Many, many, years later, a mosquito hopped across the black-and-white sands of a mountainside desert as the sun sank into the ocean, taking advantage of the cool evening air blowing in from the sunset sea. Whipping a pair of long, graceful antenna the length of its’ body, the creature detected what it was looking for: the sweet, earthy scent of agave. Several more strategic hops were made; long, broad feet laid against the sand to feel the slight vibrations of a predator. Vibrations that, by luck, did not manifest. Being an especially small member of its’ species- only about half a foot long- it was likely overlooked in favor of juicer morsels. Of course, it was not as though the mosquito would have known this, its’ simple mind fixated as it was on a singular target. After several strategic leaps, sometimes aided by flaps of broad gossamer wings that were suited more for heat dispersion than flight, that it reached its’ destination: the scrumptious, scrumptious agave that grew around this part of the desert in spiraling rows. Like a skilled doctor, it lowered its’ lance into the sand, needling for the precious tap root…

Only for a gentle rumble to disrupt its’ reverie. The mosquito jerked in the direction of the tremors, a guttural squeak piping from its’ needle mouth. Although not as powerful as other tremors it had felt in its’ short life, it never hurt to be cautious. Reflected in obsidian eyes a million times over was the silhouette of a large, furry beast with a wide, flat nose, long, daggerlike incisors, and massive conical ears easily the size of its’ head. The beast’s front legs were even more peculiar: They had a great curved claw in front, while the beast’s sole, gigantic finger curved backward in a reverse scythe. Fitting, considering such creatures usually bought death to insects like the mosquito. Thankfully, this one seemed occupied with a strange device that had been shackled to its back, a device bulky and square, with four odd, circular legs that rolled across the sand. Sitting atop it were two figures, one large and one small. The larger figure thankfully seemed disinterested in the small insect, but the smaller one stared with glowing crimson eyes, pointing at it and shaking the larger figure frantically. If only the sight had not been so curious, the mosquito might have looked behind itself, or paid more attention to the intensifying sand tremors. Instead, the looming, tooth lined shadow rising out of the sand would be the last thing it ever saw.

. . .

The child kicked the sides of the cart, shaking the larger figure’s shoulder.

“Dad! Dad! A sandcroc just popped out of the sand and ate that skeeter! Did you see it? Did you see it?”

By the time the gaunt, elderly figure craned his head to the side, it was too late. The massive lizard had totally vanished beneath the granular earth. Impressive, given such reptiles could easily eclipse ten feet in length.

“Well, I hope you learned your lesson, sweetie.”

“Yeah I did! Sandcrocs are AWESOME!”

Her father chuckled, his red eyes sparkling faintly.

“I would have said ‘never stray off the designated path’”, he gestured to the gravel road they currently travelled on “but I can’t prove you wrong.” He whipped the reins, turning attention to his mount. “Look alive, Zithro! We’re almost there!”

The large, fuzzy beast, known locally as a panotti, snorted in protest, but pressed on regardless. Fortunately, this would not be for long.

Looming higher up the slope, a dragon cast its’ long shadow over the island. A dragon that, in the child’s eyes, had come down with a severe case of not being alive. It had curled up around the base of the island’s great caldera, as though only taking a nap. The gravel road the two travelers drove on winded its’ way to the beast’s jaws, awkwardly propped open with crude wooden pillars. But where skin should have been, there was only bones bleached white by the desert sun. All except for the belly, which had been filled in with bricks and long, oval windows set up between individual ribs so that the whole thing had the appearance on an inverted boat hull. Atop the back grew a garden of reds, blacks, and purples, from which wafted warm, humid air. Things could be heard buzzing in the thick foliage, making it seem the dragon had only been dead for a few days and not many, many, many years. It was a marvel of engineering. It was a monument to a culture of a bygone age. It was a most sacred house of learning, and its’ inhabitants only hope for salvation from their cursed mortal existence. But most importantly, it got his kid shut up for a few seconds, granting a long overdue respite. He smiled. He loved Vera, but with any luck, he would be in for a long overdue peaceful night.

