Fiksu

“Fiksu,” she said with no preamble as she led John through the forest.

“Uh, gesundheit, I think?” John countered, unsure what she meant.

“It is my name. You John, me Fiksu. Ki ren?” Amusement swam in her eyes as she looked back at the confused human. "We’ve been traveling together for days. I share my name now.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought to ask.” John sat on a log, rubbing his calves and inspecting his feet. “How much further?”

Fiksu did not want to dwell on the thought of going back to her people. She knew with no ambiguity violating her exile to return brought consequences, but it couldn’t be helped. The sooner she removed John from her care, the sooner she could put distance behind her and leave them all to rot.

“It is still days away, ape.”

“Any, uh, any chance we could rest here for the night? Sun’s getting low.” John picked at a splinter, wincing.

The request both did and did not bother her. She wanted the trip done as soon as possible, but she saw how he struggled to keep up with her. One more reason to leave this fool with some others who could help. She nodded and began busying herself, constructing a make-shift lean-to from some branches and large leaves.

“I’ve never been a big fan of camping,” John said as he tried to help. “As far as I’m concerned, as long as I had an RV with a TV I’d be set. I don’t like being at the mercy of the bugs.”

“You’re soft. How do people like you survive where you come from? We Tai never get to the queensland.”

“I keep telling you I’m not from this ‘queensland,’ but you don’t believe me,” he explained. “I’ve never seen this many types of trees ever.” Fiksu tied together some branches as John held them for her. “This queen you were talking about? What makes her so terrible? Did she blow up her land?” he added, nodding to the muted glow on the horizon. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I know nothing about this place.”

Fiksu sighed. “I will answer you, rakka, but the story is long and wants a fire for it’s telling.” She tossed a knotted rope over a branch, threading it under a protruding root below and holding the fixture in place. John looked awed, and she recognized he had no true woodland skills.

Grabbing some rotting wood, she tore it apart with her bare hands. John’s eyes widened even more at her demonstration of strength. Fiksu reached into her pouch and pulled out some flame powder, sprinkling it liberally until the mixture ignited and set the logs aflame. She settled down into a crouch before the heat, and stared into the flickering light, remembering.

“There is a tale among our people, from the time before time. It grows with the telling, nake te, so I do not know how much is true and how much is not.” That Jamaican accent began to sound thicker as she fell into the storytelling of her people.

“Dere was an old, old man, de start of all tings.It is said he ruled de world. His magic was strong, and he used it all de time. Most creatures and plants and feelings in de world were born from his magic.” Even as she began the tale, it reminded her of her father and the way he spoke, and she adopted some of his rhythm.

“De master true, as his powers grew, he created everything anew.

As master he came, through fire and flame, and dere was nuttin’ left to discover.

He sought to create, his need to be great, and so in de end met fate.

Through darkness and haze, most terrible of days, he changed tings in many ways.

One day he found a new realm, a world for him to helm, empty.”

Fiksu shifted, uncomfortable. “Dis new realm, it was blank, John. He drew wit his magics, creating tings his mind imagined. All he needed was to create. So he filled it.” Darkness had fallen completely, and John jumped when the fire popped unexpectedly. Fiksu smirked condescendingly, poking the fire with a stick. “While he was away, de terrors he’d laid upon our world stopped, and we Tai thought he’d left for good.”

John rubbed his head. “I can see that he must have come back then.” Fiksu nodded.

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“He stayed in his new world a good long while. Fixin’ tings de way he wanted while dat world be young. We had peace for a time. Den, new tings appeared. Creature’s we’d nevah seen. New lands where none had been before. Den he returned once more.

“Back dere,” she pointed to the distant horizon that still held the orange glow, “is the queensland. Malika, the Queen of Fire came into this world. Malika the Terrible was his daughter, he told my people.” She scowled, remembering the horrors of her people as if she’d lived them herself, so many times had the stories been told to her. “Young she was den, in dose days. She fought with her sister, and when she’d grown, de old man vanished. Dese two sisters fought with magics of their own, but always Malika came out ahead.

“Who was her sister? And what was the old man’s name? And where did he go?” John asked, warming his hands by the fire.

“Whispers persist of her sister. Naomi. Dese whispers say little, and we Tai do not remember her deeds. The old man never shared a name, but we cursed his magic and his ways. He is dead to us.”

