Lost in Felarya

Chapter Eight: The sorcerer's way

Previously, on Lost in Felarya:

= = = = =

There was a commotion close by, interrupting them. Shouts, from amidst the crowd. A voice, yelling, in a language Majed did not understand. Other voices, yelling back. He exchanged a glance with Laila, motioned for her to stay where she was, with the old man, then ran towards the scene of the shouting. He pushed through the crowd. In its centre, a clearing had been formed, in which a wild-looking man was turning round and round, staring frantically at all the people around him. He was almost naked, save for a gourd-shaped object covering his genitals. His hair was long and unkempt, and he wore a thick black beard. About one metre seventy tall, he had very dark skin, and darting eyes filled with confusion. He was fairly young, perhaps in his late twenties. He was shouting, now and then, in a foreign language, arms gesturing wildly.

“We don't understand you.” An Arab man in his early forties, in uniform, was trying to calm him. He was probably the flight captain, Majed thought. “Calm down. Calm down. It's all right.” […]

The man bolted. Almost tripping over himself, he rushed for a gap in the crowd. Passengers hurried to move out of his way, some of them shouting in surprise. In his haste to get away, the man stumbled, collapsing in a sprawl. He did not immediately get up. Passengers moved away from him, murmuring. Only one, after a moment, stepped forward. A tall, dark-skinned, broad-shouldered man, he crouched down beside the fallen stranger.

“Eh,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Ça va?” […]

The stranger pushed himself up, wary, and crouched, facing him. […]

“I know you don't understand me, but my name is Fabrice.” He placed his hand on his chest. “Fabrice,” he repeated. “My name is Fabrice. And you?”

The man moistened his lips, nervous, his eyes still darting quickly at his surroundings, seeking out threats. Finally, he inhaled, drew himself up proudly, and placed one hand, fingers spread, over his bare chest.

“Lohai,” he said, slowly and clearly.

Fabrice smiled.

“Lohai. Fabrice. Pleased to meet you.”

= = = = =

“You… saved my wife's life,” Roni said, his voice shaking a little. Suvi herself looked too stunned to speak. “Thank you,” he whispered. He reached into his pocket for his packet of cigarettes.

“Don't mention it,” Michel whispered back, still rooted to the spot. He turned only when, somehow, he felt Maram smiling at him. Her smile was warm, reflected in her dark eyes, and he smiled back, feeling rather awkward. “I just… saw…” He trailed off.

“So what do we do?” someone asked. Roni, meanwhile, had lit a cigarette, with a trembling hand. Palaye did not stop him.

“We go round,” Rajan said. “It can't be that big. We'll walk very carefully-”

A sharp twang, then another, and several more, split the air, followed by a rushing, whizzing sound. Michel turned his head, his mind slow to process the sound as he saw things hurtling through the air, very fast. Arrows, sharp and quick. Slicing through the air, among them, raining down. Too fast to realise, to react. One slammed into a tree, with a thud. Another hit the ground. One whizzed right past Roni's face, so close it knocked the cigarette from his lips. A fourth buried itself in a bush. Another slammed into Michel's chest, and sank in deep.

He staggered back under the impact, with a sharp gasp. There were cries of fear, horror from around him. Wavering on unsteady legs, he looked down, dizzy. The arrow stuck out of him, held firmly in place where it had pierced his body. A harsh pain ran through him, and he felt suddenly giddy. His legs buckled. He collapsed backwards, limp. “Michel!” A sharp cry. Maram caught him as he fell, staggering in turn under his dead weight. The cry became a scream.

“MICHEL!!”

= = = = =

And now, the continuation…

Maram's scream pierced the forest air, amplifying the panic which swept through the group of survivors. The arrows had ceased raining down on them, but the unseen threat was still there, and people began to turn and run, or seek shelter behind the trees. There was no time. Having struck confusion among them, their attackers stepped into view, slinking out of the shadows, confronting them, at least two dozen in number.

They would have appeared human, were it not for their sharp, large, furry ears, and their swishing, cat-like tail. They were of human height, and, for the most part, lithe and athletic, their skin lightly sun-tanned. Their hair -which covered their ears and tail as well as the top of their head- varied from light yellow to black, encompassing also dark orange and more unusual shades, such as dark blue or purple.

They carried bows and arrows, lances and long knives.

“All of you, stay where you are,” a well-built young male snapped at the humans. “And be quiet!”

“Do as he says!” Rajan called out, trying to raise his voice above the frightened shouts.

“For goodness' sake, be quiet, all of you!” Palaye snapped in turn, tensely. Struggling against Michel's limp weight, Maram lay the young man down on the forest ground, and cradled him.

“Doctor!” she cried, shivering with shock, holding Michel pressed against her lap, the arrow still protruding from his bloodied shirt. Most of the survivors had stopped still, clinging to Rajan's instructions, but a few were still dashing away in blind panic. The apparent leader of the attackers watched them, and nodded at his archers. Rajan saw them, and his eyes widened.

“No!” he blurted out.

