Phoenix

Paradise Tavern

She worried all night and into the morning, twisting and turning in her sheets, listening to the grandfather clock announce each new hour. The ticking stirred a familiarity, as though her senses were remembering what her mind could not. She strained to follow this sense of familiarity to its root, but was unsuccessful. The sound was an acquaintance of which she couldn't remember the name.

Finally, the clock chimed eight and she stumbled out of bed, re-tying her silver robe and dragging herself towards the door. From there, along a narrow corridor, down a rickety flight of stairs, through a set of swinging doors and into the tavern.

She burst into another world, one where everything was brighter, more colourful, more 'unapologetic'. Paradise Tavern had no walls, no lights, no floors. Instead, skeletal pillars held the structure together, between which the morning sun angled through in shafts. The floor was a carpet of soft sand and the cool sea breeze floated in and out as freely as the people, who came and went as they pleased.

They wore silver robes like Ash's and were a motley bunch, with scars, blotches, tattoos and missing limbs. In the corner, two middle aged men sat on boulders, playing an intense game of chess. One of the men had three missing fingers, so that each time he went to pick up his queen, he had to do so in a pincering motion, like a crab. The other had a missing upper lip, which twitched with each turn.

A group of adolescents sat cross-legged on the beach playing lazy melodies on hand-crafted guitars and drums, the overall effect sounding like a drunken mosquito with a broken wing. Children chased each other across the beach, their silver robes sodden and clinging to their bodies, wet hair flicking in all directions. One straggly child gripped Ash around the legs, yelling, "Help me, help me," before whirling away in a fit of giggles while his friend chased him with a bouquet of seaweed.

She felt a curt tap to her shoulder and swivelled to catch an eyeful of bright orange robes. Gunner took a step back when she turned, eyes widening. "Oh, it's just you, Sprout. For a second I thought you were... " His voice trailed off in the same way Miki's had done the night before and he cleared his throat. "Best be getting started with yer training."

He strode out of the tavern and towards the beach. Ash followed close behind, uneasiness returning with his sudden change in demeanour. But a distraction of white sand, brilliant blue sky and wrinkled blue water muted her unease and left her, wide-eyed and gawking.

Gunner spread his arm. "Welcome to Paradise Island, Sprout. Bit different from the Palace, don't you think?"

She nodded slowly, drinking in as much of the view as possible. Fairy floss clouds drifted overhead, a pale backdrop against the silhouettes of circling seabirds. In the distance, white-crested waves nibbled hungrily at the powdery sand. Where the tide had receded, little undulations pooled with water, making perfect sanctuaries for small shells and crustaceans.

Gunner began talking, though Ash found herself listening with half an ear. The rest of her was trying to take in every colour, every shape, every movement of her surrounds.

"Oroton found this island in its infancy. Seismic activity forced the seabed up, exposing the rich volcanic soil to the air. It was the perfect sanctuary for our people—the only island of its kind yet unknown by the Establishment. We've been here for four years now, living off what the island provides, completely undisturbed."

A crab skittered across a curvy undulation in the sand, racing from one bubbling hole to the next under the patient watching shadow of a lanky bird. With one dramatic swoop of its neck, the bird made a crunchy snack of the crab's shell. Where white sand met the rainforest, turning brown, tree saplings wobbled on their spindly stalks. Their parents stood watching from behind, tall and proud, their thick canopies umbrellas to the harshest of the sun's rays.