“Would you know him if you saw him?”

“Pah,” Fiksu waved her hands. “These are just stories, John. But I know the queen is real, and she hates my people. I do not believe this man existed, but he is spoken of as older than the stars in the heavens themselves. Impossible that he lives.

“If that witch queen has your daughter, I fear for her. I hope she did not find her way to the queensland.”

John

John laid in the starlight, uncomfortably close to the larger Tai as they huddled under the lean-to Fiksu had crafted. He listened to the unfamiliar sounds of buzzing and chirping, insects he could not identify and animals besides. Fiksu’s story had left him unsettled. At least he had her name now.

He couldn’t believe it, though the warmth of the tusked woodswoman next to him bore the truth of the matter. A world of magic, he thought. Strange beasts, stranger people, and an all powerful queen who ruled with an iron fist against these Tai people.

Magic! John’s imagination only went so far, thinking of watching David Copperfield performing tricks on television, and illusionists on America’s Got Talent. Movies might be closer, like Harry Potter maybe? He didn’t know, but to even think that magic was a thing got his mind racing.

Could everyone use it? Or only certain people, or things? In certain places maybe? Would magic work on him if he hadn’t come from this world? Or was he born to it too, and needed to unlock it? He scooched closer to Fiksu for warmth, only to be kicked several times by her savagely even as she slept.

“Guess that wasn’t a good idea,” he muttered. Magic. Could he wish for something and have it come true? He had to try. “I wish I knew if Miranda was alright,” he whispered, looking out at the unfamiliar sky. Nothing happened of course, no shooting stars or glowing twinkles or ghost whispers to assure him.

“John?” Fiksu asked.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and sleep,” Fiksu replied, kicking his calf muscle one last time. He grimaced, clutching his leg.

John wondered why Fiksu traveled alone. He could tell she felt uneasy heading to her village. But she had nothing for him, except to offer protection in this strange land. The way her speech had fallen off reciting her legend made him curious. Was she an exception to the norm? Or was he traveling with an outcast, or something else besides?

None of this would matter if he could just find his daughter. Miranda was lost out there, cold and alone, feverish and unwell. He wouldn’t accept any other thoughts just then. He needed to find her, to cradle her, to ensure she knew he loved her more than life itself. John would not stop until he had her back, safe.

It just seemed so hopeless. He sniffled, wiping away tears as he drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, John watched as Fiksu dismantled the lean-to and smoothed away the fire pit she’d built the night before, burying it beneath a layer of dirt. He tried to help but she hissed at him.

“Ssst, rakka! I’ll handle this,” she said, shooing him away. He hated feeling useless even around Fiksu, and it just compounded the feeling of helplessness he had for his daughter.

“Let me do something, Fiksu,” he offered. “I mean, I feel like dead weight over here.”

“Sit!” she jabbed him in the stomach. “You are dead weight, rakka. Leave this clean up to the adult.”

John obeyed, but chafed at the order. I’m so out of my league here, he thought to himself, idly snapping some small twigs off a low-lying branch. “You said there was magic here. How does it work?”

‘Why is the sky blue? Why does the pienkhu chuffa? Why is the idle man fat? Magic is. Believe in it or not, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. As for how it works? Pfft. Your guess is as good as mine, rakka.”

Shut down again, John lamented. How do I get through to her? He admired Fiksu’s efficiency and skill, and knew she belonged here as much as he did not. Yet here he was, and he had no illusions that he’d ever see home again. He stared at his feet, wrapped with sap and leaves bundled with twiny vines. No Nike’s, for sure.

“How much help will we get in your village?” he tried again. Fiksu dropped the bundle she’d shouldered and stood up straight, towering over him as he sat.

“Listen here, ape. This is going into the Zheunku den for me. They may help. They may not. I may end up dead. I don’t even know why I do this for you.” she sniffed, curling her lip around her tusks. “No, I do dis for de girl,” she continued, tapping her tusk lightly with her forefinger, slipping into her deeper accent. “All you do is ask questions. Stop. Observe. Learn.”

Cowed, John put the bundle over his own shoulder and stood. “So, are we done here?” Fiksu growled, tossing her head in the direction she began to walk. John followed, with a million more questions in his head.