Rosario and the Island - Part 2

Rosario and the Island - Part 2

I didn’t know a damn thing about boats, so it was beyond fantastic that Morgan was there to help. I stood just behind him as he steered the boat, keeping him on the right course, and wondered why the island hadn’t vanished. I’d fully expected it to do so, since it had got hold of Dad, but maybe he was keeping it busy.

For whatever reason, I couldn’t stop thinking of the island as a living being, and that worried me, especially because my gut had yet to betray me. As we drew closer, I heard a quiet gasp from my companion, and figured that we were close enough that he could finally see it. I studied our destination curiously, hoping to discern where my father could have vanished off to. It was cone-shaped and covered in thick grass, with a copse of trees at the top, and there was, strangely, a dock attached. Morgan steered us towards the dock, and I jumped down to secure the boat to a bollard. The jump surprised both of us, because I nearly cleared the entire dock, and it was about twenty feet wide. I teetered on the edge before managing to step backwards to safety, then stared down at my feet in consternation before remembering the boat. I secured the mooring line to the bollard, then waited for Morgan to join me.

“That was some leap, missy,” he said. “Had I ever doubted, that would have proven that you’re Stefanos’s kid.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that before,” I said, then realized that wasn’t entirely true. Back in elementary school, when I was about eight years old, we were doing an obstacle course in the gym, and we were required to jump over a space of about four feet. My other classmates either tripped over it or cleared it, but when I jumped, I ended up jumping over that space and bypassing two other obstacles on the way, my progress only halted when I crashed into a pile of sandbags. After that, I’d never participated in that class again, or in gym class. My parents had been all too eager to cover it up, and I’d completely forgotten about it.

I smiled without humor, then set off across the dock, Morgan following. We stepped off onto soft, spongey grass, but through the soles of my sneakers I could feel that there was a hard surface under all the grass and dirt. I wondered at it, but there wasn’t time to try and figure it out - we had to find Dad. I could only see that he might’ve gone into the trees, because there was no other obvious place for him to be. This in mind, Morgan and I began to climb the hill. It was somewhat steep, but a short climb nonetheless, so when we arrived in the copse we weren’t at all out of breath - until we saw what the copse contained.

In the center of the trees was a small, shallow pool of water lined with moonstones and blue sapphires, with an enormous pink-orange padparadscha. I’d never seen a gemstone so large; it had to be at least a foot in diameter. Before I could investigate further, however, we heard a strange noise approaching from the opposite direction, and Morgan and I hid behind a couple of trees. I peeked around the side in time to see an old woman climb out of a mortar and stand beside the pool.

She said, in a strong, clear voice, “Turn on your side, stone, and let me through!”

The phrase was repeated twice before the padparadscha flipped over and grew larger, covering the other stones and forcing out all the water. Then it cracked and opened, and the old woman climbed back in her mortar and went through. As soon as she’d disappeared into the tunnel, the gemstone closed and returned to its normal size, and the water slid back into the pool, settling with only the slightest of ripples.

Morgan and I waited for what seemed like hours, until we heard, very faintly, a voice call four times, “Turn on your side, stone, and let me through!” The padparadscha turned over and pushed the water out of the pool, then opened, and the woman emerged and went away. After a few moments, Morgan and I left our hiding places and walked to the edge of the pool.

I cleared my throat, then said the phrase three times. At first, it seemed as if it wouldn’t work - but then the padparadscha turned over, and moments later, cool, almost gelatinous water sloshed around our ankles. I leaned over the hole in the ground, staring down into the darkness, then jumped in without hesitation.

The tunnel was not as deep as I’d thought, and my ankle twisted uncomfortably as I hit the bottom, since I hadn’t tried to absorb the impact in any other way. Before I could even grimace, though, I was being whisked away, and I realized that the tunnel was actually more of a natural slide. I glanced back, and in the rapidly fading light, saw Morgan’s boots as he followed me. I turned back to look at the tunnel ahead of me, wrapping my arms around my head as best I could so that I wouldn’t get brain damage, and when I was abruptly catapulted into the air, I very nearly screamed.

Instead, I looked down, and saw similar alarm on the face of a young Indian man sitting below.

I crashed into him, but Morgan, fortunately, saw me fall and dug in his heels so that his descent was slowed. When he reached the end of the tunnel, he dropped out on his own and hurried over to make sure I was alright. I was a few kinds of stunned, but my fall had been broken by the elegantly dressed fellow beneath me. I rubbed my nose, which had smacked painfully against his forehead, and climbed off of him.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Not really,” the young man said, looking up at me with a disgruntled expression. His long black hair was fanned out beneath him, almost as if it had been arranged, and his gold jewelry and rich clothing were in attractive disarray. His skin was clean and unblemished, his features fine, his black eyes alight with annoyance. I was torn between wanting to paint him and wanting to hit him.

