The Awakening of James Island

The desert sun shone fiercely in the midday sky, causing James Island to wipe his brow as he made his way through the bustling crowds. The market heaved with the calls of merchants vying for the attention of passing people. With shouts of bargains, arguments and laughter, the languages and tonal range of the Sab Sina Market’s patrons roared as one glorious mess.

Hot, spicy aromas bombarded James as he passed a stall with hanging meats. The short, unkempt woman behind the counter called out to anyone who neared, spouting offers in several dialects. James tried to mentally name all the hanging animals, knowing all but two of them. He had gotten better.

A soft breeze thankfully cooled the light sweat on his face. It had taken him a long time to adjust to the persistent heat that smothered the city of Tyken Town, and he often wondered if his discomfort was his body’s way of telling him it wasn’t accustomed to such heat. But by the time he figured that out it would be snowing.

James had to wonder why his foreman, Tam, had asked him to collect supplies on such a chaotic day. But if there was one thing James had learned in his time working for Tam the Man, it was how to follow orders, however insignificant they seemed. That was the least James could do after Tam had taken him in, given him a job and a place to live, when James had nowhere else to go.

Pushing his way to one side of the market, James gave himself more room to move. He ran a hand through the sweaty underside of one of his toughlets, the metal bands of compartments that stored various tools and equipment along his forearms, and let the air cool his hot arms. Most people thought his toughlets were cumbersome, but James was used to them and was always thankful for having tools on him at all times.

The dull neon sign that marked his destination came into view. The words Erry’s Electrics flickered in the distance, underneath the Canarrian translation.

Wading through a rowdy crowd outside, James entered the confines of the small store. Roughly square shaped with a domed ceiling, the dimly-lit store had a dusty smell that reminded him of rusting electronics. The owner of the store was a wiry, gangly man with strong veiny forearms and long grey hair, named Erry Boscida, whose dark-red skin gave away his Canarrian heritage.

James browsed the shelves while Erry finished with a customer. He picked up a handful of power screws from a shelf container and continued to peruse, becoming aware of a low roar coming from a corner monitor. He guessed it was showing a sport of some kind, though its volume was too low to determine which.

“What’ll it be?” Erry’s gravelly voice croaked as he approached.

“Hi, Erry. I’m here for Tam’s order. Tam Borral?”

The store owner’s eyes narrowed. “That’s right. You’re one of Tam’s. ’Sai, how goes it?”

Been coming here for over a year now, and he still doesn’t recognise me. “Going fine, Erry.” James gave him a big smile. “How’s business?”

Erry shrugged and frowned. “What can I tell ya? If it ain’t the Judges raising my prices, it’s these raal-brained know-nothing freshlings opening up their cheap hami’s all over the place. And don’t expect them to help when you go running back to them with a burnt-out power coupling or synthetic drive-core. If they’re even still there when you go back.” He grunted as he snatched a hammer off a shelf and began wiping it with a faded cloth.

“So same old, then,” James said, familiar with his rants.

Erry shook his head dismissively, wiping the vines of loose hair from his face. “You kids… so anyway, I’ve got your order here.” He brought out a small sack from behind the counter, which made a loud clanking sound as it dropped onto the desk.

“And these power screws.” James raised them. Erry nodded without looking up as he scribbled on a small pad. James noted how Erry’s hand shook as he wrote, and wondered if that were just a sign of old age, or of something more concerning.

James inserted the stubby screws into a compartment on one of his toughlets. The clanging screws rang in the quiet store until he clasped the partition shut and rendered them soundless.

The hum of the corner monitor grew as a crowd roared with the fuzzy sounds of celebratory trumpets. At this, Erry shot a fist in the air, scraggy hair flapping as he bounced with excitement.

“Aaooooh! There it is!” he declared. “There it is, sonny. That Calvin Fisskle does it every time. My money were on him from the start, I tell ya. Who’d you have?”

James debated how to tell Erry that he didn’t know what he was talking about, but found that no words came, so ended up just looking at the old man awkwardly.

Erry was taken aback. “You do watch ’em, don’t ya? Just coz they don’t show ’em on the major channels here in town don’t mean you can’t find a cast to see ’em on.”

“I ain’t familiar with this one,” James admitted.