Four archers fired. Their arrows sailed through the air, and sank deep into the back of two fleeing humans, who staggered and collapsed with a yell. Rajan hurried forward towards the archers, but the leader stopped him, pressing the tip of a knife against his chest, glaring at him with hard eyes. A second volley of arrows brought down a third runner; two fleeing humans, further ahead, vanished among the trees.

“Get after them,” the attackers' leader said, addressing his soldiers but keeping his eyes on Rajan. The latter was seething.

“Who are you?”

“They're nekos,” Palaye told him, worried.

“We call ourselves Hslii. But you probably can't pronounce that.” The man gave a cold smile. “You're on our territory. Romping about, making a noise. What are you doing here?”

Rajan glared back into his eyes. He found hard confidence staring back at him. The neko's soldiers -of whom about half were women- had spread out, encircling the frightened group of humans. The pilot glanced at Michel. The young man was shivering hard; he was still alive, for now. Fabrice, the doctor, was kneeling beside him.

“You could have just asked us to stop!” Rajan told the neko, furious. “We're only passing through!”

“Why?”

“No concern of yours!”

The catman rolled his eyes, and turned to the large group of captives. “Which one of you is second in command? I want to know who to talk to after I've killed this idiot.” He pressed the tip of his knife against Rajan's chest. The pilot flinched, but stood his ground. Fabrice looked up, anger and worry on his dark face. His hands were stained with Michel's blood.

“Captain,” he said, in French. “I don't think any vital organs have been pierced. But I'll need something to cut the top of the arrow off, and then…”

“Just leave him,” the neko growled. “He's dead, anyway.”

Fabrice got to his feet, his face hard and angry. “No, he is not. And he's not going to die. I'm a doctor, and I'm going to help him. What kind of people are you?”

The catman opened his mouth to speak, but another neko stepped up to him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and shook his head.

“Let them help him.”

“There's no point!” the man snapped. He paused, and sighed. “Oh, all right.” He fixed Rajan with his glare. “You're all coming with us. You'll have to carry him.”

“We can't carry him!” Fabrice protested, firmly. “He must stay still.”

The neko turned to face him, raising his knife. “Don't irritate me!” His eyes blazed. “Your kind are a plague in this forest. Traipsing about, attracting predators on our land. We should kill you all here and be done with it.”

Fabrice held his glare without backing down.

“Are you going to kill us all somewhere else?”

“No…” the second neko put in, soothing. “No, we're not. We're not murderers.”

“That… how you say, remains to be seen,” Rajan replied darkly. “Doctor, will you look at the other victims, please?”

“I've just done that.” Andrew, the priest, walked up to them, shaken. “They're dead. All three of them.”

“Fewer prisoners to bring back, then,” the nekos' leader said casually. “Come on. Let's stop dawdling.” He looked at Palaye. “We can't bring the slug, though. She'll be too slow.”

Quickly, Rajan stepped between Palaye and the neko's knife.

“Don't you dare,” he said, his voice icy with anger.

“Nishti, stop it,” a third neko -a young female - said gently. “We're not killing anyone else.”

“Then you make sure the slug girl keeps up.” Nishti looked at Rajan. “Follow us. All of you. Now.”

Rajan faced him for a long moment, then nodded, quietly. Fabrice turned to Andrew.

“Help me carry Michel. Very much… careful, please.”

“Of course,” the priest said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He glanced up at the skies. His voice dropped to a whisper. “And may God help us all…”

A few minutes later, from the shadows between the trees, a pair of eyes watched the fifty or so humans being marched away by two dozen nekos. The catpeople who had been sent after the fugitives had killed one, and brought the other back, crying, after her surrender. Four corpses were left on the jungle floor, victims of swift and unexpected killings. The eyes watched the survivors depart. Silence fell on the patch of forest.

The eyes blinked, and their owner stepped out of the shadows. Lohai. His dark, bearded face was grave, troubled. For a moment, he was uncertain what to do. He had followed these people all the way since their arrival in this baffling, monstrous place, but now they had been captured by creatures he could only identify as evil spirits. Following them now would be suicidal. But what else could he do? Perhaps he could help. Somehow.

He cast a grim glance at the dead bodies, then began walking, in the footsteps of his fellow human beings.

* * *

Southern Highlands Province, Papua New Guinea, two months earlier

The rain pattered against the roof, trickling down across the open doorway of the simple but spacious wooden shelter. Lohai sat within, alone, legs crossed atop an intricately patterned mat. He watched the rain fall, his face thoughtful. Thick drops of water splashed on solid earth, gradually turning it to mud. In the distance, over the jungle, he heard the rumble of a thunderclap. It would continue raining for a while. He half closed his eyes.

Over the patter of rain, he heard a sneeze, and opened his eyes again. There was the sound of bare feet on the wet ground, then a man came into view, clambering up the short ladder into his shelter. Lohai acknowledged him with the barest of nods, but did not budge. The man -about his age, in his late twenties- remained by the entrance, as though he did not dare venture fully inside. His dark hair was wet with rain, trickling in rivulets down his dark cheeks.