Not that he could blame them. It wasn’t every day you saw a komodo in the flesh. Or lack thereof.

He turned to them once more. “Alright, Vera. Remember what I told you?”

And of course, the one time he wanted to talk to them, they were quiet. Oh, Kib, the bitter ironies of life!

“Vera! Are you listening, sweetie?”

The child reluctantly turned his way. “Yes, Dad. Always make eye contact when somebody talks to you, don’t talk too much, and don’t get too close to people you just met because it makes them uncomfortable.”

Their father nodded, skeptical. True, Vera understood the letter of the law well enough- right down to the syntax- but the spirit of said law was a whole other kettle of fish.

They had a mischievous streak. Just like their mother.

As the sun descended into the red ocean, the two gazed at the small black shadows that flitted out from the komodo’s mouth and eyeholes, a last dying gasp made physical: BATS. Vera gasped in awe. This one building had to house more bats than the rest of the island combined. Then again, it wasn’t called Batavia for nothing.

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But more importantly-

“You’re twitching again.” Observed Vera.

Her father looked down, and sure enough, his legs were trembling against each other as steadily as the wingbeats of the small furry mammals above.

“That obvious, huh?”

“But why are you scared? You said the people here are friendly.”

“Not scared, Vera. Just nervous. The people at the monastery are… dedicated. Not that that’s bad or anything! It’s good to believe in things! But it can be… unsettling, though. You’ll see when we meet them!”

Zithro screeched, snapping him out of his thoughts. The cart came to a halt in front of the dragon’s propped open jaws. A mural had been painted on the komodo’s upper palate, consisting of two great spheres, one near the snout and another near the throat, painted lucid green against an indigo backdrop. Several flitting steaks of light, the product of phosphorescent dye, were painted as if flying to the greater sphere from the lesser sphere. In other words, into the overgrown lizard’s pitch black throat.

Streaks alien to most, but immediately recognizable to Vera and her Father as Life Ships.

From deep within the beast’s belly, heavy footsteps echoed against cold stairs. Vera’s father gripped the reins tighter as they grew louder. Vera, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to see what new curiosity this skeleton beast would eject.

To their disappointment, it was a fairly unremarkable person, her (at least, Vera assumed them a her) body shrouded in cloth and waist tied with a tattered rope. What little skin was exposed was painted chalk white with black streaks. Her wide, yellow eyes glowed faintly in the darkness. It was a glow that killed her father’s apprehension on the spot.

“Creosote!” He leapt, and came dangerously close to embracing her in a hug, an act the woman only narrowly avoided via a swift sidestep.

“Blessing of Kib to you too, Malagasy.” Though she tried to keep her tone neutral, even in the dark, beneath her veil, he could see the edges of her mouth creep upward into the faintest grin.

“Why-? How-? Where’s Saguaro? Not that I’m complaining, but she’s always been so on point about being the one to greet visitors!”

“Madame Saguaro has her hands full taking care of the children. They’re at a delicate age, you know. They need a guiding hand.”

For a moment, Malagasy’s joy tapered. Something about kids spending their entire lives cooped up in a fortress of bone… even if it was for the greater good, it made his stomach quiver.

But really, he could only be so down when the beautiful Creo was in his presence!

“Now then,” continued the yellow-eyed beauty, “What goods have you acquired on your travels?”

“Huh? Oh right! The goods! Vera, tie up Zithro and help me unload!”

Vera took up the task with relish, tying the exhausted panotti to the hitching post that had been built right beside the skull. Below said post was a trough of crystal clear water, which Zithro gulped greedily.

Together, the two visitors unloaded cloth- wrapped bundles from the back of their wooden cart, tossing them between each other with a strength and agility an observer might find uncharacteristically prodigious for their size.

Once unloaded, Malagasy untied the cord around one bundle, revealing a long, coiled lance that glistened in the moonlight.

