The Rapheus: Meras Lore (tentative)

Chapter 5: Arrival

As the blackish mist dissolved into a bright sunlight Lionel found himself plummeting towards earth at breakneck speed. Below him an alien forest approached rapidly; tree branches reaching up towards him. Lionel’s eyes frantically scanned the horizon for Gerulf and Cassandra.. Nothing. No one. Every second the fact became more painfully clear that there was no way to avoid some kind of collision. Lionel shut his eyes tightly and braced himself for the worst.

His knapsack smashed through the first few mildew rotten branches, his hands wildly scrambling to try and catch hold of something solid, knuckles rapping against the wood as he fought to arrest his fall.

“Cassandra!” He called out into the mist.

Through the woods a massive black shaft came bounding across the branches toward him, grabbing him firmly by the collar, dangling him above a massive thorn bush.

“Cassandra!” He shouted happily, “I’m so glad you’re safe!” A low growl, something akin to a purr answered him. Lionel reached up with a free hand and felt a snort of hot air against his palm, followed by a nuzzle of soft velvet fur and coarse whiskers.

“Oh dear,” Lionel whimpered quite casually before he erupted into a full panic.

“Help! Help somebody! I’m being eaten alive! Help!” Lionel wildly ran on the empty air, messily throwing his arms about until the creature casually dropped him clear of the thorny shrub.

Ouff! Lionel hit the ground with a thud and scrambled around to face the jungle marauder. A great black cat looked at him from a higher bough, and seemed to shake its head in embarrassment. It jumped from one branch to another until a large sloping tree trunk gave it an easy staircase. It’s large, softly crimson eyes blinked at him momentarily before it padded slowly towards him.

“Nice, kitty. Sweet little kitten. I’m really too thin to make a decent meal. I mean look at me. I’m all gristle.” Lionel chuckled nervously as he tried to shoo the great predator away.

“I swear to God, Lionel you are the most excitable little man I’ve ever met.” Cassandra’s voice came from somewhere in the general vicinity of the cat.

“Cassandra? Where are you?” Lionel asked momentarily glancing over the cat’s head.

“By all that is holy, I’m right here.” There was a slight look of irritation in the cat’s eyes before it slowly began to turn in circles, melting its blackness into a puddle on the soddy floor. Just like a dancer, Cassandra swirled out of the blackness, settling into her original form, her arms folded expectantly. Lionel gaped at her, not believing for a minute what he actually saw.

“That’s impossible.” He murmured as she walked towards him.

“I guess it isn’t as unfeasible as you thought.” Cassandra helped him to his feet.

“Then you are a were-cat?” Lionel blinked at her in awe. She shook her head.

“What I am is my own business. Raphaeus, it is safe?” Cassandra smoothly switched topics, leaving Lionel more than a little miffed at her lack of trust.

“I put it away in my bag, it’s safe.” Lionel replied tapping the bag with certainty, “Have you seen Gerulf?”

“That eye sore is not my responsibility. I have not seen him.” Cassandra countered unpleasantly.

“Shouldn’t we look for him?” Lionel asked. Somewhere in the distance, a faint call for help perked up his ears.

“Did you hear that?”

“Let’s go.” Cassandra grabbed him arm and ran him quickly through the vibrant green underbrush. For a few moments they ran on picking their way through the tangle. Cassandra stopped abruptly at a small clearing. Her face seemed deep in concentration, her every sense turned in to the forest around her. Lionel couldn’t imagine what she was waiting for. They knew where the call was coming from. Right? The call sounded a few minute later, it was a little louder this time, but at a sharp angle to where they were standing. Wordlessly, Cassandra beckoned and took up the race again. They broke into a clearing within a few minutes of the third call and quickly surveyed the jungle floor for any signs of their rumpled friend.

“I don’t understand,” Lionel said quietly, “it was so close when we heard it the last time.”

“Because,” Gerulf barked, “I’m up here!” Lionel glanced up. Gerulf had stepped in some sort of primitive trap and was a mere finger-swipe away from a lush looking piece of meat. Cassandra shook her head.

“Still thinking with his stomach.” Cassandra shook her head, looking at her feet in disgust.

“You know, I heard that!” Gerulf snapped angrily shaking his fists before the rope began to glide to and fro much to the ensnared guide’s vehement distress, “Get me down!” He complained, “I can’t feel my ankle!”

“What a pity,” Cassandra said with a shrug, “I think we should leave him here.”

“Damn you Cassandra,” Gerulf seethed, “If you leave me here I’ll kill you.”

“Let’s just get him down. Okay?” Lionel asked.

“He’s easily thirty feet up. Can you climb well?” Cassandra obviously believed that Lionel would be the head of the rescue party.

“Not at all.”

She sighed, “I guess, I’ll have to get him.” Something snapped her attention away. Something that Lionel seemed to catch only for a second, but a second was enough.

“Move!” Cassandra instructed pushing Lionel out of the way as Gerulf came hurtling down screaming every curse known to God and man. Smack! He hit the spongy turf face first and lay there for a minute, motionless.

