Akatsuki: The Second Act (Magi Ja'far X Fem Reader)

Chapter 9

(Y/n)

"How in the world are you finding your way around this place?" I ask Masrur, swiping a tree branch out of my face for what feels like the thousandth time. "How are you surviving in that outfit?" says Pisti, gesturing at my long-sleeved black top, baggy pants and mosquito net hat (it kind of looks like a makeshift beekeeper's hat). Yes, I am sweating buckets, but it's better than being devoured by the whinging cloud of mosquitoes trailing after us. They might be carrying some kind of tropical virus. I haven't stayed in Sindria long enough to be immune like Pisti and Masrur.

Suddenly, my two friends tense and stop, scanning our surroundings. Immediately, my whole body goes alert, my ears searching for any out-of-place sound in this labyrinth of trees, ferns and vines.

Nothing.

I hear nothing.

And that's what sets off the growing feeling of dread in my stomach.

The tangle of birdsongs that had echoed through the forest is now gone. Even the mosquitoes are gone. A familiar smell wafts through the humid air. Smoke.

The stillness is broken when a blur of colour hurtles towards me. When the tree behind me shatters, I secretly thank Ja'far for keeping my reflexes sharp enough to dodge the attack. But when I glance over my shoulder, I see a red and orange bird with a large, curved yellow beak.

"Iri-" I stop myself when I realise that this bird's feathers are a little more flared out, and its eyes show no sign of recognising me. Above us, the tree branches rustle collectively, cracking slightly under the weight of the hundreds of papagoras birds now perched on them. The way they're staring down at us reminds me of vultures circling a carcass.

Ah, crap.

Pisti slowly reaches for the flute that she uses to communicate with animals. But from the pinched look on her face, I can tell that it won't be easy. The papagoras only submit to other beings that they consider stronger than them. And that's only if they don't decide you're an enemy first.

Then all at once, the birds swarm down on us like a giant red, orange and gold tidal wave. Too late, I start looking around for a place to take cover when a shrill, high note cuts through the chaos. The birds stop and swoop back up into the branches.

Pisti! She did it! But when I turn towards her, she looks shocked too, her lips hovering just inches away from her flute. It wasn't her. A bundle of feathers flies down towards us, this time landing on the ground a few feet away from us instead of trying to crack our skulls open.

I smile as the bird greets us with a happy chirp. "Hello, Irie."

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We're trekking through the forest, following the trail of red and orange birds soaring above our heads. Having to crane my head towards the sky is both tiring and annoying. I must've tripped at least fifty times already because I can't keep my eyes on the ground. It doesn't help that we've ventured into the foggy parts of the forest.

I keep my complaints to myself, since I don't want to offend the papagoras birds that have agreed to lead us to the source of the smoke. According to Pisti's translation, a group of humans entered the forest a few days ago and started burning the amilda trees in the crater of the dead volcano called the Witch's Cauldron. Not only are they destroying the homes of hundreds of animals, the smoke is also unbearable for the birds living nearby. Hence, the swarm of birds that decided to migrate to Sindrian homes.

Finally, the birds stop. The ground in front of us slopes downwards into the misty crater of a dead volcano, through which I can faintly make out the outline of trees. I definitely see why the place is called "the Witch's Cauldron". The crater is so full of mist that it almost seems like it's spilling out into the surrounding forest, curling its pale tendrils around trees and ferns and boulders. What makes it even more witch-like is the sickly-sweet smell of the burning amilda trees. It's no wonder that it drove out thousands of birds from the forest – the smell is strong enough to make even Masrur start coughing.

Still, why can't I shake off the feeling that I'm missing something important? That I know this smell from somewhere...

I exchange a glance with my friends, and I can tell that we're all thinking the same thing. Whoever's responsible for this smoke chose the perfect location. Anyone who tried to interfere could easily get lost in the smoke and mist and become easy prey for whoever is messing with the trees down there.

The papagoras birds watched from the trees ringing the crater as we descended carefully into the haze. Pisti and I stick close to Masrur, relying on his echolocation and fanalis senses to guide us through this mist without running into a burning tree. He's the first to notice the sound of axes hacking away at tree trunks. The closer we get to the centre of the crater, the louder it gets. Walls of pale mist reduce to thin wisps, giving way to the scene before us.

A group of about a dozen men hacks away at the trees, while a young girl stacks the heavy trunks and branches into organised piles. I can tell immediately that the men belong to Al Thamen, and the girl is a slave.

"Hurry up!" a man yells at her, raising a hand to hit her. "We're leaving this du-" He's cut off by an arrow piercing his shoulder. At once, all eyes turn to the three of us.

"Now!" the injured man shouts. A smoke bomb goes off, blinding us once again. Ha. As if smoke bombs would stop me after Ja'far's training. I quickly track down three men and knock them out.

"(Y/n)! Get the girl out of the way!" says Masrur. I hear her light, hesitant footsteps before I see her. Grabbing her wrist, I pull her behind a tree just before Masrur smashes through the group of Al Thamen soldiers in one move. Dirt, people and mist go flying in all directions. When it's over, not only are the soldiers hurt and dazed, all of the mist and smoke has been cleared from the area by the air pressure from Masrur's attack.

A wicked smile grows on Pisti's face before she takes out her flute and plays a long, low note that reverberates through the trees. She's followed by a chorus of war cries from the papagoras birds as they descend upon the people who harmed their forest.