“I need to talk to you.”

“You're talking to me now, Tuhi.” Lohai adjusted his legs to a more comfortable position.

“Lepani's garden is flourishing. His tubers are among the largest in his village. He has the magic to appease the spirits.”

“I know.”

Tuhi hesitated, then knelt down to look into his face. His expression was urgent.

“His magic is far greater than mine. I can't curse him. But yours…” Lohai raised a hand, to cut him off. Tuhi flinched, then pressed on: “I had to come to you! He's cruel to my sister. We should never have allowed him to take her as his wife. She has no friends among his people. None of them want to oppose him.”

Lohai looked into his eyes, calmly.

“I've told you. I won't curse his garden. I don't do that any more.”

“You haven't lost the knowledge. You still know the words.”

“Yes.”

“But you won't use them?”

Lohai breathed out a quiet sigh.

“Tuhi, if Lepani's tubers rotted in the ground…”

“Yes?”

“What would your sister eat?”

“She would come back,” Tuhi said forcefully. “She would have an excuse to leave him. If he's unable to feed her…”

Lohai shook his head.

“Then if you can't curse his garden, make him have an accident!” his clansmate pleaded. “I'll give you three of my best shells. A pig, if you like! I'm just concerned about my sister. Please, sorcerer. Make him… Make him step into water where women have trod, so that he'll fall sick and die.”

“No,” Lohai said, simply. Outside, it was raining harder, puddles forming on the soggy ground. Water poured from the leaves of the forest canopy. The two men looked at each other, one calm and firm, the other almost begging. “I'm tired of bringing misfortune to people. I'm not going to do it any more.”

Tuhi stood, shaking a little. “If you won't kill her husband, you're bringing misfortune to my sister. You're making a choice, sorcerer - whether you choose to act, or not to act.”

Lohai looked up at him, not in the least intimidated as the man loomed above him.

“We'll find another way to help her.”

Tuhi glared down at him, balling his fists.

“Use your magic! I'll pay you! You're a sorcerer; it's what you do!”

“No,” Lohai said again, very calmly.

Tuhi pointed a finger at him, shaking a little.

“I don't understand you! You're not making sense. You can bend the spirits to your will, but you won't do it?” Lohai said nothing, holding his gaze. Tuhi clenched his teeth. “You know, word of this will get about. If your forsake your magic… Our enemies won't fear you any more. Be careful, Lohai. If you don't keep them in your grip, you may not be able to call on the spirits when you need them. You'll become vulnerable. If someone else curses you…”

Outside, there was a flash of lightning. Tuhi jumped, and gasped. Lohai smiled, thinly.

“Don't you worry about me, Tuhi. Nobody is going to curse me.”

* * *

Oscar looked anxiously at Michel's tense, shivering body carried by the doctor and the priest. The young man was sweating hard, gasping out quiet moans of pain between occasional spasms. He seemed close to delirious. Oscar tore his gaze away and glanced at Fabrice's face. The doctor looked grim, and angry.

“Where are you taking us?” Oscar asked Nishti, the apparent leader of the nekos.

“Stop asking questions,” came the curt response. The neko was observing his surroundings as they walked, not bothering to look at the human. “And tell your friends to make less noise!” he snapped. “You're like a herd of glouteux!”

“They're angry and frightened,” Maram snapped back. “Maybe they'd be quieter if you said something to reassure them.”

A man in a white flight costume shook his head at her quietly. She did not know his name, but he was the third cockpit crewmember. The pilot was somewhere behind them, staying with the relatively slow Palaye, while the co-pilot of course had led an expedition into the jungle some days earlier; his fate remained unknown.

Nishti looked at her, irritated. A warm breeze rustled through the leaves of immensely tall trees, and whispered in the hair of the small humanoids far below. Michel groaned, twisting in pain, held up by Fabrice and Andrew. The priest struggled to keep a grasp on the young man's twitching legs. The neko glared at them.

“And keep him quiet, too!”

Andrew and Fabrice glared back at him, similar anger in the eyes of the priest and the doctor.

“Creatures of Satan,” Andrew muttered.

“What was that?” one of the nekos demanded, stepping towards him. The priest faced him without flinching.

“You know what you are, creature.”

“Oh really?” Nishti snarled. “Tell us, human.”

“Creatures of evil. Abominations in the eyes of Creation. Beasts with neither soul nor conscience. Ungodly perversions of the image of our Lord-”

One of the male nekos lunged towards him, hissing. A female grabbed his arm, holding him back. Just as quickly, Manon stepped into the space between Andrew and the catpeople, stretching out her arms as though to hold them apart. Her mute gaze was firm, demanding.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” the neko yelled at the priest. “You come on our land-”

“A man of the light!” Andrew thundered back. “Protecting this life, this precious human life, from your murderous, monstrous-”

“Manon, don't stand between them,” Fabrice urged his wife, tense and worried. She gave him an apologetic, almost beseeching look, and remained where she was.

