished his food and left a generous sum of cash on the table, certainly enough to cover the cost of his meal and a tip. “It was nice talking to you old timer, but I should be going. I’ve got places to be.”
Jacobo had a twinkle in his eye. “Aw, such a shame, son, though I suppose we all got places to go, one way or the other. Just remember what they say about good old Erlantzga. You can leave the island, but the island never leaves you. Funny old thing my grandfather used to tell me, you see.” The old man waved his hand and continued, “bah, I shouldn’t keep you any longer. Go, and be well and safe in your travels. The world is a dangerous place.”
Yes it is. “Farewell, old timer.” Danel inclined his head, and turned to walk away, straight out the door. Deciding upon his course of action, he figured he’d take a boat to the island of Luzarra, and then catch a plane in Urrutia to Aberasturi. There he would find out why the new king summoned him to court. Did he have some sort of plans for Danel? Probably, Danel thought as he walked along the street. Kings and Islands always do…