Peter and Maggie paddled the pirate's outrigger canoe to Black Spire into the ever present trade wind. Peter watched the departing skyships sail away downwind, happy the navy would have trouble sailing back into the wind if they had second thoughts.

‘If I had The Jupiter, my sailboat, we’d be there already, even into the wind. I hate this paddling.’

‘Nothing we can do about it. Beats swimming, or pushing.’

With the outrigger hauled up on the sand the two took a short rest. They had just turned to walk towards the path when a shadow jumped out and knocked Peter to ground. Startled, Maggie sucked in a breath, stepped back, tripped on the outrigger, and sat down into the hull.

The laughing cackles and burbles of the creature were overlaid with meaning.

Happy… Safe… Good…

‘You’ve made a friend.’ Maggie struggled out and sat on the side of the hull. ‘I think.’

‘Get it off me.’ Peter fended the beast’s mouth away from his face and tried to push it off.

‘Difficult,’ a human voice said in a sing-song language.

Peter whipped his head around to see the old man who had been taken by the navy, and then caused Berg to be captured by pirates.

‘You!’

‘The evil creature will finish when good and done,’ the old man said.

Peter’s intuitions told him the human was not in the least bit sorry.

A grim smile played over the old man’s face. ’No point hoping to change your fate. But you don’t have to like it. I am Qhawana.’

Entangled within the old man’s sing-song voice lay meaning — he who stands apart — but in strange sounds and words unlike anything Peter had heard before. The understanding confused him.

Qhawana now appeared older than Peter’s earlier glimpses of him. Grey hair with lined, dark tanned features on his clean shaven face. Almost Asian, or perhaps South American. But not quite.

‘You know this creature?’ Peter shoved the animal away. It scrambled over the outrigger and came around to Peter on the opposite side as if sneaking up to him.

Confusion settled over the old man’s face and he regarded the two under beady eyes.

Maggie reached out a hand to the animal. ‘It’s the same cute one that led the pirates a merry chase.’ The animal crept close then sniffed, poked at Peter again, as they peered eye to eye.

‘Here boy,’ said Maggie.

The creature cocked its head towards Maggie and gave a low bird-like warbling.

No No… Smells good… Tastes good…

‘He’s eyeing you up for dinner Peter.’

Follow him… Save me… Like him…

Peter pushed the animal from his chest and stood up. The animal tracked him as he stepped away as if ready to pounce again.

‘Follow?’ Peter said. ‘That’s how we were found by Berg. It tracked us all the time.’

‘He’s no animal,’ said Maggie.

‘If you can call this squawking-talking-beast a he…’ Peter laughed. ‘Even if I can sort of understand it.’

‘He’s cute,’ said Maggie.

‘It didn’t attack you,’ Peter said.

Touch… Taste… Friend…

The warbling animal could somehow be understood.

‘Weird.’ Maggie smiled. ‘But also cute… in an ugly way. Like a baby bird or something.’

The creature glared at Maggie in offense. After a dog-like circle of Peter it leaned against his legs and stared up at it’s new friend. Then it’s head swiveled like an owl and the dog-like nature vanished. This was an alien.

The wide flat face had large dark eyes with no whites, or perhaps a hint of brown surrounded the deep green iris cut by a black pupil. Black-green feather-fur covered the head and the face across its brow and cheeks. But the rest of the face had soft leathery black skin wrinkled in places around the mouth but smooth and unlined under the chin.

Maggie was right. The creature had an almost bird or bat-like appearance with its squashed nose and small nostrils. With its quick bird-like head movements Peter thought of the native New Zealand Kea parrot. Curious and intelligent, with eyes that took everything in. The head stayed stationary even when the body moved — as if it bobbled on a spring.

‘A steady-cam.’ Peter recalled the manisaur Berg. There were obvious similarities, but while the manisaur could not be mistaken for anything other than a person, this creature seemed more like an animal — despite the talking. And it’s paw-hands.