“Stop it, all of you!” the flight crewmember ordered, his voice rising above the others. “This isn't hel-”

“Harpies!” the female neko screeched, pointing up at the sky.

Multiple pairs of eyes turned upwards all at once. The giant predators, two of them, had approached without a sound, gliding silently down to their prey, but now angled with a swoosh of wings to dive and attack. One swooped down towards the centre of the large group, and screams split the air as panic swept the humans. Nekos and humans scattered alike, in a chaotic, scrambling dash. The other harpy bore down upon the lead of the procession. Her claws snatched a hapless crash survivor along with a neko, while her large, gaping mouth lunged at a third prey - Oscar. The Caribbean man stood petrified, eyes wide as the gigantic, beautiful face filled his view… A force slammed into him, pushing him aside, a desperate Manon tackling his legs, toppling him. The harpy turned her neck, her mouth closing round another survivor instead. Then, with a flap of her wings, she ascended back into the sky - and away. As swiftly as it had started, out of nowhere, the attack was over. The terrified screams of the harpies' prey faded as they disappeared.

Oscar gasped, catching his breath, while Manon rolled off him, trembling. As gently and as quickly as they could, Fabrice and Andrew laid Michel down on the forest ground, and Fabrice hurried to his wife's side. He helped her sit up, and they embraced each other without a word, shivering with shock and relief.

Nishti whirled on the cockpit crewmember, seething.

“Now look what you've done!”

“What we've done?”

Rajan pushed through the stunned crowd behind them, his expression furious. His crewmate turned to him.

“Captain…” he said, stricken.

“Did it get people here, too? The other one got… three of us.”

“Two of us here,” he whispered. “And a neko.”

“We've lost Shrinet,” a pained catboy reported to Nishti. “The humans jostled her, she couldn't… get out of the way.” He gulped. “Some of the humans ran off. We're getting them back, but I think three of them got away.”

As one, Rajan and Nishti turned to glare at each other, eyes blazing with rage. Rajan pointed at the neko leader, and his voice trembled with anger.

“I get my people from the… how you… ruins, all the way here, and no-one is die. I get us all to… We meet you, and we lose four… six, nine… twelve people! You are make my people die, Nishti, and now it stop! You stop this, now!”

His face flushed with fury, the neko stepped up to him, and opened his mouth as though to yell in his face… then stopped, indeed, and they glared at each other for a long while in silence. Only the cries and whimpers of the stunned and grieving filled the air. Finally, Nishti spoke, through teeth clenched in anger.

“Nobody would die if you could… just… keep… quiet! You shut your people up, human, and you keep them shut up. Gods help me, I'll kill the next one of you who sneezes.” Before an outraged Rajan could reply, he turned away, addressing his fellow tribesmen. “Keep them moving, and keep them silent! We'll mourn for Shrinet and Laeki when we get home.”

* * *

It was another half hour, perhaps, before the surviving nekos led their forty-five surviving captives to a large, towering yet simple wooden structure in a narrow clearing between the trees : a rough square formed by thick, tight wooden fencing. Nekos unbolted the heavy doors, dragged them open, and Nishti motioned for his prisoners to gather inside.

Rajan had felt apprehensive as soon as they approached. If they allowed themselves to be locked in, confined, they would be even more vulnerable. Not only to their captors, but also to passing predators. He motioned for the passengers and crew to stop, in front of the open doors.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“You'll stay here until we've decided what to do,” said the female neko who seemed to have some calming influence over Nishti.

“Unprotected?”

“You won't be harmed in there,” she assured him calmly.

Rajan hesitated, and looked round. The nekos had deployed themselves round the large group, bows and arrows out and ready. He could have sworn they were more numerous, too, although he had neither heard nor seen the newcomers approach.

“There's no point in dawdling,” a male neko snapped. “You're wasting our time, and yours. It's not as if you have a choice.”

The captain glanced at his crewmate, who merely shrugged, helpless.

“All right,” Rajan said at last, trying to sound determined rather than reluctant. “Everyone, please go in. It's ok.”

Flight attendants began guiding the passengers -some of them protesting, others utterly docile- into the enclosed space. A small number refused to be locked up, but, when Nishti threatened to kill anyone who remained outside, they too entered the holding area. Rajan, the last to walk in, gave the armed nekos' leader a long, hard look, as the heavy doors were pushed shut.

“Well, damn,” Oscar commented.

Another of the men was more vocal. “Why did we let them lock us up? There are about five or six times more of us than there are of them! We could have taken them! What the hell are we doing in here?”

Rajan faced him, his expression still hard. “They have the… how you say…” He gestured the motion of arming a bow.

“Weapons,” Maram supplied.

“Yes, weapons. They have them, and we have not. If we… do not… If we fight, some of us die.”

“Better to fight for freedom,” the man insisted.

“I am not here to get you killed, sir.”

“Oh?” The man gestured round. “Now that we're stuck in here, you realise they could just set fire to the whole place and burn us alive?”