Lionel was sitting in the cradle of a mossy tree root, leaving him reasonably unscathed. Cassandra was already examining the rope carefully. She threw it down, her eyes squinting into the distance, her mouth turned down in a fierce frown. Gerulf sat up slowly and looked at the two of them expectantly. Whatever he was waiting for never came.

“I’m alright by the way. Glad you asked.” He said wobbly standing up, cracking his neck back into place, trying to hop to a rock, falling over again behind Cassandra. Lionel watched Cassandra creep around the perimeter intently. She was onto something. Perhaps she wasn’t sure, but something had caught her interest. Gerulf stood up again, this time freed from the constricting rope.

“Well, where’s the city?” He asked as if he some how anticipated some sort of taste of home just waiting for him.

“Maybe there isn’t one.” Lionel suggested agreeably as he scanned his surroundings drinking in as much as he could.

“There has to be a city. I mean, where else would Meras particles be?” Gerulf asked carelessly.

“Shut up. I hear something.” Cassandra commanded quickly. Both of them stared at each other. Every muscle in her body tensed and her eyes ran over the features of the jungle before her. After a few minutes, she relaxed and without offering an explanation and continued her walk around the perimeter.

Gerulf himself perked up. He’d heard something too by the looks of it. His hair seemed to stiffen and he sniffed the air with all the looks of an expert.

“What?” Lionel finally broke in, “What is it?”

“People.” Gerulf growled in his throat.

“That’s wonderful! Finally some sort of contact with an alien race! Amazing! We must go and talk to them.” Lionel gabbed on, not stopping to wonder at how Gerulf had come up with this information if Lionel himself hadn’t heard a thing.

“I don’t think you’ll have to wait very long.” Cassandra began in her familiarly frigid tone, “They’re coming closer.”

That certainly didn’t sound reassuring. Lionel, now wary of his every noise, slowly rose to his feet. For what seemed like a few seconds, everything slowed to a single eternal moment as they stood watching the jungle. Finally, there was a snap and then a sound of crushed leaves. Then a peculiar sound, like blowing briskly over the top of a glass bottle. Cassandra flew in front of Lionel protectively, catching a rather nasty looking dart in her right shoulder.

“Show yourself.” She rumbled her voice grave her breath coming in short quick gasps. Out of the greenery stepped a man arrayed in a long black feathered tunic, with two others dressed in leopard skins. They mumbled to themselves eyeing each of their prey critically.

“You speak the inferior tongue.” The man in black spoke with a heavy accent.

“So what if we do?” Cassandra replied, eyeing still more men with their blow guns ready.

“You were prophesied to come,” The man continued, “The great god, Chiquetol, has demanded it. Those who speak the ancient inferior language.”

“Inferior?” Lionel puzzled.

“Demanded what?” Gerulf seethed menacingly.

“Don’t you find it funny,” Cassandra wheezed, a light damp curtain of sweat hanging onto her forehead, “that they speak our language? This is like stepping into a whole new world. It shouldn’t be. They shouldn’t be able to understand us.”

“ Extraordinary,” Lionel said adjusting his spectacles, peering into their welcoming party’s grim faces, “You’re saying that someone came before us. But who?”

“Psellos. Who else?” Gerulf said, sensing they were not exactly bent on friendship.

“You mean, you’ve preserved this language all these years?” Lionel was taken aback at their diligent conservation of a simple dialect.

“Enough questions. Your friend is waning. I’m impressed with how long it took.” The man pointed as Cassandra slowly slid to the ground. Dark red circles under her eyes, a face misted in sweat, her skin held a gray dying color.

“Cassandra!” Lionel nearly shrieked. Gerulf remained strangely passive despite the obvious fact that she was dying. The dart, the red feathered dart. Poison, it was obvious.

“I’m f-fine,” She whispered.

“No, you’re…you’re…” Lionel shook his head.

“L-leave me.” She shivered. Gerulf looked over worriedly.

“Enough talk! Seize them!” Oumo commanded. A guard ran up behind Gerulf cracking a blow across the back of Gerulf’s skull that echoed through the whole jungle. He crumpled onto the jungle carpet. Three more guards came at Lionel. He grabbed onto her lapels and shook her.

“No! Cassandra…no…No! Let me go! Cassandra!” Firm hands wrapped around Lionel’s shoulders and grabbed hard to his ankles. He flailed furiously lashing this way and that until he caught his hand on a sharp jungle bramble bush. Oumo commanded something in another tongue and Lionel felt two other guards force him to the ground and hold him still. Still another held a purplish flask to Lionel’s mouth and poured some of the thick syrupy liquid into his mouth. Lionel spat it back in his face. The guard reeled for a moment and came crashing down on Lionel’s jaw with a heavy punch. Temporarily dazed, Lionel felt them yank his mouth open and pour the rest of the flask into his mouth.

The sticky-faced guard grabbed hold of Lionel’s nose until he started to gag and swallow. The taste was reminiscent of jelly preserves but it burned on the way down and set his stomach turning in the intense heat.

It took only a few minutes before the world began to waver and spin and the last thing Lionel as they propped him up was Cassandra lying there. Weakly his fingers stretched towards her.

This is it…