“Behold! The tooth of a flying whale, shipped directly from the Blustery North!”

Creo gazed at him silently.

“At least, that’s what the sellers told me.”

“And who, exactly, were these sellers?”

“Pair of merchants from Carcosa. Seemed honest enough. Even threw in these speckled gillygaloo eggs!”

From his pocket he fished out several small, white cubes pipped with black.

“Pretty neat, huh?”

“Those things will kill you.”

Malagasy screamed, dropping them into the sand. This was the last time he trusted those Carcosan freaks!

“If you eat them. Just touching them, you should be fine.”

“Dang it!” Cried Malagasy, scrambling to snatch them back from the sand-no easy task given their black-and-white coloration. “Why didn’t you mention that FIRST?!”

“You are amusing when you scream.”

“Da- dang it, Creosote!”

And even though he couldn’t see her face, he knew by the way she averted her eyes she was deeply amused by this.

Panotti [JPG File]. . .

As the twin moons rose high in the starry night sky, Malagasy continued to show off items: the old stingers of Brodbinagin gigahornets, a mounted snot-fisher from Hyduddify, a picture of a rare human firearm (which to be fair, looked nothing like the ones currently in the Monastery’s collection), some pottery (both artificial and organic), the bones of elephants and city turtles of Flores, and books. Old books and new books, bound in leather and silk, small as a fingernail or large as Malagasy himself, only united in that their owners were willing to part with them for a few casks of Batavia’s vintage tequila.

By that point, Creosote SHOULD have summoned the other nuns to start ferrying the goods into the belly of the monastery, and Malagasy (plus Vera) SHOULD have been following one of said nuns to the guest room. Instead, they sat on a crate, gazing at the moons and the shifting stars. Vera had occupied themself with a book, While Creosote recorded the items on her notepad.

It would be a long night.

They had some time.

Malagasy was the first to speak. “So how are things going? Must get tedious around here.”

He drew a pouch from his pocket, popping the contents- several dried nuts- into his mouth.

Creosote stifled a laugh. “You would be surprised. The children can be quite difficult to handle.”

“I’d imagine. Being cooped up inside all day gets to you after awhile.”

“Spoken by a man who has never spent a day indoors.”

Malagasy sighed, chewing. Nuts always calmed his nerves. “Is it really all right, though, treating kids like this? I mean I know you guys have your reasons-“ tactfully cutting himself off before adding ‘however stupid’. “But do they really need to spend all day-?”

“Our sins are many, Malagasy. And if we are to return to Venus-“

The red-eyed man threw up his arms. “We, we, we! Always we! But what about your needs, Creosote?! Don’t you miss those days when we dressed up and travelled together? Don’t you miss facing death herself on the open sea? Seeing everything this planet had to offer? Didn’t that mean anything to-?”

“Of course I do. Every day. But now that we have you to trade with the other islanders for us, there’s no need for me to sacrifice my chance at redemption by forcing my cursed soul upon the world. Besides, Saguaro, for all her grace, can’t raise the children alone.”

Malagasy considered making a smart remark, then thought better of it and spat his nuts onto the sand. He wouldn’t leave Saguaro alone with kids, either. Or adults, for that matter.

Creosote was as obstinate a stone wall as ever, but he couldn’t complain. It was a beautiful night, spent in the company of a lovely lady, and Vera was keeping quiet for once. Who could ask for anything more?

Of course, that’s when he realized Vera was keeping quiet. Cautiously, not wanting to ruin the magical moment, he turned around.

The cart lay unloaded. Zithro slurped happily from the trough, without a care in the world. If only he could say the same.

“VERA?!” he called “Dang it, Vera! This isn’t funny!”

He looked back at Creosote.

“Did you see where Vera went!?”

The yellow eyed Venusian averted his gaze coyly. “Perhaps…”

Malagasy groaned. It really was too much to ask for one peaceful night!