To confuse him more it stood up, like a person, and walked.

‘This is too much,’ Maggie said.

‘What is? Now talking animals are freaking you out? When flying sea monsters and glowing eggs haven’t?’

‘Yes. Talking dog-animals… he’s…’

The breeze from the lagoon ruffled the feather-fur on the head of the small beast who rolled his head almost right around into the wind and bobbed his head.

‘Breeze,’ said Maggie.

‘What?’

‘That’s what I’ll name him… the dog-animal… owl-bat-monkey…’ Maggie said her voice low.

‘You had better ask him,’ Peter nodded. The beast locked eyes with Maggie now.

‘He likes you better,’ Maggie said.

Peter reached out a hand and the animal nuzzled him. ‘Breeze?’

‘Yes… Yes…’ the creature said.

But Peter could not work out what The creature had done to communicate, no real words, just bobbing movements and cute burbling warbles.

‘So Breeze. You’re a handful aren’t you?’ Peter grinned.

That set Breeze to action. He jumped up and down, pogoing in excitement, his head steady, fixed in space even as the rest of him bobbed about. Peter laughed then with Maggie joining in.

‘Where’s the old man?’ Peter said. ‘Qhawana.’ The human had disappeared.

Breeze ran off down a trail that led from the beach. He stopped, checked the others followed, then disappeared along the trail under the forest canopy.

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‘He knows the way I guess,’ said Maggie.

The two stepped along the path and into the welcome shade of the ironwood trees.

‘If I had known what sort of hare-brained scheme Bamrushi — Bergwash had cooked up I would have stopped you.’ Qhawana flipped another flatbread. White corn boiled in a pot next to the fire.

They sat at a brazier in front of the stone house where Peter had first seen the human and his manisaur friend Bergwash. Fish grilled to one side of the fire, while the old man tossed the flatbread on the other. Peter’s mouth watered. It had been too long since he and Maggie had eaten very much at all.

Peter ached to tuck into the pile of steaming flatbread stacked next to a wooden bowl of aromatic salsa sauce. Days of blue-glowing-alien-egg-things, and raw fish, did not satisfy.

His watch showed somehow five days had passed.

Peter peeled papery husks from a green fruit with a sticky skin that turned soapy when washed. Qhawana took these, smashed them together with an orange-colored roasted vegetable, to make salsa.

‘Berg was your prisoner?’ Peter watched sparks rise in the air as the sea breeze fanned the flames.

‘He is. He was.’ Qhawana paused. ‘Not any more… perhaps I…’

Peter did not understand the rest.

How can I hear their strange sounds but then understand them? It’s like subtitles but not ones I read. And even understand the animal — Breeze?

The dog-thing had already stolen and devoured one fish raw and now gnawed on a corn cob. Qhawana did not drive the creature away but glared in frustration. No love lost there.

Qhawana recognized the name Breeze, and even made an approximation of the sound — another hint of how the language thing worked. Peter’s words now aligned with Qhawana’s understanding of the mischievous…

‘Imp,’ Peter muttered. Then he knew all of a sudden. ‘Breeze is an imp.’

Breeze seemed at least as smart as a chimp, more so as he could talk — or the language effect enabled it. And ‘imp’ matched Breeze’s laughing, friendly, cooperative, but independent nature.

Breeze, the imp, squatted and used his fingers to pluck at the corn between his teeth almost human for a moment, but then chomped and gnawed his food without any politeness.

‘It’s been days since we’ve eaten any real food,’ said Maggie watching him eat.

‘You can say that again,’ said Peter.

Qhawana stared at him puzzled.

Peter smiled at the lost in translation reaction.

‘I’m famished, ravenous. I can’t wait.’ Peter's mouth watered at the smell of the frying fish overlaid with the sweetness of corn.

‘You won’t die for want of a few more minute’s patience. If I can keep the food from the creature — the imp.’ The old man leaned back on his stool and cut a citrus-like fruit in half with a flick of a dark black bladed knife and passed a segment to Peter and Maggie. The fragrant knobbly green fruit burst with a lemon-lime tang when he bit into it.

