The Eden Isle Traders

ONE.

Chelsee passed the time by staring at the ceiling and aching, and occasionally expelling the grain from his stomach. The best was when the hurt was so intense it consumed all of his thoughts. But as the days drained, he felt better, and consequently more idiotic.

The infirmary-men had told him later that the demon had likely chosen him for his Iso, which was a gross irony he wasn't yet ready to reckon with. She had established her magic in him at first eye contact, and from thereafter the pull had grown more and more difficult to resist. It threw him at first, when he thought back on the moment they had shared in the mess hall. He'd thought it profound and romantic at the time. To think all along, the end result would've been the same. Even still, he missed her gentle touch, silly as it was. It was uncommon to find aboard.

"Did she give you a name?" the infirmary-man had asked him, deadpan.

The embarrassment had been the hardest to shake. It had not taken long before the news of his misjudgement had run through the ship like a disease. His meals were delivered with snide sideway glances, and sniggers stalked the halls as men passed by the infirmary. Only Milton had been so bold as to confront him directly.

"You know, if they hadn't found you in time, she would've quaffed your soul up through her cunt," he'd said. "You'd've been a goner, but I bet it would've felt wicked."

It was the most popular he'd been aboard so far, and he hated it even more than when he was invisible. He felt the ship still, and he knew soon Akil would come to collect him for his journey. He fumbled with his quill, which felt dull and foreign in his hand, and produced script that was barely legible.

The worst, he wrote, was how he had made a laughing stock of his Iso. The crew regarded him now like a teenage boy. He had waxed about his Want, and his resistance to the Temptations of Flesh, but in the end, only he had snuck away in the night, basically prepubescent, unable to resist his first woman. But pleasure was difficult to resist when one was actually in its throes. A thought creeped up on him, that Akil had been right on this point all along, which frightened him. A solution, he wrote, was to refuse pleasure altogether.

It is a currency the same as coin. Most men have not the resolve to keep themselves from temptation.

Then, bored, Chelsee wrote about sex. He wrote about how good it felt to have a hand touch his penis. How novel the sensation of the pull. It felt nice to have somewhere for the stiffness to go. It felt nice to be invited in. He drifted back off to sleep with his parchment on his lap, and an erection poking from underneath the linen.

When he awoke again, Akil stood over him. His writings splayed and crumpled as he sat up. "Did you read these?" he asked uncomfortably, the sleep still falling from his mind.

Akil smiled. "Best dry yourself and gather your things, consult. The cliffs of Meo await."

TWO.

"He knows not the way."

"He knows. He already said he knows."

The hill had grown so pitched that Chelsee's calves burned with the effort of climbing its face. He slipped on a bout of wet soil and steadied himself with a tree branch, splattering mud onto the hem of his garb, but he was cautious to not despair.

"We spend a healthy time mastering this," he warned. "Some much longer than others."

"He will repeat himself again," Illya sighed, "simply because he likes hearing himself talk."

Then, the rain poured as if the ocean had opened up above them and collapsed. Reflexively, they reached to steady themselves with the trees.

"You must accept the path for what it is," Chelsee hollered. He wrapped his arms and legs around the base of a tree and hugged tightly. Now, the hill had pitched almost vertically. His satchel of parchments swung, threatening to fall if not fastened by its strap. "It is not good nor bad. It simply is!"

When the rain had let up, they took to climbing the trees like ladder rungs.

Even with its vile temperament, the cliffs were ripe with life. Bugs buzzed in his ear, and bit at him. Creatures hummed, and droned, and dashed across the brush before Chelsee could spot them. Pieces of bark flaked off as he climbed, where some mysterious corrosion had burnt the trees to crisp. He wondered what sort of a creature could do that, and then set the thought aside when he realized he would rather not know.

Chelsee had a good bit more strength on his side since the last time he attempted the cliffs. Then he had fallen many times, and despaired it was impossible. Illya and Jordana did not have this problem, at least not on the surface. They climbed ahead, pulling themselves up with the ease and strength of monkeys, though Chelsee knew they were the reason this had gone on so endlessly.

Akil hoisted himself onto the trunk beside him and stopped. "We should rest for the eve. It'll be too dark soon to see properly anyway."

