Read Arcene: The Island Online
Authors: Al K. Line
Arcene: The Island
Copyright © 2016 Al K. Line
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All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Should Have Walked
Arcene stood on the short grass, lifted a hand to shade her eyes against the sun, and peered into the clear blue sky expectantly. Where was he? Late as usual — Fasolt seemed to treat time as an abstract concept, there only for others to use, not him.
When she'd sent word home that she was ready to put an end to her adventure and wanted to see her son and her friends, more like family really, she had been told that Fasolt was close and hadn't gone far at all since he'd dropped her off in the hot air balloon he'd promised he would never set foot in again.
It seemed that he'd changed his mind and was on his way to collect her — at least he was supposed to be. Arcene and Leel had been waiting all day for his arrival, and so far there was no sign of him. They'd even had to make do with cold cuts of meat for lunch, meaning neither the fifteen, going on twenty-two-year-old Arcene, or the nine-year-old Leel, were in the best of moods. They liked their meat hot, fresh, and plentiful, not necessarily in that order.
"Over here," came a shout from the opposite direction to the one she was looking in, at least she thought it was, it could have been the wind playing tricks on her again. It whipped at her kilt, flapping it manically around her thighs, caught her pigtails and thumped them against her back and chest like coils of rope.
Arcene turned into the wind and stared up at her "ride," wondering if she wouldn't be better walking. The hot air balloon had been fun, although Fasolt had moaned the whole way and promised never to use it again.
Just like childbirth. They say that if you remembered what it was like then you'd never do it again. I remember, and I certainly won't.
A pointless thought, Arcene could never have another child.
The huge balloon was buffeted dangerously by the wind, the basket beneath tipping at a precarious angle. Fasolt, skinny, ancient, and naked as always, was hanging on to the ropes for dear life, shouting something through clenched teeth — the wind carried away his words; she heard nothing.
Woof, woof.
"Yes, I know, Leel, but we can't fly so we must wait for him to come down."
It was impossible not to smile at the sight of the man. It felt great to see a welcome face after being out in the countryside meeting strangers, many less than pleasant. Fasolt's immense dreadlocks hung over the side of the strong wicker basket like extra tethers, dropping down at least two meters below his feet, some as thick as his arms, others delicate like slender, arthritic fingers crooked at strange angles.
Every so often the wind caught them and pulled them high into the air, tangling them around each other, around his body, around the ropes connecting the basket to the balloon, until it was impossible to tell which was which.
Fasolt struggled with the burner, trying to lower the flame so the balloon descended slow enough so he didn't just crash, but also having to keep an eye on his hair so it didn't catch fire and send him tumbling to his death in a mess of burning balloon and flesh. He grabbed a fistful of dreadlocks and seemed to tell them off before he leaned back over the side and shouted something.
"What?" shouted back Arcene, still unable to hear a word.
He shook his head as if saying never mind. Arcene watched as he pulled hard on the rope that ran down the center of the balloon, opening the flap at the top to let more hot air out and enable his somewhat shaky descent. After what was obviously a lot of cursing and a few pulls on his own hair by mistake, he came low enough to consider a final landing so threw down a tether.
Arcene nodded at him, but he wasn't looking — back to battling with his hair and the burner — so Arcene made a dash for the rope. Leel had already seen it though and bounded over to it in a few easy strides. She grabbed it in her mouth and shook it like she did prey on a hunt, telling it to submit and take its punishment.
Arcene reached her a moment before she let it go; she grabbed it. "Hold on, Leel, and let's pull it toward the tree." Arcene pointed at the thick beech tree a short distance away and she was sure that Leel nodded in agreement.
I wonder about her sometimes. It's like she understands everything but chooses not to listen if it doesn't sound like fun.
Arcene would never admit it, but sometimes, just now and then, maybe the same could be said of her.
Together, they hauled on the tether, dragging the thin cord as they edged backward to the trunk of the tree, feet slipping now and then on the stubby grass.
