The jungle is swarming with the jackal freaks, but we aren't undisciplined amateurs. We've been killing things for as long as any of us can remember, on boats, on land, in the water, under the water, in tunnels, in fortresses, rich things, poor things, big things, small things. We form up in two units of six. In each unit two are entrusted to attack anything in front of us, two stand just behind them to support and cover our flanks, two are tasked with covering our asses. We keep the formations tight and move together, each unit becoming a multi-headed monster—a hydra.
I stand beside Phineas in the lead position. As he swings at a giant jackal's head and misses I swipe off the jackal freaks foot. The jackal freak cries out in pain and fury and Phineas crushes his skull as his blade comes back around. We slow down as our crew takes out a beast attacking from behind. I scan the jungle for another threat in my sector, ignoring the beast at my side that is being handled by Gina and Brita.
The novelty of killing creatures that walk on two legs like humans but yip and bite like dogs (I still maintain that their faces look more like a jackal but that really isn't super important) with giant claws and bodies covered in fur begins to wear off after we slog through a quarter-mile of jungle and kill two or three dozen of these beasts. I would prefer to be diving for pearls in the shallow waters of Glondan, water so clear and calm you can see a white plate at five hundred feet, but I don't need pearls. I need to free the mermaid witch and ask her to give me and my crew back our glory our youth, our lives.
The darkness of the jungle ends, and the brilliant light of the moon fills a clearing, a great pillar of water is shimmering hanging in midair. The illusion is untangled by my mind—it's just a waterfall. Only it's pretty amazing. A granite ledge at least three hundred feet up with water shooting down it. Not like a drip or a dram but like maybe whatever image you have of a waterfall in your mind—just add two or three other waterfalls alongside that one and that will give you some idea of this thing. The sound of pulverized water drilling against the rocks below is constant and makes a noise like a dozen cannons fired continuously and just like cannon fire, the sound is shocking at first, even wondrous, but then it just becomes a dull thrum in the background and is soon ignored.
There is a stone path, where the jungle doesn't grow. I see the path trace the river's flow, a winding route that meanders into the distance. I turn away and we all tie ourselves together, blind our eyes with cloth and deafen our ears with wax. We crawl along the gritty stone on all fours. I still hear the waterfall despite the wax but I don't hear any lustful beckoning from women with voices full of desire. I am pretty proud of myself for all my advanced planning but of course, that goes away as soon as I realize: this is a long trail and the hard gritty stone is starting to grind away at my one good knee and my fleshy palms. I start to pine away for gloves and knee pads. This longing should count as a trial.
After we crawl along for at least an hour, heads banging into the backside of the person in front of us (I am in front and have the discomfort of Gina ramming her hard head into my backbone several dozen times) we finally stop dragging our bodies over rock and feel the cool dirt of the jungle. I risk taking off my blindfold. The moonlight almost blinds my eyes. We are all knelt before a moat that rings a fortress made for a giant.
It is like we have shrunk to the size of mice and have to look at the world again for the first time. Only we haven't shrunk; the plants are still in their proper proportions. It's the building. It was made to the enormous lizard's specifications. I start to calculate the cost and expense of such a project in human labor and material, it's in the order of the cathedrals and pyramids, structures that took centuries to complete. Although to be fair, this giant fortress isn't super intricate, the architecture is plain, no whimsy at all, no statues, no carvings, just massive walls, gigantic drawbridge, regular old crenellations.
So when the drawbridge is lowered— it must have been made of two or three hundred trees— and a regular-sized man comes out and says his name is Renault; we are kind of disappointed. Like there was supposed to be this giant climax with the monster but he got sick and sent out his substitute.
And you know what comes next?
A riddle.
Renault, a man with bare feet wearing a long green robe, puffs himself up like he is regal and says we can't enter unless we answer a riddle. The riddle is: "What did I have for breakfast yesterday?"
I look to Gina, to Phineas, to Brita, the Serean brothers. We are all trained killers covered in blood. We are tired, sore, but if we are going to have a riddle we want it to be proper.
Brita spits. The Sereans spit. Gina shakes her head. For some reason, Phineas starts sniffing the air.
Still, there have been worse riddles given and with higher stakes at play, so we put our heads together and after a long discussion, we decide to kill Renault and storm the fortress.
Brita takes Renault's head off without breaking her stride and we charge across the drawbridge for what seems to be an age and a half. We riot into the courtyard ready to face the lizard but instead, we see only a woman in a green robe holding a baby. She smiles, "You guessed the riddle already? Where's Renault?"
I clear my throat. "Where's the giant lizard? Where's the mermaid witch?"
She puts the crying whelp on her shoulder and pats his back. "The lizard is dead. Renault killed him ages ago. I am the mermaid witch. I became human. I am Renault's bride. We live here in eternal peace. Sometimes pirate crews like yourself come through and we give them a little riddle as a jest. Where is Renault?"
I can see dozens of children amusing themselves in various ways, climbing the walls, kicking a ball, drawing on the stones with chalk.
The witch is getting impatient. I look to Brita, to Gina. We are going to have to kill this witch in front of her children. We can't count on her understanding, can't underestimate her powers.
"Your man is dead, witch. You will be too if you raise a hand to us."
Yalta is at the threshold of the fortress. She throws away a makeshift crutch and notches an arrow to her bow. I look to Gina to see if she is as surprised as I am to hear Yalta speaking the common tongue.
Gina just shrugs.
Yalta coughs and points her bow at me. "I told you this was a bad idea cripple. You should have listened."
I shake my head. "If all I did was listen to you we would still be in a Thermican prison."
I turn back to the witch and give a kind of apology but not with words. It's kind of a shrug but I halfway raise my hands and sort of frown at the same time. Then we file out of the courtyard, follow Yalta across the drawbridge.
I limp ahead of the others and walk beside the old Yerivean. Technically she is a few years younger than I am. In my mind's eye, I am still only twenty-five. She must feel the same way. We limp back towards the jungle together then I reach out to hold her hand, to keep her steady.
