Day 95,

Maiko did in fact get in last night.  From our spot at the end of the trail Lin and I could see the dark shape of the floating island blocking out the stars before it lowered down to dock.  As it slid into position we made our way out onto the Overlook, lanterns held high and calling out.  Underneath the island’s arch was a faint glow, the cracked crystal held in Maiko’s clenched hand.

She looked tired, and not just from the lateness of the hour.  We didn’t need to ask to know that whomever or whatever she found on that other island wasn’t what she was looking for.  Still, when she stepped across the gap and onto solid ground to join us at the edge of the Overlook, the corners of her lips twitched upwards in that expression that’s the closest she usually gets to a smile.  It seemed our decision to greet her return was not an unwelcome one.

That said, I don’t think either I or Maiko were expecting Lin to break off mid-sentence with the welcome back greetings and hug her.  I barely had time to be bemused by Maiko going stiff then slowly starting to relax before I got pulled into the embrace myself and had the same reaction.  Well, Lin is certainly nothing if not expressive.

Once we finally broke that off and began moving out from under the arch so we wouldn’t wind up just sleeping out here once the island left we began the discussion of where we would sleep.  I made the offer I’d prepared for Maiko to spend the night at my place, if she  didn’t mind staying up and walking another couple hours to get there that is.  Otherwise the next best option was the library archive, but then we might have to deal with people the next day.  The few people that she’d already met were still stretching Maiko’s limit for social interaction tolerance, so my house it was.

It was a long walk; back down the trail and road from Siren Overlook, skirting the edge of the Village to avoid running into anyone, then up the east road and its branch to the house.  Luckily we didn’t run into any of the night patrols.  That would have been a conversation demanding explanations none of us wanted to get into.  As it was, we didn’t even talk to each other most of the way there.  Early to bed and up with the sun is the norm around here, even for me and Maiko, and we were all up well past what our circadian rhythms wanted.

It probably would have been a matter of straight to bed when we got back except I hadn’t expected Lin to come back with us as well.  Fortunately, I still had a bedroll from the trip in the closet so it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable for whomever ended up on the floor.  Not that it stopped Lin and Maiko from getting into a back and forth of volunteering to take the floor so the other could take the (probably) more comfortable couch.

My usual verbal filter damaged from sleep deprivation, I made a comment along the lines of they could just share the bed while I slept on the couch if they couldn’t agree.  That was enough to get Lin to go quiet and accept the couch.  I probably would have found it funny if I hadn’t been so tired.

They were both up before I was this morning.  What was left of the morning anyway by that time.  They seemed to be getting along well enough.  They’d already had breakfast (with promises to pay me back for it) and Maiko had helped herself to a bath.

Lin talked a bit about how strange it was to be back here.  All the same furnishings and decorations in mostly the same places as when the old archivist was living here.  I admitted that I really hadn’t done much to make it my own.  It all seemed good enough so it just didn’t seem worth the effort to go around changing things.  Even the minor rearrangement of furniture was due to the nature sprite messing with me and me trying to put things I hadn’t paid much attention to back from memory.

I asked if she found that strange familiarity offputting and she insisted it was fine.  Still, maybe I should redecorate so that I’m not just living in the shadow of the house’s previous occupant so much.

When I asked if Lin needed to be getting back to the Village and what the note she’d left her parents said, she shrugged it off.  Said she wasn’t in a hurry to get back and that it didn’t matter what the note said because they probably wouldn’t believe it anyway and would assume she was out meeting with some man.  With a laugh she added that’d probably be a relief for them if it was true.

With a glance at the towel-wrapped Maiko coming out of the bath I said it wouldn’t be too far off the mark, and was rewarded with Lin spraying the tea she’d been drinking across the table.  An insult and apology followed in the same breath once she finished coughing.

Maiko asked if everything was alright over there.  Eager to change the topic, Lin quickly insisted everything was great and asked if Maiko wanted to talk about what all she found on that island.

Maiko hesitated at first, then asked for some time to get her thoughts in order and find the words.

We did so.

The story she eventually told us went about as follows:

The island was a fairly large one.  Big enough that it was near dusk by the time Maiko reached the other side of it where we’d seen the column of smoke from the air, even with a trail to follow.  At the end of that trail was a clearing in the jungle.  Within that clearing was a freshwater spring not too different from the one that acts as the source of the stream behind my house, except maybe half the size, if that.  Next to the spring was the crumbled foundation of a stone building.  Atop that foundation was a hut of wood and mud built up against the old stone structure’s one remaining wall.  Atop that one stone wall was a chimney.  And from that chimney arose smoke.

The door of the hut was open and light was spilling from it.  Sticking to the shadows at the edge of the wood, Maiko edged closer for a better view of the inside.  Within was an old woman, white haired, wrinkled, and hunched over the table where she ate her dinner.