“Who are you?” I inquired, getting to my feet and dusting off my jeans. “And have you seen anyone other than the old woman?”

“I am the Peacock King,” the man replied, looking painfully smug. “I have not seen any one other than the old woman - I have, however, seen a dragon.” He lifted a hand and examined his perfect fingernails. “That’s why I came here in the first place. Alas, I was trapped for my efforts.”

“I’m inclined to leave you here,” I told him bluntly, “but if you’re willing to be useful, feel free to come along.”

He lazily propped himself up on one elbow and looked up at me, and for the first time, some thoughtfulness came into his eyes. “Don’t I know you?” he asked.

“I doubt it,” I said. “I think I’d remember.”

I turned and examined the walls of the room, then made my way towards the only other tunnel. It seemed shorted and more level than the last one, so I climbed in. Behind me, the Peacock King got to his feet and shot an imperious look Morgan’s way before following me. I had to duck my head to avoid the ceiling, but the Peacock King, who was a couple of inches shorter than I, had no trouble at all, though he didn’t seem to like that he was shorter than I. I ignored his grumbling until we reached the end of the tunnel, and I hurriedly shushed him before peering out.

The tunnel opened into a cavern, which had a small opening at the opposite end. Through it, I could just barely see the ocean, but that wasn’t what caught my attention. What did was the multitude of winged snakes that lined the floor and the shelved walls and, occasionally, fluttered through the air. In the middle, on a raised dais, was curled a gigantic snake that possessed no wings but had two heads and two forearms. Its tail was coiled around a knife that had been thrust into the ground - a knife similar to the one my father had held. I scanned the room, but saw no sign that my father was there, or that he’d been there and been eaten. I was about to try and look elsewhere when movement at the mouth of the cave caught my eye. I stared intently, then held back a sigh of relief when I saw my father crouching in the shadows. He hadn’t seen me, so I quietly stepped back into the tunnel.

“Morgan,” I whispered, “stay here and keep an eye out for the old woman. I’m pretty sure she’s Baba Yaga, so try not to attract her attention - but if she comes this way, call out.”

Morgan nodded grimly, but the Peacock King frowned. “What about me?” he asked in a whisper that was nearly a whine. I looked at him thoughtfully, then smiled, having thought up the perfect use for him.

He was not pleased at being kicked out of the tunnel and into the pit of snakes, even less so when he realized that nearly all of them could fly, but he drew his sword and proved himself an admirable distraction. I quickly snuck around the edge of the room to my father’s hiding place, being careful that the wingless zilant didn’t see me. My father looked surprised, but accepted my presence with a welcoming nod. I gave him a quick hug, then settled beside him and watched, impressed, as the Indian I’d assumed to be useless showed a talent for killing the lesser zilants.

“What should we do?” I quietly asked Stefanos.

“If we can get that knife, I should be able to kill the zilant,” he replied. “Your friend is doing a fine job of killing the others.”

“Nice to know he’s good for something,” I said, then patted my father’s shoulder. “I’ll distract the zilant long enough for you to grab the knife.”

He started to protest, but was surprised into silence as I wished one of my gifts into my hands. It was a heavy spear that I didn’t know how to use, but figured would be useful. Holding it tightly in one hand, I climbed over the rocks and sprinted over to the zilant, which reared around to stare at me with four enraged eyes. I gripped the spear with both hands now and swung it at the zilant in a wide arc that I hoped would keep it at a reasonable distance. Its tail was still coiled around the knife, and I attempted to pull the zilant away, swiping at it with the spear. It refused to budge, instead stretching out its heads in an attempt to bit me, and I held back, wary of its teeth. Finally, however, I realized that this was stupid, and the best thing to do would be to sever the thing’s tail. I darted forward, surprising it into momentary stillness, and plunged the head of the spear into its tail.

Thick black blood spurted out, and I avoided it as best I could, for where it hit the ground it sizzled. The zilant screamed and writhed, breaking off from its tail, and shot away. I dropped my spear and pried the rapidly crumbling tail from the knife, then beckoned to my dad. He hurried over and grabbed his knife as I picked up my spear, and we looked back at the zilant. Like a lizard, it had left its tail behind - and now, faster than should be possible, the tail was growing back. The zilant stared at us, a rumbling growl forming in its throat.

“Go help your Indian friend,” my father said. “I’ll take care of the zilant.”

“Good luck,” I said, then went to see how the Peacock King was doing.

About half the lesser zilants were dead at his feet, but his energy was starting to wane. I jumped in and attempted to stab the zilants, but mostly I only managed to knock their heads in with the shaft of the spear. My companion looked at me incredulously, but seemed relieved that someone was around to help him, even if he wouldn’t say so.