"It won't matter if we cannot get past the act," Chelsee said. "I've seen it before that the hill will stretch on endlessly. You cannot brute-force your way past."

"We've been at this half the day," Akil said.

"I agree with consult. It matters not." Illya said simply.

Chelsee was surprised. "Thank you, "

"Because he knows not the way."

He tempered his frustration, because he knew it would not help the state of the cliffs. Chelsee's arms already burned from the effort of carrying his weight, and the threat of the fall down did nothing for his unease. If he carried on this way, then they would truly be stuck.

"I've said it already. You cannot force your way out of the magic of the Meo." It felt good to stop and straddle the tree. "If you feel as if you have grasped your own state of being, which I strongly urge you to reconsider," he shot a pointed look at the twins, "then the way out of the cliffs is to accept the state of them, and move forward without expectation."

"This way this, this way that. You make complicated, but is simple." Illya jutted a trunk-like finger at him, and then at the forest. "This is path ahead. We go this way, and eventually we reach the destiny." He looked to Akil, his brows furrowed. "Destiny. This is how you say this?"

"Destination. We reach our destination."

"That," Illya said. "That is all we need to know."

"This will go on forever if you keep thinking like that," Chelsee said, irritated. "You will feel it when you have accepted your second act, and the way will become exceedingly clear to you." But Illya had turned his back to him already, and continued climbing. Branches shook and dropped leaves with the weight of him. Once he saw that Illya had moved on, Jordana too resumed climbing.

"You cannot go on forever!" he shouted up at him, but the trees swallowed his words. "Your strength will not allow it! You must accept first!"

"I care not for this-way Iso bullshit," Illya hollered back down.

"Then, fine!" Chelsee had reached his boiling point. "But it will be the death of you."

With a suddenness and a force he could barely comprehend, Illya had dropped down onto his tree, and glared storms at him. "I will be death of you first, if you not careful."

"Enough," Akil said.

"No. Let him speak. I want to hear apology."

"My ego is not so undisciplined that I cannot apologize when I am wrong," Chelsee said. "But I am sorry for nothing."

Illya sneered. "Me too." He pushed his palm into Chelsee's chest, and despite his efforts to cling on, he went springing down onto the trunk directly below. He fell flat on his back, his shoulders and legs conforming around the much thinner bark. The pain rushed into him. He could hardly muster a cry.

"Wilona specifically said not to kill kim!" Akil bellowed. "Are you suddenly so hot-headed that you no longer follow orders?"

"Am I not now hunter?!" Illya defended. "I know difference between regular push and killing push!"

Akil's head jutted out from his position above. In the darkness, Chelsee could only see his silhouette. "Are you hurt?"

"He is stick! Of course he is hurt."

Akil climbed down with half of Illya's ease, but enough to make Chelsee realize he was completely outpaced by all of these men. It created a twinge of inferiority in his chest. Funny. He wondered if perhaps he was the one holding them back.

"Ugh. He's bleeding," he said, loudly enough to carry to the twins. Akil looked up at them. "Let's stop for the night. I'm tired anyway."

"Fine," Illya agreed. "We sleep, then we go my way."

Chelsee stayed on his back, and said nothing.

THREE.

He should have kicked up more of a fuss about going. They very well could get stuck on these cliffs forever now, because of those two idiots. He should have known it, too. They were not of Iso. They had no care to be.

It was at least nice to sleep among the stars, and the breeze was cool on his skin. He returned his attention to his teachings. It was too dark to write, but his spine hurt, and he needed a distraction. It was something about... the world, its likeness. The thoughts evaded him.

... Only he had touched ground here. Should he not then guide the voyage? Is that not what he was sent here to do? A thought made its way in: that he was ill-fitting among these other men, and they knew it. They were spry like adventurers, and had the strength of hunters. Among the consults it mattered not the differences, because among those men he could always find common ground. But aboard it was apparent the common ground was a barren nothingness, and here in the cliffs it was impossible to ignore. With every step he gangled.

... But then, that was a realization. He wanted to lead because he wanted to show them something of Iso, his own contribution to the voyage, in the hope that they would accept him. Chelsee could name the feeling then: desolate.... But then, that did not make sense, because he neither liked nor respected the twins. He longed for his pen, aching to make sense of this, and aching in general.

The branches beside him began to crunch.