Significantly less afraid of people when it was only one elderly woman isolated from anyone else, Maiko made her presence known, standing in the doorframe, crouching a bit to keep her horns from scraping, and knocking on the open door behind her.  The old woman started at this, coughing on her stew.  

At first she thought Maiko to be another hallucination brought on by decades of isolation.

Maiko insisted she was real.

Then the woman asked if Maiko was “an ascended one.”

Maiko had no idea what she was talking about.

And she could not be a nature sprite, for there was no wood nor leaves to her.  An outsider then, the woman concluded, albeit from a further removed world than usual.

Maiko said she was born here.  On one of these islands anyway.

Then her parents must have been one or more of those things, the old woman said before asking if Maiko meant her harm.

Only if the old woman meant her harm.

No harm to come then.  Only an invitation to share stew.

The invitation was accepted.

As they ate, Maiko asked if the old woman had ever seen another like her.

She had not.

As I’ve noticed myself, when you put two people together who are not usually inclined to talk, little is said between them.  All else that was said that night was an exchange of names (Iole, the crone went by), a thanks given for the meal, and an offer to sleep on the floor or outside, although there were no bedding or blankets to be spared in either case.

And so the next two weeks passed by.  In the morning they would gather plants and fish and firewood for the stew.  In the afternoon Iole would pull out a crumbling tome and trace her fingers along the lines of its pages.  In the evening they would eat the stew.  And at night Iole would stare at a small, crude statue of a person with too-small wings until she fell asleep.

Twice, seven days apart, this routine was replaced by a morning trek to the Overlook of the Eastern Siren, an hour or so of listening to its song, and then a return to the hut.

The mist night was also a break in the routine.  It was the only night that Maiko slept in the hut.

Of course, Maiko wasn’t completely uncurious after a negative answer to her initial question.  First she asked where Iole had come from.

The old woman said she was once a fisherwoman from the Village who’d washed up here in a storm, her boat lost.  By the time she realized that the floating island docked here and might be able to take her back to the Village, she had become content and no longer wished to leave.

Next, Maiko asked about the book.

Iole admitted that she could not read it, for it was not the script of the Village.  She merely committed the strings of symbols to memory.  It had started as an attempt to decipher them, but over time it had turned into a ritual.  The book had a few illustrations scattered throughout its pages as well, depicting figures that looked mostly human but with “alterations” to their features; mostly wings, but sometimes horns or claws or tails or fins.  She said Maiko had reminded her of them.  She believed that’s what she believed the original authors and readers of the book wished to become.  May have become.  May have used to ascend Cloud Tower.  May one day happen to her if she continues to devote herself to the book and the song.

Maiko asked where the book came from.

There was another ruined structure on that island.  Larger, but mostly consumed by the jungle.  Within were rows of what might have been bookshelves, now empty but for vines and ferns and lizard nests.  Those rows converged on the broken remains of the statue Iole had based the miniature in her home on, of a seated figure, reading as fledgling wings sprouted from their back.  In that place Iole had found a box with the book inside.  Maiko took a day to find this place and confirmed that it was as the crone said.

That answered Maiko’s question about the statue.  A part of her wanted to ask about the song, but for whatever reason she could not bring herself to.  The times she accompanied Iole to the Overlook, and the day she awaited the floating island to board and leave, she found it blissfully soothing at first but then unbearably smothering.  Iole had no such adverse reaction and even seemed to silently move her lips along with the sound.

And so, as mentioned before, most of the time passed in silent companionship and routine until the floating island returned and it was time to leave.  Iole herself surprisingly asked Maiko no questions after that first meeting.

I, of course, struggled to contain my excitement over potential implications of some of this.  Once Maiko finished her story I nearly ran as I made my way back to my room to retrieve my other notebook and opened it to those early pages where so many days ago Cass and I had transcribed the inscriptions we found in the ruined cathedral.

Maiko confirmed that they were similar (as far as she could tell) to the ones in Iole’s book.

I told them of how the statue Maiko described seemed to be a match for the one in the cathedral.  We all agreed there must be some connection between them, but we had no idea what.

Before the day got too much later Lin took her leave, needing to get back to the Village.  Maiko went out about the same time, saying she wanted to find a new place to set up camp for a while, but that she’d come back and visit once she did.

I bid them farewell, and told Maiko I’d let Cass and Vernon know that she was back and in good health.

Now that they’ve gone I find myself thinking on what Cass (or was it Lin?) had suggested before, that as an outsider I might be able to “translate” a more complete copy of the text from the cathedral if I found one.  Iole’s book would fit the bill.  But to take Priscilla’s island to her again, or try to arrange a boat?  And will I even have time to do such a thing before the rainy season arrives?