Together, we finished off the lesser zilants, and as he sat down to recover his energy, I leaned on my spear and turned to see how my father was doing, just in time to watch him strike the zilant with a killing blow. The zilant shuddered violently, then went limp, its black blood oozing out of its body. I straightened up and walked over to him. “It’s over, then?” I asked.

He looked up at me and nodded, then looked back down at the zilant. “You know, I almost regret having to kill it. But it will be reborn, and it will forget all about this. I only hope it won’t terrorize anyone. Maybe Baba Yaga will let it stay on the island.”

“Maybe I will,” a familiar voice said, and we looked to the mouth of the cavern. Baba Yaga was there, her mortar on the ground beside her. “But why have you released my prisoner?” She pointed a bony finger at the Peacock King, who looked affronted.

“We needed a distraction,” I confessed. “Why were you keeping him prisoner?”

“He tried to take the turtle from me,” she said. “He insisted that it belonged to his father.”

“Turtle?” I echoed, and my eyes widened with realization. “Oh.”

Baba Yaga smiled, then shot a dirty look at the young Indian. “If he had asked politely, I might have given it to him. If he’d eaten my food, I might have forgiven him. However, he refused to eat anything.”

“As if I could let anyone poison me,” the Peacock King said, sneering. “I will not be killed so easily - not before my holy quest has been completed.”

“What holy quest?” Morgan asked, stepping out of the tunnel, and the Peacock King glared up at him before turning away.

My father’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Morgan? What are you doing here?” he asked.

“It’s the strangest thing,” Morgan said, walking over and smiling at both of us. “I was watching my best friend jump off the wharf when I found a kid that looked just like him. We decided to come after you so we could give you a good beating.”

Stefanos laughed. “I see,” he said. “Well, thank you both. It might not have been so easy without you.”

I smiled at him, then looked back at Baba Yaga. “Will you let the Peacock King come with us?” I asked. “Maybe we’ll be able to teach him some manners.”

“You can have him,” she said, waving a hand. “He’d starve himself long before he proved any use to me.”

“No!” the Peacock King shouted, getting to his feet. “I refuse to change hands like - like produce!” He wobbled dangerously, then his legs gave and he fell to the ground.



Baba Yaga helped us bring him out to the boat, and stood on the dock until we couldn’t see her or the island anymore. When we returned to Anchorage, we were surprised to see that the Peacock King’s clothing had changed into slacks and a pristine white shirt under an embroidered vest. His shoes were immaculately shined, and the only signs of jewelry were modest bracelets on his wrists and a nose ring. He didn’t wake up until shortly before dinner, and he reluctantly ate with us. He picked at his food at first, but he finished eating before anyone else, then claimed one of dad’s armchairs as his own and went to sleep before the fire.

The next morning, he was gone, leaving behind a piece of stationary with an untidily scrawled note that told us he was going to England to continue his holy quest.

I remembered something Baba Yaga had told me before we left the giant turtle-island. She smiled at me and revealed that she didn’t know any English, and that we were speaking in an ancient language, one that had been dead amongst humans for thousands upon thousands of years; the language of Atlantis. She told me that if I wanted to learn more, I should follow the Peacock King to his next destination, and that he would be compelled to write it down for me.

I stayed with my dad for another week, then flew to California to visit my sister. She was surprised to see me, and even more surprised when I treated her to lunch. We took a drive up the Pacific Coast Highway and enjoyed ourselves for the day, finally able to connect the way we never had before. We parted on good terms, and I went to Virginia for a confrontation.

My mother wasn’t home, to my relief. She’d gone to visit a couple of friends, and had no idea I was coming, which was just fine, because I wanted to talk to Vinicio alone.

I found him in the back yard, trimming the bushes, and he straightened up as I approached, tense. As soon as I was within reach, I hit him. He dropped the shears in surprise and pressed a hand to his reddening cheek, staring at me.

“That was for never telling me the truth,” I said, then leaned in and kissed the cheek I had just hit. “But that’s for being so good to me even though you knew I wasn’t yours. There are so many people who aren’t as lucky as I am.”

He looked stunned and a little touched, and I grinned at him. “If mom asks what happens, you walked into a door,” I said, and he smiled. There was nothing more to say, so I walked to the garden gate and waved at him before going to see Vincente. My brother was glad that everything had worked out - though I did leave out the whole zilant thing - and invited me to stay for dinner. I declined, regretfully, because I felt that I didn’t have enough time. Instead, he took me out for ice cream, and dropped me off at the airport afterwards.

I set out feeling like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and the thought of what might be waiting for me in England filled me with excitement.