"Is someone there?"

"Aye," Akil said after some time. "I did not think anyone was awake."

"I couldn't sleep either," Chelsee admitted freely.

"... Right."

His eyes wandered listlessly up, to where the twins somewhere slept; no doubt soundly, which was the blessing of having no thoughts to bog you down.

"What keeps you?" Chelsee did not expect him to answer honestly.

There was a pause, filled in by the thrum of the night. They were too far in to hear the ocean anymore, which was strange on Chelsee's ears after so many nights at sea. It had once disturbed his sleep with its whooshing and its constant motion, but now the stillness and the silence of the night felt incomplete.

"My thoughts are with Captain Wilona," Akil said. "I suppose I worry for her."

"I see," he said slowly. "Why do you worry?"

"Not anything I would share with the likes of a prying ear," he said, remembering himself. "I wish for her success is all. I'll make you regret it if you repeat it."

"But you do not foresee her success. Otherwise it would not keep you awake," he guessed. "It is a problem born of resisting the way that it is." He said it with a familiarity, almost unthinking. His tongue had taken these shapes many times,

the way that it is

. Then, a realization unfogged. "I think you shared with me not to indulge my curiosity, but so I would now know what you know, which is that it is you that is holding our journey up on the cliffs."

Akil paused again, which was beginning to irritate him. "I had a suspicion."

"Why would you not say? I could have helped," he demanded.

"I am a man," Akil said, offended. "Why would I not attempt to find my own way?"

"Fine. Find your own way. Goodnight."

Branches thrashed and snapped as Akil made his way over to Chelsee. He did not say it to call a bluff necessarily, although he knew that that would be the outcome. It was the same with every man of the sea. They were too proud to admit that they needed help until it was yanked from them, and then the desperation kicked in.

"It is my duty to get her what she wants. Is it not?"

Chelsee opened his eyes. "But you do not think it possible?"

"I think it not... practical."

He sat up slowly, so as not to rouse the panging in his back. "But if you cannot accept the outcome of it, you cannot accept the way of the cliffs. That is the crux of it."

Akil considered. "Then I cannot accept."

"But then we cannot proceed through the cliffs. So is the magic of them," Chelsee said evenly, as if he hadn't been repeating it for the whole of their journey already.

"So what then?" Akil asked. "Surely there is another way. Surely not everyone that comes here is as devout and passionless as you." He said it like he was describing the black of the night, and Chelsee surprised himself with how much it stung.

Hesitation pulled at him. "There is a way in, that they would offer the studying consults when they could not face the cliffs," Chelsee said slowly. "It is mostly up to you, still, but I could show it to you. Or what I remember of it."

Akil perked up. "Go on then."

"It's... intimate," he warned.

Akil stared blankly at him. "Do you think me diseased?"

"No," Chelsee fumbled. He supposed that was his fault, to assume, though he feared Akil did not fully know what he was asking of him. He battled his want to be helpful, while knowing there was no possible way that this would end well. But then again, what choice did they really have? To return back the way they came, empty-handed? He suspected the pirates wouldn't even hear it. To venture forward forever then? And for himself, how long could he truly go on, demoralized in this way?

"You have to take my hands, for this first part," he said.

"You consults..." Akil groaned, and set his hands in Chelsee's. His hands felt calloused, foreign to him, but strong. It was strange to feel, set against his usual distant easiness.

Chelsee bowed his head and offered the chant of Meo, or his best approximation of it. As he chanted, cords grew several points on his crown down to his lower spine, and connected themselves to Akil. With it came a warm sense of bearing. It was a connection that consults recognized as sacred, an interweaving of years of familiarity in one pass. This was a delicate state for men. They were not entirely themselves. Akil breathed it in, on the cusp of making fun, but even he could only be in awe of the magic.

His gaze floated down to the sacral cord, which connected his genitals to Chelsee's. Chelsee blanched. "These are the roots that compose meaning to all men," he explained. "Naturally some are... more primal than others."

Akil passed his hand through the cord. Its glow flittered, and sang a single low note as it was disturbed, but it did not break. "They're not solid," he wondered.

"They're representative of something," he said. "A bond we now have. I can't remember the specifics," he admitted.

Akil nodded, thinking. "So what now?"