Erry frowned, looking at him incredulously. “What you mean? How can you miss ’em? Ain’t no one never seen a Jump Race before.”

“Well I ain’t from around here, remember?” For once, James had a good reason for not knowing something, as Erry knew he’d moved to the city only two years earlier.

“But still, sonny. Just where’d you come from that you ain’t never heard of a Jump Race?”

“Well… far from here.” James was the one to frown now.

Erry considered him for a moment. “I see. You’re an itchy one, young man. You know that? Doda knows, sometimes I wonder just what you know.”

James gave a weak smile. He picked up the B-splinters and dropped them into the sack with the rest of the tools. “So do I.”

He thanked Erry and left the electrical store, not looking back.

A large adboard hung between two buildings across the street, drawing James’s attention. The choppy video showcased the benefits of Tygal Travel, the largest off-world transport company on the planet. They had the ability to go anywhere they wanted, with all the technology to do so. They were gods, to James, and made him wish he had the same abilities.

He turned away from the adboard and found he couldn’t look anywhere but the ground as he left the market.

***

The framework of the parking station tower currently stood at four of its intended five levels. Dozens of workers were going about their business, some nodding to James as he entered the construction site, becoming lost in a world of motorised drills and the knocks and buzzes of various equipment.

Motors whirred as a stomping worker mech moved near a stack of concrete slabs. Its large blocky arms loaded the slabs onto a loading trolley, the eye bulbs on its small head flashing its status. James eyed the mech wearily. He’d had little interaction with mechs so far, although he felt a strange distrust for them almost instantly. Perhaps it was the uncertainty of what went on in their heads. James thought it strange that an entity could exist for a specific task and not have any other purpose or internal thought. He considered them mindless slaves, and was troubled by the idea.

Helena Jositt rounded the building ahead and approached her workstation nearby. The contract architect carried coloured binders on top of the hefty design booklet that was always with her. She paused at seeing James, eyes glazed for a second before she blinked and shook her head.

“Oh, hi, sorry, didn’t see you there. My mind’s all over the place. I thought: who’s this guy now? Anyway, how’s it, James?” She grinned widely, showing a mouthful of teeth as she placed the binders on the desk. There was a slight gravely undertone to her light voice, which James had learned was a sign of tiredness.

“Hey, Helena. Tam’s out for the day, right?” He knew the foreman was away, although he asked the question as an easy route of conversation, which was preferable to any awkward silences or more personal talk. Although right then he knew he should have begun with a pleasantry instead of getting straight to business.

“Right, he’s overseeing the big fancy new site in First Hold.” She smiled as she rubbed her hands together, trying to remove a patch of ink from a palm. Her tanned, heart-shaped face gleamed with a light sheen, thin lines showing under her heavily lidded brown eyes.

James was secretly glad that Helena had been overworked lately, as it meant he could see her more often.

“So, what’re you up to?” she asked, adjusting the band holding up her wavy, sun-dried hair. “Or are you just feeling the wind?”

James told her of the supplies he was bringing back.

Helena nodded dismissively, stretching with her hands against her lower back and letting out a sigh. James tried not to notice the widening gaps between her blouse buttons. “Give ’em here.” She extended a hand. “I can drop them in Tam’s office before I head out tonight.”

He brought the sack up, and then snatched it back, raising an eyebrow. “I dunno about handing over sensitive Rimas materials to a contractor. What would Old Man Rimas say if these ended up on a black cast or in the high markets in Rio?”

Helena showed another big toothy smile, which James had come to adore. “He’d probably say as much as he has to say about anything else. How do you know I wouldn’t keep them for myself to use in the construction of my own spacecraft, which I can make my escape in?”

James smiled, happy that his playful joke was reciprocated. “A spacecraft out of a few screws and bolts? That’ll be a nice trick. I could use your services sometime.”

She raised a thick eyebrow. “You couldn’t afford me.”

James chuckled, not knowing how to follow that. “But I guess I can afford to take the risk,” he said, handing her the supplies. Now he’d delivered the supplies, he was done for the day. “So, I’ll leave you to it. Looks like you’ve got plenty to get through.” He gestured to the workstation.

“Aye,” she said with a loud sigh. “You know me, stuck to this place while they need me.”