Suddenly, the wind died down and the warm day hit like it had been hiding until the breeze passed. Everything was still, the only sounds the panting of Leel, the burner giving up less heat, and Fasolt muttering about stupid hot air balloons and vindictive wind and his dreadlocks that refused to do as they were told.
As Arcene watched, the balloon descended and the rope went slack, so they took the opportunity to get to the tree and she wrapped the cord around the trunk, tying it in the special knot she'd been taught before she went up for a ride for the first time.
Then everything was silent. The burner turned off, the parachute valve fully opened by Fasolt — letting the hot air escape a little too fast from the top of the balloon — and the miraculous contraption drifted down to the ground gracefully. At least that's what should have happened. Instead, it dropped like a stone the last thirty feet and bumped along the ground viciously before the basket flipped onto its side and Fasolt flew out, rolled across the grass and only came to a stop when he hit the trunk of the tree, wrapped up in his own hair like a skin-covered skeleton in a very scruffy rug.
All Arcene could see was his bare, bony bum sticking up in the air and his fingers clawing at the dreadlocks that mummified him in their dark and itchy embrace.
"Nice ride?" asked Arcene, before she laughed and held out a hand for Fasolt, the oldest man she had ever known, probably the oldest man in the entire world.
"Yes, rather pleasant actually." Fasolt scrambled to his feet and scowled at the dreadlocks as he untangled himself then wrapped them into a complex topknot so he looked like a corpse with a bees nest on his head.
"Looked like it," said Arcene.
"I was being sarcastic, in case you didn't notice. I hate those things. They're the worst invention there has ever been in the entire history of the world. Ugh."
"One thing that is a good invention is clothes, but I see you've failed to wear any again." Arcene tried not to, but as usual she couldn't help looking at the skinny, naked body of Fasolt, eyes inevitably drawn to his willy she really wished he would cover up, even if it was just with a pair of shorts or something. It was distracting, and so gross.
"Haha, some things never change. Come here, you."
Arcene smiled at her dear friend and put her arms out wide. Fasolt stepped forward and they hugged, the close embrace of people who are more than friends: family in all but blood.
Everything floated away: sadness, hurt and loss. All that remained was the warmth of a human being that cared for her and she cared for right back. What better feeling was there in the world than a damn good hug? "Missed you."
"Missed you too," Fasolt whispered into Arcene's ear. "Ugh, what's that?" He stepped back and looked down at the happy face of Leel, busy licking his lower back, not pleased about the lack of attention. Her tail wagged so fast Leel could probably take off and give them a ride home herself. "Sorry, Leel, didn't mean to be rude."
Woof. Woof, woof.
"Really? Well, you two have been on an adventure, haven't you?" Fasolt leaned forward a little and gave Leel a big hug then squirmed and squealed as she did her special greeting, just for those she loved: the full face lick.
Arcene could see her preparing for it, see the glint of mischief in her hazel eyes, the smile widen on the dopey face, the white patch over her eye making her look as comical as always. The tongue extended, the flesh pink and wet, and Leel licked from Fasolt's chin right up to the beginning of his dreadlocks.
"Ugh, thank you, Leel." Fasolt stood and rubbed Leel's ear while he turned to Arcene. "Well, how was it? I've had a bit of an adventure myself actually, I haven't been home either yet."
"Oh, you know, the usual. Rat men, kidnappers, saving and losing small children, blue castles and..." Arcene waved it all away casually, as if it was just another one of those everyday kind of adventures and nothing to get excited about.
Fasolt stared at her with a frown, seeing right through her. His ancient Awoken senses penetrated whatever defenses she tried to put up, looked past the three dimensions into her presence in The Noise, able to feel her emotions, see her thoughts like orange sparks dancing around her brain, sense sadness and regret, disappointment too, all of it, everything she wanted to hide and keep secret. He could see it all, and more, as clearly as he could see the pigtails hanging down her back. "You sure? Nothing you want to tell me?"
Arcene knew it was pointless trying to hide things from her friend, and she knew herself well enough to know that she didn't want to anyway. This was family, a father-figure if truth be told — if she couldn't unburden herself to him then who could she do it with?