Rajan glanced round. “This took some time to build. Look at it. I do not think they would burn it down. Now excuse me, sir,” he said firmly, and turned away from him, towards Fabrice and Andrew. The two men had laid Michel down gently, and now sat on either side of him. The young man had sunk into unconsciousness, but was still shivering, sweat clinging to his pale skin. The nekos had agreed to break off the top of the arrow protruding from his chest, but the tip remained sunk within his torso.

“How is he?” Rajan whispered.

“Not good,” the doctor replied in French, a grim, haunted look in his eyes. “He has a fever. The wound itself is not critical, but judging by his state… The arrow must have been poisoned.”

Beside him, his wife Manon looked stricken. Her quiet eyes were fixed on Michel's pale, twitching face, restless even in sleep. A sinking feeling weighed down upon Rajan.

“Is there anything you can do, doctor?”

“With no medicine, no equipment? Not much.” He nodded at Andrew, whose hands were clasped and whose lips were moving in silent prayer. “He may be doing more than I can.”

Rajan lowered his voice further.

“Will he survive?”

“I don't know.” There was an air of helplessness on the heavyset black man's face. “I can't identify the poison. I'd need our captors to tell me what they put on their arrows.” His eyes locked onto the pilot's. “And I need them to give us an antidote.”

By that point, a small crowd had gathered round, seeing their leader focus on the injured passenger. A low groan of pain escaped Michel's lips, but he did not wake up. His legs kicked out, twitching. Maram knelt beside him, worried, while Oscar, Roni and Suvi stood beside her, looking equally concerned.

“Hey, he'll pull through,” Oscar said, sounding anything but convinced. “He's tough.” Roni nodded, silently, but Maram shook her head.

“How would you know?” she whispered. “We barely know him.”

Rajan was quiet for a few seconds, looking down at Michel, then shook his head in turn, almost imperceptibly.

“We need the nekos' medicine, then. Doctor, come with me.”

Manon watched her husband stand, and make his way to the door of the holding area. She noticed that it held a bolting mechanism on the inside as well as the outside, which suggested it could be used as a refuge, as well as to contain captives. She brushed that thought aside, her eyes on Fabrice as he knocked. After a moment, the door opened, as she saw him talk to a guard outside. Then he and Rajan were led out, and the door was closed.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Suvi whispered. “The cat-things going to help.”

“Maybe,” Andrew said, without looking at her.

“Maybe?” Roni echoed.

“They're not human beings,” the priest said simply. “They're creatures without souls. They know nothing of our Lord's compassion.”

Nobody seemed to have anything to say to that. Manon shifted her legs, sitting more comfortably, and gazed sadly at the poisoned young man. She knew almost nothing about him. She had gone with him, and others, on the futile expedition to the dimensional gate, but they had barely communicated during that time. In part, she knew, that was due to her muteness. Many people felt uncomfortable talking to her directly, knowing that she could only reply through her husband's interpretation of her sign language. But he seemed like a nice young man. And he had once told Fabrice that he was a medical student. Their only doctor, of sorts, other than Fabrice himself.

A thick silence weighed down upon them all, gathered -without purpose- around Michel. The sombre quietness made the sudden noise of a gurgling stomach seem particularly loud. She looked up, into Maram's blushing face.

“You're hungry?” Oscar whispered, sitting in turn beside the flight attendant. All of them seemed to be whispering now, while Michel lay there, in some undefined state between sleep and a coma, his breath slow and ragged. Maram shook her head, embarassed.

“I swallowed something, earlier,” she whispered back. “An insect. I don't think my tummy's happy with it.” Her stomach rumbled again, wetly. Andrew gave her an irritable look, as though she were doing it on purpose. Blushing once more, she stood, and left Michel's side, walking over to another group of survivors. Oscar glared back at Andrew.

“Why did you look at her like that?”

“It's indecent.”

What's indecent is arguing here, beside Michel, Manon thought. She would have said it out loud, had she been able to. But signalling the words with her hands would be pointless. Fabrice was not here to translate. She lowered her gaze, silent.

Michel gasped, a great, frantic gulp of breath, and opened his eyes. They all turned to him quickly, and Andrew put a hand on the young man's shoulder as he tried to sit up.

“Shh,” the priest said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Don't move.”

“Qu'est-ce… Qu'est-ce qu'il m…?” He was panting, confused, sweating hard. He tried to put his hand to his chest, where the severed arrow still protruded, but Andrew grabbed his wrist.

“Don't touch it,” he said firmly. “Lay down, Michel. Gently does it.”

Michel gasped, inhaling deep, frantic breaths. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he spasmed. There was panic on his face, the first tears trickling down his cheeks. As she watched, Manon felt tears fill her own eyes, too. Michel looked as though he no longer knew where he was, what was going on. The panic she saw in him was the terror of a man struggling feebly to understand - to understand anything at all.

“J'ai mal!” he whimpered, crying in pain and fear. “Ca fait mal, ça fait mal, ça fait-” He stopped, spluttering, choking on his own words. Manon got to her feet. Tears blurred her sight. She could not watch. She hurried away, and heard Andrew's voice, gentle and firm, trying to calm the thrashing Michel.

