[Player Log Start!]

[Log Holder: Asadullah Khan]

[Level: 2]

[! Log Translated From Urdu !]

“Watch out, watch out, watch out!” Jared warned him, entirely too late, as a ticked off coconut crab lunged for him. Asadullah squeaked, ducking out of the way. But his tail, which had fallen limp all of a sudden, almost got snipped by the bloody thing.

He managed to get it safely in hand, though, running soothing fingers over the part which had been scraped along the beastly thing’s claws.

“I thought you could just cleave it in two?” Michael asked. Asadullah fought the urge to glare at him.

He lost, and Michael slumped under the critical look Asadullah shot him.

“No, really.” Terry added, voice lowered to avoid catching everyone else’s attention, “I’ve seen you react much faster than that. Are you feeling okay?”

“Of course.” Asadullah insisted, “Never been better.”

“Are you… feeling seasick?” Terry hazarded a guess.

“Standing on dry land, T.” Asadullah reminded him, laughing a little.

“No, you can just blame all your problems the ocean.” He joked, leaning lightly against Asadullah’s arm. His palms were becoming sweaty. He hoped his arm wasn’t also sweaty. It was a more innocent thing to dither over than the pressing issue hanging over his head.

Asadullah had hoped that the mild glitch with the armband was merely a one-time scare. Sadly, it seemed to not be the case, as he was having repeat incidents where his powers would be irresponsive. He’d been able to brush them off for the most part, but this one was… intense. They would notice. At least Terry would bring it up to him.

A stick wielded by Michael jabbed forward, cracking the crab’s shell, and getting to the soft flesh.

“I gotta get me one of those.” Jared whistled, “You think Lucky will make one if I ask nicely?”

“You think that this crab has a lair?” Terry wondered, watching Michael cut its head off, already busying himself with prising open the shell and getting to the meat, “Also, you’re doing it all wrong. Keep going and you’ll end up rupturing its digestive tract and ruining the meat.”

Michael released it, looking suitably chastised, “Is it even edible in the first place?”

“Bet it tastes like a coconut.” Asadullah whispered to Terry.

“Bet it doesn’t.” Terry responded. In Urdu. It always made his heart flutter. God, he had a goofy smile on his face, didn’t he? He could feel it creeping across his face, syrupy sweet.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He agreed, “But let me live in that fantasy for little while, won’t you?”

“How do you know what coconut tastes like?” Terry asked, switching back to English, “Just… didn’t know they grew in snowy mountains.”

“Snowy mountains have trade routes, you know?” He reminded him.

Terry blushed, “It may have slipped my mind.” He admitted, “Sorry.”

“Okay, we gotta move forward now.” Jared announced, “Except Michael, who’s taking up the arduous task of hauling this crab back to the cove.”

The boy in question saluted seriously. Asadullah was near certain that he had been chosen for this task because he could get back the fastest, you know, because he could fly.

“But the idea of the lair is sound.” Michael told them, “You may wanna check that out soon.”

“I’ll see what I can sniff out.” Asadullah promised, his nose twitching. It was an impossible promise, but he was hoping that if he used that speech tag, the internal guilt would jolt the djinn into action.

His face suddenly felt incredibly cold, with the lowest temperature centered on his nose. That’s how he knew it was working. That and the smell of almonds and chemicals that came from Terry’s hair suddenly becoming overwhelming.

Almost reluctantly, he took a step away, letting other smells flow into his awareness. Much less pleasant smells than Terry’s hair, but he was resigned to it by now. And between the overpowering scent of seawater that pervaded everything, he caught notes of fishy musk. He followed that smell, and the track of needle-like footsteps, until he found the hole at the roots of one of the trees on the islet.

It was lined with twisted up bits of metal, some rusted, other still shiny. It wasn’t all just unidentifiable bits of alloys, either. He could identify steel. Copper. Made into rulers. Nails. Wires. And with wires came… rubber.

“This is the stuff Lucky was asking for.” Asadullah noted, picking up a clump of the wires.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Yeah!” Jared agreed, “No one mess with these. We need them intact. Just in case. No need to get her more pissed at us for no reason.”

Asadullah thrust a hand inside, only to retract quickly as something rough and unexpected scraped against his hand, “Ah, son of a bitch.” He cursed, “There’s eggs in here.”

“Crabs lay eggs?” Michael asked.

“Yeah. Once in their life. Also, get your ass over to the cove.” Jared glared at him playfully, “We need you back here ASAP.”

“But what about the eggs?” Asadullah asked, scooping in with more understanding now and pulling the eggs out, looking at their leathery shells as they lolled over, rocking from end to end, “…Do you people want to eat them too?”

Terry scrunched up his nose, “Do we have to?” He asked, “Maybe if the eggs are allowed to hatch, I can raise an army of coconut crabs.”

“Sounds awful. Do it.” Jared agreed. A feathery shape flopped down next to them. Asadullah cringed away from it, growling.