"It's better on the ground, but I suppose for this circumstance, you could simply lay flat."

It was a bit like a calf walking for the first time. He knew the direction he should go, the shape of the steps, but not how to do it exactly. "I suppose it could be a matter of the heart," he said aloud, more to talk himself through.

He laid his hands in the center of Akil's torso, and pushed hard, hard enough to break the bones and enter the root of the problem. The night sky collapsed into the trees, and then onto the two of them. Together, they ventured into the heart root.

Seated at the table was Wilona, the twins, and a small girl Chelsee didn't recognize. He guessed it was the captain's quarters by the writing desk at the head of the room, and the lavish tapestries on the walls. To his eye, the room was expensive, but garish. In one corner, there was a petrified head, mid-shout, sitting on a marble column. There were several horns that took space on the wall, and several weapons of varying material. The hide of an impossibly large serpent had been placed underneath the dining table. This was a trophy room, as much as it was a quarters. It was bizarre experiencing it through Akil. Not just through his vision, but also his being. He could sense the familiarity they shared. He could taste the crunch of the bread.

Wilona sat at the table's head, ingurgitating a slab of boar's meat. Chelsee hadn't realized how large she was, even sitting down. She was at least Akil's height, if not taller, and she was solid, like the boar she was devouring. Her muscles writhed and flexed as she ate. He felt a pang of appreciation, watching her eat like a man might. He knew it was admiration that belonged to Akil. For himself, he had only formally met the captain once.

"We could keep up with the bounties even still. Amass our wealth. It would take time to find it anyway," Wilona said. "Likely years. Possibly the decade." She took another bite.

"We have time," Illya said. "Is worth it."

"And would we be returning this to its highest bidder? Or its rightful owner?" Akil asked.

This rattled Chelsee. The thought bubbled up first as if it had been his own mind, and when Akil spoke his mouth moved involuntarily to take the shapes. He was merely a presence here, a being within a being, experiencing everything with no say of his own. His heart seemed to pump stronger than usual, and he sat up straighter than he normally would've. Is this what it was like to be Akil? He didn't know a man could take up space so willingly.

Wilona drank casually. "I've not decided yet."

Akil shook his head, amazed. Chelsee wanted to giggle when he felt it as if his own neck moved, but it was swallowed up by his lack of being. "With this big a bargaining chip, it hardly matters."

"Sounds fun," Illya sat back in his chair. His plate was empty. "We three are in."

"Excellent. And Akil?"

"I'd follow you endlessly," he said. It was the most alight Chelsee had seen him, and for that matter, it seemed a far off time ago.

This was the wrong root. He pulled them out before he intruded too far.

Akil clutched his chest, looking irritated. His eyes remained closed. "Go where you are needed, consult," he warned.

This mediation agitated most men in this way. It was difficult for them to surrender, even the consults that knew of the unpredictable nature of the roots. When it came to the dealings of man's most important memories, most were inclined to protect them with a fierceness. The guides of Meo were especially chosen to be able to handle these outbursts. His own guide had offered him a kind sympathy when he had entered his own heart root, which was a memory Chelsee tried to think of only when necessary. If this was at all a similar feeling to Akil's, he understood him.

"When we entered into the chant, we entered into a bond of secrecy," he said. "It would not be of Iso to leverage it against you. Consider it forgotten."

"Alright..." Akil did not look convinced.

"However, we must proceed before morning. I do not think your heart root is the problem."

Akil groaned, and dropped his hand from his chest. "Be quick then."

Chelsee studied him. It would be easier with a more forthcoming participant. He supposed if Akil loved Wilona, the problem could be sacral? His hands hesitated, and then placed themselves just above his groin.

Akil jerked up, and gripped Chelsee's bicep. He winced in pain. This was a delicate state for men, he reminded himself. They were not entirely themselves. "It is where the sacral root lies," he said carefully. "I'm to explore all options, am I not?"

Akil forced him into a stare, assessing. They were almost nose to nose. Chelsee could feel his breath, and could feel the intensity of his emotions as if they were his own. He wanted to hit him, which meant Akil wanted to hit him, which is how he knew he needed to tread carefully. Was this always how he operated? It was no wonder he was always so charged. In the same way Akil's anger flowed through Chelsee, did the fear and the weight of responsibility flow through Akil?