“Ca fait maaaaal!” he screamed, shaking, trying to claw at his own chest, while Andrew held his wrists.

“Michel, calm down. It's all right. Listen to me, my son. I know you're in pain.”

Michel screamed again, struggling and kicking in pain. “Pardon!” he gasped, in French, crying. “Pardon, pardon…”

“Shh, lie still.” Andrew leaned in, lowering his voice further. “Sorry? What are you sorry for? If you need to speak, my son, speak now. I'm a priest.”

Tears blinded the young man, and he whimpered, sobbing.

“Henri!” he gasped, choking the name out. “Pardon, j'voulais pas, j'voulais pas… J'voulais…” He stopped, coughing, and rolled onto his side, spluttering frantically. His face, pale with sickness, began to turn red. Andrew looked round, alarmed.

“He's choking! I think he's choking! Somebody, help!”

* * *

Outside the holding area, a lone man watched the closed door, hidden between the trees. Lohai's dark, bearded face was grave and thoughtful. He had seen two of his fellow human beings led out of the wooden structure, some time ago, and now he watched them being led back in. The pointy-eared creatures with a tail who had escorted them back exchanged a few words with the guards, then left again. Only two of the creatures remained, guarding the door. A male and a female.

Lohai stayed very still, in the shadows, still watching. The situation now seemed straightforward enough, but he was cautious. There was too much here that escaped his understanding. The creatures with the tails were unlike any spirit he knew of, and their motivations were unclear. Were they flesh and blood? They looked it, but looks could be deceiving. And where was he? In a spirit realm? Where had all these other human beings come from? They were not Papuans; they were not his people. Perhaps this was their spirit realm, and he had been drawn here by accident.

He was a man of knowledge, yet here, he knew nothing. Here, the spirits would not obey him. Here, the rules of life as he knew them might not apply. Perhaps this was the spirits' revenge. He had loosened his grip on them, back home. He had stopped invoking them - and now this had happened. There had to be a link. But he did not see how it could help him rescue the people trapped in that holding area.

He would have to adapt. Perhaps he could not curse these creatures, but he was not powerless.

He stepped out of the shadows, and gestured at them.

* * *

Drafili, the neko guard, leaned back against the wooden wall, and stifled a yawn. All things considered, he would have preferred not to be here. He did not really understand why Nishti had locked all these humans up here. Nor did he truly care, except that it meant he had to stand guard, out here, wasting his time on a pleasant day. Still -he thought, as he scratched behind his ear-, it was not all bad. At least they had put him here with Jinami. Sleek and slender, with her silky green hair and those mischievous blue eyes, she was quite a sight to watch, even when she was standing still. It alleviated some of the boredom.

It was just a shame that she already had a boyfriend. Tlassen was one damn lucky bastard.

She glanced at him, and he tried to pretend he hadn't been looking at her.

“Fancy a game?” she asked, in a voice that was playful and innocent all at once. He straightened up, with feigned casualness.

“Sure. What kind of game?”

“A mind game?” she suggested. “A game of memory? Edjaneh?”

Drafili smiled. “If you pick a game that you're sure to win… Doesn't that count as cheating?”

She laughed. “No, absolutely not!” She returned his smile. “Besides, sometimes I think you just let me win.”

“Me? Jin, I promise you, I never choose to lose.” He grinned… a grin which faded suddenly as he saw the naked human appear between the trees. She saw the expression on his face change, and she turned to follow his gaze even as he whipped an arrow from his quiver, arming his bow. He fired, the arrow hurtling through the air - and whizzing past the human, who stepped aside, back out of view.

“Where did he come from?” Jinami exclaimed, startled. “He was very quiet, for a human!”

“Probably a straggler. I'll see if I can catch him alive. Stay here!” He swapped his bow and arrow for a knife, and hurried towards the treeline.

“Don't you want me to come with you?” she called after him, as she armed her bow as well.

“Someone has to stay by the door!” he called back, and disappeared between the trees.

Jinami watched and waited, anxiously. As silence descended on the clearing -save for the voices of the humans behind the wooden wall-, she strained her sensitive ears towards the trees. Nothing. No sign of Drafili returning. She waited, and hesitated, trying not to feel nervous. All of a sudden, she felt very exposed. If the human had somehow overpowered Draf, he would now be armed with a bow and arrows, and could take aim at her from the shadows... She gulped, fighting off that particularly nasty thought, and considered warning Hirem, the third guard round the back. To do that, though, she would have to leave her post, leave the door unguarded. She hesitated some more.

“Drafi?” she called, tentatively.

There were no reply.

Biting her lip, she put down her bow, unsheathed her long knife, and walked towards the trees, moving with the practised silence of a huntress. The warm sunlight faded somewhat as she slipped into the shadows of the thick, tall trees. She sniffed the air. There was Drafi's scent, close by. And the scent of a human. She turned round... and picked up only a whiff. Perhaps the human was deliberately staying downside of the breeze. Or perhaps he was just lucky. She stepped forward through the underbrush, following her nose to her companion, her insides clenching at the thought of what she might find...