“If you can keep the carrion off them long enough.” He batted away at the crow, who only cawed and came closer. In the distance, another crow cawed. But this one he couldn’t pinpoint. Everyone shrunk in together, standing back to back with each other. More caws came out from the wilderness.

Jared gritted his teeth, pulling up a crutch like a club, “We’re surrounded. Michael, get out of here.”

“Me? Why me?” Michael asked, taking a swipe at the crow on the ground.

“Because you have the best chance of evading them. While we distract them.”

“Distract them how?” Asadullah asked, curling his fingers into claws. And then whacking his bangles until actual claws extended from his fingertips. Nice save.

“By raising hell.” Jared announced, breaking their tight protective formation to take a swipe at the crow on the ground. One hit to the head, and it was sprawling to the side, flapping wildly. A loud, sorrowful call went up, echoed by the invisible creatures all around, which were very quickly revealing themselves from the hidden nooks and crannies.

Asadullah gulped. His little claws seemed much less impressive now. “How about some translations, Terry?” He asked. The boy cracked his knuckles, and the corresponding panel popped up, notifying them off the change. Along with white brackets everywhere, declaring (Angry) over every bird.

“Where is Flightmaster Feathertooth?” The closest one warbled. Not in English, though. It was simply cawing, translated by Terry’s spidery subtitles.

“Meeting the same moldy grave as you.” Terry announced, ungloving his mold-encased hand. Everyone in the know immediately scattered. The birds blocking out the sun only came closer. Which was their mistake, as a cloud of green spores blossomed everywhere, latching onto their feathers and throats and eyes, and growing over them with that same bone-chilling speed.

Michael took the opportunity to fly out, tearing through the skies with an armful of crab, taking erratic corkscrew turns, even as more crows came out to pursue him. Another flock of crows remained, however, looking over the field of grassy bird-shaped lumps.

“What… have you done?” It cawed, in native crow language.

Terry took a nervous breath, all his words wrung out, before he clumsily signed, “What will continue to happen if you try and test us.” Who knew that Terry could be so scary? Asadullah liked it, actually.

“Huh? Why are you waving your hands?” The crow asked, twisting its head around to look at Terry better, “Do hand gestures mean anything in human communication?” The rest of the fowl chirped and cawed various responses.

“I don’t speak human.” One of them mourned, “I heard Limshaw does, though. He never shuts up about how he took that as a language in secondary flight school.”

“Hookbeak speaks the truth.” Another distinct crow separated itself from the group, “I graduated premium feather.”

“No one fucking cares, fluffskull!” Hookbeak snarled, “Our resumes have no effect in the Island Corps.”

“The existence of Island Corps suggests non-island Corps.” Terry signed frantically to them all, “It’s something worth looking into.”

A mainland of some kind seemed almost impossible. But it was a nice fantasy. And if anyone would know where a landmass larger than a hockey field, it would be the birds that had canvassed the world for decades.

“If you’ve got a reliable translator now, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that we do have your Flightmaster Feathertooth.” Jared announced, smirking like a smarmy douche, “Locked in a cage. Like a commoner.” Every bird gasped in outrage, as if this was the worst punishment a raven could be subjected to. Maybe it was. He didn’t know corvid hierarchy. He did know that these fifty birds didn’t seem happy about this declaration, all bristling and flexing sharp claws.

“We’ll be open to negotiations on his treatment.” Asadullah decided, playing the good cop to… whatever Jared was attempting right now. It didn’t seem to be working, was all he was going to say. Exactly how much of an affect did that Compulsion Card have on his charisma?

The cloud of crows all descended onto the largest branch, all cawing amongst themselves, until Limshaw spoke in throaty, avian-accented English, “We will be open to such negotiations as well.”

Score! Trying to keep the budding excitement off his chest, Asadullah prodded further, “Any chance getting an audience with your upper echelon is on the books.”

“Feathertooth was our upper echelon.” Hookbeak snapped through Limshaw, “What more could you possibly want, humans?”

“Something like… access to your research? And your main nest?” Jared asked, his voice squeaking with unsurety. Even he seemed to understand how much he was asking for, and he tried to back up that demand, “We have… an interesting situation. Feathertooth could see that we would be great allies, once it heard what we were going through.”

“And then you captured him.”

“Which was because of an unfortunate series of misunderstandings.” Terry signed, “At the end of which there was mass murder. So we couldn’t very well let them free to plot revenge.”

“It would be only fair.” One of the anonymous crows sulked.

“What special circumstances?” Limshaw sneered, translating a different crow’s grumbling into English. It seemed to understand that they could translate the crows calling, but also seemed to just want to show off its translation abilities, “All the other humans are seeking asylum for their endangered species status. What makes your circumstances any more deserving of attention?”

Asadullah stared at the crow, hardly daring to believe what it had just said. Maybe his translator was glitchy. Maybe a lot of translators were breaking, this was a very delicate system of communication they had got going on right now. But everyone seemed to be reacting in the same way. Humans weren’t extinct, after all.

[Player Log End!]