He wished he had a good final response, but just nodded as he left her. Not for the first time, he wished he could be more open with people; but then that usually led to them asking him questions about himself. Then they’d realise how little he could tell them.

He found his personal chest along the corner wall of the communal space and collected his book. Seeing the various mythological beings depicted on the cover gave him a warm and reassuring feeling, knowing he could spend the rest of the day stuck in its pages.

James left the construction site not wanting to see or speak to anyone else. But that didn’t last long.

Walking toward the nearest shuttle pod station in East Belam’s Way, it took him a moment to realise someone was calling to him.

A hand grabbed James’s shoulder, turning him roughly.

Large blood-shot eyes met his. An old man with a bony face, rough pocked skin and grimy, wind-swept hair studied him. He reeked of sweat and dirt. The uneasy quiver to his demeanour causing James to repel from his sudden closeness.

“A man who knows his fate is a man who can control it.” The older man’s voice was strained, yet not entirely unpleasant, with a shakiness that made James think of someone unwell. “Aye, so it is. Tell me, young man, do you want to know how you’ll make your riches, or when you’ll meet your beloved who’ll rob you of them? Eh he he.”

James recoiled at the harsh odours attacking him. “Sorry, another time.” Many beggars were known to trick you, play a game, or provide a service of some kind in exchange for coin. He found it best not to humour any of them.

A wild laugh left the man’s cracked lips, his eyes widening with understanding. “Ha ha! It’s you! It’s you, sir! I know you, don’t I?” His laugh turned into a bout of terrible hacking coughs. When he regarded James, a moment of confusion twisted his face into an ugly scowl that showed yellowed teeth.

“Sorry, you’ve me confused for someone else.” James stepped away, but the man persisted.

“Now I know it’s you. I see it, so I do. I see all now. Can’t help otherwise. ’Tis a curse, aye, so it is. One of many.” His eyes gleamed like he was about to share the secrets of the universe. “I can tell you what you want to know. Everything you’ve been yearning to know. I can tell you! For… some spare coin. For an old friend, would you? For old times’ sake? Times have—well, they sure ain’t what they used to be. Eh he he.”

Though he could hear the distant sadness in the man’s voice, James now saw through the act of a beggar at work. “I’m sorry; I’ve no money on me right now.”

He turned from the man, hoping he wouldn’t be followed.

“James Island!” the man bellowed, sending a shiver through James’s core. “That’s you, ain’t it? Prince James, as I recall. Your Majesty.” He performed an awkward bow, stumbling in the process.

James stood frozen for a long moment, studying the strange man. Everything about him was dirty and weathered; the look of someone who’d spent many seasons sleeping rough. The man’s bloodshot dark green eyes could have showed intelligence in them once, but were now dulled with a weariness that hinted at a troubled soul.

“Now I’m sure you’ve the wrong man. I’m no prince.” James couldn’t admit that he wasn’t sure of the truth in his own words.

He was finally allowed to walk away, and he took the opportunity to do so, but the beggar was soon by his side.

“Yes, that’s right. You and your father. You don’t remember your visit? Oh, but what world was that? What a world it was. What a world it is now, I ask you? Hah!” He circled James, a jerky bounce in his step, energised by his search for memories. “But you are James Island, are you not?”

James found no reply. They reached an alleyway which lead to the nearest shuttle pod station, which would give James a chance to get rid of the beggar.

The man let out a frustrated growl and grabbed James by the arms. The force of the hold made James drop his book.

“Why do you lie?” the beggar spat. His voice became a hideous snarl, a wild look blazing in his eyes. “You think I’m crazy. Unless it did happen to you. Do you see the hood? Do you taste the blood? Tell me!”

James called out as he was shoved against the harsh brick of the alley wall. “What’re you—hey, let go of me.”

With a fierce cry, the beggar shoved James to the ground and straddled him, grabbing and clawing at his face. “You want to ignore me, like the rest. But I won’t go away. No. You underestimate me, like all the others. Like all the others!”

James tried to get a hold of the wild man, throwing his arms out while shielding his face from attacks.

“You should be my friend.” Dark spit jumped from the beggar’s mouth. “We still can be. But you need to be like me. I’ll make you see.” A sweaty hand curled around James’s neck and squeezed.