Peter and Maggie sighed together.

Qhawana laughed. ‘Here.’ He passed wooden boards to them and topped each with a couple of flatbreads. Then, as if his fingers were fire proof, he placed a fillet of white fish on top. A quick squeeze of citrus and a topping of the salsa followed.

‘You like laht?’ Qhawana proffered a red powder.

‘Um… what?’

‘This.’ Qhawana placed a spoonful of the red powder on Peter’s board-plate, and then a grey-brown powder next to it. ‘The spice will ward off the imp too.’ He smiled at that.

Qhawana sprinkled a generous dose of each on his own flatbread, then wrapped it up with a quick fold and twist. Peter followed suit, sparing with the red powder while Maggie tested each powder.

‘Wow… hot hot… spicy hot.’ Maggie waved a hand over her mouth and looked for some relief.

Breeze bounced up and down, excited at her exclamations, while Qhawana frowned around his mouthful of fish and bread. Maggie drank water as she puffed and rolled her eyes.

Peter grinned and bit into the bread wrap. His mouth flooded with the laht — spicy and succulent fish, then he chewed the soft wrap. Hot spice and citrus twanged a contrast to the warm flatbread and mellow fish. He dipped a finger in the brown powder. It tasted rich and nutty without any heat, just a touch salty. He sprinkled it all over the open end of the wrap and bit again.

‘You’re not Angvi — a softie then?’ Qhawana nodded in approval as he made up another flatbread.

‘No. I’m not ang — soft,’ Peter said. ‘I like my food to bite back. But just a little.’

It struck Peter how the meal seemed almost Mexican. But not once had he heard any Spanish from Qhawana. Just the strange language Qhawana called Thaluk — the tongue. And corn had originated in South America… hadn’t it? But wraps were Middle Eastern too.

‘How do we get off the island?’ asked Peter. ‘Not the same way as your prisoner I guess.’

‘Here. Have more bread. It seems you are half-starved.’ The old man busied himself preparing another wrap.

‘Can we get away from here?’ Peter prepared another wrap and sprinkled the red spice liberally over it. ‘Berg wanted to once there was a way.’

‘I am content to stay here. You should too. It is best not to question too much the vagaries of fate now it has brought you here. I care not what becomes of Berg.’

At the mention of the name Breeze perked up. He stood on his rear legs and bounced up and down.

‘That’s not our problem now,’ Qhawana said. ‘Berg captured by pirates? I’m not sure how successful he will be in buying them out. Surer than his chances of escape from the navy… perhaps.’

‘How do we find our way home?’ Peter said.

‘Choclo?’ The old man offered the corn to Maggie.

‘Chocolate?’ Maggie took the white corn.

It looked a lot like the yellow sweet corn Peter knew, but the larger kernels had a creamy green tinge.

‘No. Choclo — corn.’ The old man’s voice held both complex sounds and meanings.

Peter heard both words and understood them to be the same. Somehow his brain did not just translate but also learned Qhawana’s language. He took the warm white corn cob, the choclo, and bit into it.

‘It’s not chocolate,’ Maggie said. ‘But it is as sweet as dessert.’

‘Maggie. Don’t you see? He deflects all our questions towards food. Knowing how hungry we are that’s easy.’

Maggie finished her choclo — corn and placed the cob on the ground. Breeze picked it up and sucked and gnawed at it almost as if to tell the foolish humans he’d left the best bit behind. Peter turned sideways towards the imp. Had he somehow picked up on the imp’s very thoughts?

‘This place sure is hard to get used to.’

He shook his head, crossed his arms, and stared at Qhawana who first met his gaze, then turned to Maggie.

‘Another choclo?’

‘You do know a way for us to get home, right?’ said Peter. ‘To Earth?’

The look on Qhawana’s face told them all he needed to know.