She came across Drafi sprawled out, face down, motionless on the forest ground. She stifled a little cry as she approached him, though a quick glance soon told her he was still breathing. He was unconscious, but alive.

Now, where was the human?

She turned, just in time for Lohai to slam the butt end of Drafili's knife against her skull. Stunned, dizzy, she staggered back, and tried to face her attacker. The human darted round behind her, grabbed her, and disarmed her with a vicious blow to her forearm. She tried to grab him in turn, but he was pressing something against her neck, squeezing. She struggled, her elbows slamming into his chest, her legs swiping at his own, but to no avail. It soon became difficult to breathe. Eyes wide, she croaked out a gurgling moan, and fought until her mind, starved of oxygen, plunged her into unconsciousness. Lohai released her limp body, and tossed aside the arrow he had used to press her windpipe.

It seemed these `spirits' were flesh and blood after all.

With a brief smile of grim satisfaction, he made his way towards the wooden holding area.

* * *

Sweat pearled on Fabrice's dark forehead as he rubbed a semi-liquid paste, as gently as he could, round Michel's bloodied wound. The nekos had given him a substance which they claimed might help - although they seemed dubious about its usefulness to humans. Inside the holding area, the other survivors stayed back, clear from the doctor and his deteriorating patient.

Michel was utterly delirious now, the poison gripping his mind even as it ravaged the inside of his body. His skin was deathly white, with blue blotches highlighting his visible veins. After thrashing and screaming for a long time, his strength seemed to have left him, and he did little now but twitch and moan. Tears stained his cheeks. His breathing came in shallow gasps, increasingly erratic. He remained conscious - barely.

As Fabrice's fingers coaxed the dark greenish substance into the open wound, inevitably mixing it with freshly squirting blood, the properties of the neko medicine began their slow spread through Michel's bloodstream, swept off to battle the poisin within. Fabrice's face was set, hardened against his own, intense emotions.

For a surgeon, he had never been able to take the detached approach.

His wife stood within the crowd, tears in her sensitive, pale blue eyes. She was not crying only for Michel. She, alone, knew what her husband was feeling. She cried, too, for the helplessness all of them felt. For a young man struck down at random, with no warning, for nothing. Even Palaye looked hurt, quiet amidst the crowd.

Fabrice's steady hands worked round the wound, coaxing the medicine to work, to pursue the fight for Michel's life. He wiped his brow, picked up a gourd, and poured a trickle of water gently into Michel's mouth. The young Frenchman spluttered, and coughed. Their eyes met. Feelings raged in Michel's blue eyes. Pain, confusion, a primal, blunted fear, and something else, struggling to pierce through.

“I never meant…” he breathed, in French, his voice ragged.

“I know,” Fabrice soothed him. He did not, but it was what the young man needed to hear. The pain in Michel's eyes softened, just a little. Fabrice thought he saw reassurance there. Michel coughed, hard, blood on his lips, and blinked against fresh tears in his eyes.

“All my fault…” he whispered.

“I'm sure it wasn't,” Fabrice said, very gently.

“I'm so sorry…” Michel's voice was barely audible, as he began to cry. Something in that heartfelt, pitiful whisper clenched at Fabrice's own heart, and he turned away, his eyes moist. As he did so, he saw Andrew approach.

It took him a moment to realise what the priest wanted. When he did, he felt cold, and shivered.

“No,” he said, angry.

“Can you save him?” Andrew asked, his voice far too calm.

“Go away,” Fabrice said. As though, somehow, the priest were here to steal his patient. To kill him… It was an irrational feeling, so powerful he could not fight it.

“Doctor…”

“Leave him alone,” Fabrice whispered, gulped, and wiped his blood-stained hand over his eyes. “I haven't finished. He's going to be all right.”

“Doctor…” Gently, Andrew nodded downwards. Fabrice followed his gaze, to Michel's face. The young man's eyes were still open, still wet with tears, but the emotion there was gone. Dead, sightless eyes staring up forever at the sky.

“Oh…” Stricken, Fabrice gazed back into them, until his own tears blurred the dead man's face into a shimmering haze of colour… Close by, Maram cried, softly, and Manon held her in a gentle, comforting hug.

With a loud, heavy creaking sound, the thick door to their holding area was pulled open. All eyes, other than the doctor's and the dead man's, turned to see Lohai standing, quite naked, with a proud but awkward grin in the entrance way.

* * *

Southern Highlands Province, Papua New Guinea, several days earlier

Lohai sat by the source of a small stream, his legs crossed, watching the gentle trickle of water burble into a meandering rivulet. Beside the source was a weather-worn rock, the imprint of years tracing rough patterns over its surface. Firmly grounded in damp earth, it seemed to stand peaceful guard over the clear water. Lohai knew better than to sit on it. This place had history, infused with the spirits of his people's ancestors. His relations with the spirits had entered a time of uncertainty; he would not compound the problem by literally sitting on them.