James reached a desperate hand out over the ground, feeling his strength depleting. His fingers found something hard. With a wide swing, the rock bashed against the man’s temple, sending him reeling sideways. His head slammed into the wall with a sickening thud.

Kicking his way to the opposite wall, James choked back the breath struggling to find its way through his bruised throat. The beggar lay against the wall, a thick red trail streaming from his battered temple. What had moments earlier been an angry, crazed scowl was now a frightened, somewhat peaceful expression that made James feel for the man.

Steadying his breath, James stared at the lifeless body. The life he had just taken away—

***

Blinding white light explodes in James’s mind. The world has become a dead land of black rock and vast mountains. Desolate hills and valleys stretch out on all sides of the horizon. The scorched sky is made of fast-moving flames that give the impression he is under a dome of fire. Tortured screams and distant howls echo all around.

A severe stench of decay fills his lungs and he gags, struggling for breath as the suffocating heat burns his nostrils and mouth, fighting back the urge to vomit. It feels like he’s being burnt from the inside. Sweat falls into his eyes, blurring his vision, and drips to the dead rock, sizzling in wisps of black smoke. Trying to wipe the sweat only smears charred dirt over his face.

Several feet ahead is a cliff edge, and he steps toward it without knowing why. His legs ache; every step pained. Something dark flies overhead, releasing a shrill screech that causes him to stumble and fall back. He snatches his hand from the ground as it burns him, falling onto his back. His shirt burns and his skin begins to blister. The pain overwhelms him. Feeling the hopelessness of it all, he cries; a fierce emotional moan, begging for mercy - for his life.

As the pain threatens to overcome him completely, he sees a dark blur forming within the flames above. It wavers in the haze and grows, becoming the form of a man. A hooded figure, shrouded in heavy dark robes. Waves of dark energy surge from the figure. It grows to encompass the sky, becoming the dark world, and grows further, becoming a torso and then just an enormous hood. The face, if there was one, is hidden within.

James feels an immense wave of hatred and aggression like he’s never felt before—never thought possible—emanating from the hood. It wants him. It wants to devour him.

The hood slowly rises, revealing an impossible darkness beneath. As James gratefully succumbs to the cold darkness within, he spins, inverting in on himself. With a jarring blink, he’s thrust back into the reality of Tyken Town.

***

His back cracked hard as it found the ground. James gagged and spat, feeling like the death and decay of the fiery world had entered his mouth. He checked his hands, expecting to see severe burns on them, but they were only scratched and dirty. There was no indication that what he just experienced was real.

Suddenly realising there’s a dead body beside him, James jerked away from the corpse, scrambling to his feet. Even now, the man’s eyes seemed to be watching him, with that serene look on his face.

The next thing James knew, he was running out of the death alley, overwhelmed with fear and regret. Running aimlessly, just to get away, to take back, ignoring everything around him, he eventually found himself in a direction toward home.

The sky had darkened considerably by the time he approached his small house. He’d never felt so relieved to see the single-storied building, though he studied the large windows either side of the door, suspicious of any possible movement behind the tinted screens.

He slammed the door behind him, feeling the warmth and sanctity of his home embrace him. His heart raced as he stood against the door, absorbing the deafening silence. The pale glow from outside cast ominous shadows around the open-spaced room.

A blue light caught his attention. He turned to see his personal terminal flashing, signifying a new voice message. The normality of such a familiar, everyday event shook James out of his trance. Was that just now received, or something from earlier? Could the message be in any way connected to the man he’d…

Squeezing his eyes shut, James tried to shake the thought away. The eyes of the man he’d killed continued to stare at him beyond his fate. The vision of that terrible burnt world… that hooded thing… the endless darkness beneath its hood… it was all too much for him.

For the first time in his life, James wished he had fewer memories.

He tried washing the day away with a shower, hoping to clean the blood off his soul. As the cleansing water washed over him, James slid to a crouch and cried as hard as he ever had before.

If James had known it would be the last time he’d sleep in his bed, he may have done a few things differently. If he knew it’d be his last night in his house, he might have packed a few possessions that had become dear to him. Or perhaps he might have gone to sleep sooner, eager to leave, happy to be finally taken away from what was now his home.

He lay curled up in bed, trembling with dark thoughts and haunting images, sobbing softly. Letting the drowsiness of sleep eventually take him, he slept for the last time in the only home he had ever known.