‘You are nuvra?’ Qhawana stared. Uncertainty played over his face. ‘It’s not possible for nuvra to ever return from wherever you came. That is fate’ He paused and stared at the imp Breeze a moment, and then off into the distance. Stars winked into visibility in the darkening sky.

‘But you’re human, right?’ said Peter. ‘From Earth? Like us?’

Qhawana spoke with deliberation. ‘This is Eoth.’

Peter heard not Earth — but Eoth. Had he heard that right or did the translation twist things?

‘Eoth,’ Peter said. ‘Almost Earth, but not quite.’

‘That’s what I heard too. Eoth.’ Maggie locked her gaze with Peter’s.

Qhawana nodded. ‘Eoth.’

‘So this is not Earth…’ said Maggie.

‘I knew it,' Peter said. 'This is not home. There’s nowhere this could be on Earth.’

‘No. Indeed,’ said Qhawana. ‘But it is hard to believe that you are nuvra from the home of the ancestors. Earth.’

Again Peter could not be sure of the sound Qhawana had made — but clearly he knew of Earth.

‘Nuvra. People pass over from Earth to here on occasion… not often.’ Qhawana paused. ‘But nuvra have no tulanvarqa — no connexion. And so can not be understood. You have tulanvarqa. I hear your strange words, yet know your meaning. How can you be of Earth?’

Peter wondered then how often people traveled from Earth to Eoth.

‘You can not be nuvra. And yet…’ The old man studied Peter, and then Maggie. ‘It is more like you are arvun — those with deep place connection.’

Peter’s head spun. Arvun — nuvra. Opposites and a reflection, or folding back of the words and sounds as the meaning changed. Say one thing, and the opposite is close by. He watched Qhawana’s face as it shifted in the flicker of the fire. A change came over the old man then as if Qhawana had come to some decision.

‘There are not so many of our people here compared to the two-thumb handed ones — the Quevantaqi. And return to Earth is not very possible. Few, or none, have made it back to tell the tale. Rumor and hearsay. Of those who return to Earth, if that is where they go, none journey again to Eoth. Maybe they pass from this Eoth to a place beyond knowledge?’

‘Where can we learn more? How can we return to Earth?’ Peter said.

‘What is the point? Did I not say, there is nowhere to go?’

‘But, we have to try.’

Qhawana fell silent and poked the fire to coax life from the coals.

‘Zenska, he said. ‘The largest isle in this sea, lies days to the northeast. Far to the south is Qhayuhanpathi — the Long Land. But Qhayanpa would be a voyage of weeks, not days.’

‘Where has Berg been taken?’ Peter watched the old man. Did Qhawana believe Berg had gone to this Zenska?

Qhawana shook his head. ‘Children. You must stay here. There is nothing in the world but sorrow, loss, and betrayal. I will not leave this place. For Berg to leave took the threat of capture, and the message held within the talisman. But I am old…’

‘We are young,’ said Peter. ‘We have everything to live for.’

‘Fate brought you to this place, out of the evils of the world. You can not change such fate. Here I protect you as I did Berg.’ Qhawana stood and eyed the imp still gnawing on a corn cob. Without another word, he took their platters, and stepped into the dark beyond the fire.

‘He didn’t protect Berg very well.’ Peter said under his breath.‘We’re prisoners… stranded here.’

‘We couldn’t travel even if we wanted to.’ Maggie said.

‘My sailboat. It’s big enough. But how to get to Zenska? What direction do we sail in?’

Breeze slipped beside him and stared into the fire before turning again to Peter. The imp reached out and took Peter’s hand in his strange almost-human hand. He took up Maggie’s in the other. Breeze let out a slow warbling sigh. Peter smiled to himself. Somehow he agreed with Breeze, a knot of warmth sat deep within his chest. The companionship, the idyllic contentment of being safe after a brush with danger, the satisfying hum of hot food. These were good people to be with.

If Maggie believed this to be a dream then perhaps it wasn’t all bad. But he still needed to escape.