“You still obey me,” he said, his voice calm and clear. “You realise that, don't you? I still know the words, the rituals. You can't escape those.”

There was no reply. Not in any conventional sense. A faint breeze whispered through the trees, and touched the bare skin of his back. He smiled.

There had been a lot of rumours, since he had stopped using his powers to harm the clan's enemies. His kin did not understand why he had changed. Not that he was entirely certain himself. It just… felt right. He had considered the possibility that the spirits were trying to trick him, to free themselves by playing on his will, but he preferred to believe that his decision came from the advice of benevolent ancestors, whispered in forgotten dreams. And if he were doing the wrong thing, the ancestors would have told him.

He cupped the fresh water in his hands, and drank, splashing some over his face in the hot, humid air. Birds let out their wild, musical calls - the only beings that dared make a sound in this secluded area. Lohai felt peaceful, serene. Coming out here enabled him to escape the pressure of a tight-knit community, and the puzzled gazes of his kin. This was his place. Alone, with the invisible presence of the spirits.

He heard a tingling, rustling sound, unfamiliar to his ears, and straightened up from the stream, cautious and alert. What was that? From the corner of his eye, he sensed a brightness, and turned quickly to face it.

He stared, into the shimmering, sparkling whiteness advancing in a rush between the trees. It was unlike anything he had ever known, and for a second he stood petrified, unable to identify it. In a world where everything was known to him, the eruption of the unknown left him stunned. The bright wave of air and light accelerated towards him in a soundless roar, and his lips parted, mouthing the beginning of a spell- Too late. The brightness engulfed him, and swept him away.

When it faded, he was still in a forest, but all the trees had changed, towering above him. People pressed round him, human in appearance, yet different, many with skin paler than his own, and heavily dressed in multicoloured clothing. There was also a large, damaged object, which he eventually identified as a particularly large aeroplane. His mind spun, disoriented. He looked round, confusion welling up into fear. Several of the people shouted, the sounds so strange that he understood not a single word.

“Where am I?” he shouted back, sweeping his arm out in a wide gesture to encompass the forest. Several of the people scrambled back, seeming frightened of him. He spun round to face them, his eyes darting round at the puzzled, foreign faces. “Where am I?”

* * *

“Come on,” Lohai told his fellow human beings, motioning for them to leave the confines of the holding area. “You're free now.”

They could not understand his words, but the open door, and his simple gesture, were clear enough. They began to hurry past him, out into the small clearing. He watched them, still fascinated by their diversity, their very presence here. He still did not know where he was, nor how he had ended up here. If the spirits had struck back against his weakness, snatching him away and depositing him here -of their own accord, or on the guidance of his enemies-, then who were all these other people, and why where they here too?

Perhaps, he realised, it did not matter. They were actual human beings, like him, and he could help them. Mysterious strangers they were, yet the closest thing here to familiar faces.

“Come on, come on,” he urged them, as they made their way out of confinement. Two dark-skinned men were carrying a pale, dead body. The sight, in a strange way, gave Lohai some measure of reassurance. These people were sticking together, in the face of adversity. They did not abandon even the dead.

They were, indeed, human.

His magic might not work here, but, perhaps, if they accepted him, he would no longer be alone.

Rajan moved out of the holding area with the other survivors, and stopped to face the dark, naked, bearded man who had rescued them. They looked at each other for a moment - the leader of the crash survivors, and the outsider who had joined them at last.

“Thank you,” Rajan said, simply. “Will you stay with us now?”

Palaye slithered up beside them, and Rajan saw Lohai flinch, a puzzled wariness in his eyes. He stood his ground, however, staring at her, unashamedly curious. Rajan gave a slight smile.

“This is Palaye. She has been helping us, too. Palaye, this is… Lohai, right? He arrived at the same time as we did, I think. From… I don't know where. He saved a little girl from a river we-”

He stopped, as he saw a neko appear from behind the angle in the wall. Unheard, Hirem, the third guard, had slunk round from the back of the structure, and stood now with his bow armed, pointed at them. Rajan opened his mouth to shout out a warning, but Palaye had seen him too. With a startlingly quick reflex, she spat, a gob of slime hurtling the short distance through the air and splatting into the neko's face, knocking him down. Rajan pushed past Lohai, and ran to the fallen guard. He tossed the man's weapon aside, then leaned down and punched his slime-sticky face repeatedly, until the neko lay still.

He straightened, and looked back at group of survivors.

“Lohai, where are the other guards?”

The Papuan frowned, and shook his head, not understanding.

“Not matter. Come on, everyone. We move.” The survivors nodded, relieved but still visibly tense, and Rajan looked at Michel's body, carried once more by a grim-faced Fabrice and Andrew. Sorrow gripped him, but there was no time for it now. They needed to leave, before any nekos returned, and move on again towards the great tree. The solemnity was partly dimmed by the urgency in his voice. “We will bury him when we are far enough away.”

[To be continued…]