A New Night
Chapter 12

Chasing Ghosts

I was surprised at how quickly the jungle became dark around us. And it wasn’t just in patches—the trees with their dark green leaves and only lighter green bark rose high overhead in every direction we could go. Though I tried to direct myself toward the Sky City, it was almost always invisible beneath the canopy. Were it not for Romalla flying up to check our trajectory every so often, I’m sure we would have disoriented ourselves and ended up back at the Wall.

Though I’d seen no more glowing yellow orbs, my subconscious still did not feel safe enough for my body to retract the machete blades. This helped with clearing foliage at least … and I was grateful that it would probably make us look more dangerous to anything that could be watching. Still, I found myself jumping at everything that moved. This level of alertness quickly became tiring, mainly because there were so many things that moved in the jungle.

Romalla did not share my concern. She flew above the canopy and through the jungle—so I often did not see her. This worried me a bit, but she always seemed to have a solid idea of where I was. She weaved effortlessly through the trees—in a way I had never seen, given the Island’s shorter plant life.

I also spotted a few small animals traveling about—most of them trying to escape Romalla as she darted around. She had caught a lizard with a frilled, red head. This frill looked similar to the hibiscus-like red flowers on one of the shorter tree types. Then she had unsuccessfully chased a three-tailed rodent with green fur, which used its extra appendages to attach itself by the rear to vines—making it near invisible until she had startled it.

Watching her fly about with such purpose was fun. Because the primary food items on the island had been blood, insects, and fish, I was not prepared for the viciousness with which Romalla killed and consumed these smaller animals. Every crunch of bones and death shriek made me wince.

Romalla eventually returned from her hunting—her cheeks full of something. By the time she did, her stomach was slightly distended, and blood stains sprinkled the fur around her mouth. She gave me a look of concern (much like her mother had at trying to feed me) and, with her mouth full, said, “I feel bad, Bassello. To be at this glorious feast and unable to eat … it is sad.”

“Yeah, sad,” I replied, forcing myself not to look away when my stomach churned. “Just … don’t eat any colorful frogs.”

“Are they unclean … or sacred to the gods?” Romalla asked after swallowing. She then began licking one of her wings and then using it to clean her face, sort of like a cat.

“They’re poisonous … or, at least, I think I remember that they were in my world. The green, black, gray, or brown ones are fine. But the colorful ones … purple, blue, red … they could kill you.” Of course, this knowledge came from the same distorted bank of memories I got all my random hunches from. I didn’t know whether to be comforted because I at least knew some things or perturbed because I couldn’t remember a good reason for believing in the things I thought I knew. The results were irritating … if occasionally convenient.

“I will avoid those then.” Romalla finished cleaning the blood from her face. She seemed content for a little while, and we returned to walking.

-O-

The hours of walking in the dark dragged on. While the jungle had been exciting at first, it was quickly becoming monotonous. Green rodents, red-faced lizards, occasional groves of red flowers, and the green plantlife … so much green. It also seemed to grow darker more quickly than I expected, and I never had a good sense of what time of day it was.

Romalla also seemed to have grown tired from it all after she’d eaten. She had stopped flying around—electing to hop at my side as we went. While, at first, Romalla had spoken to me about the things she saw and tasted, she now just kind of just looked like she was in a daze. The jungle … the dark … the endless walking … they all seemed to drain at us until we were just dragging along in the dead of night.

Though my fear had kept me grounded at first, it had kind of moved to the background of my thoughts. It was difficult not to lose myself in thought. Not to think about all that had happened … if I was doing the right thing. So, instead, I tried to focus on keeping an eye on Romalla. This was why I noticed when she suddenly wrinkled her face, bared her teeth, and then shook her head.

“Are you … alright?” I asked.

“Yes,” Romalla said, turning her face so I couldn’t see it.

I looked at her for a moment, unsure if something had happened. I hesitated and then said, “You can … tell me what you’re thinking if you want.”

“It is nothing important,” Romalla said and hopped a little faster. Was she … avoiding my questions?

Like before, I was lost at what to do. How much was appropriate to pry … as a friend, not a deity. “You don’t have to … but I’m here if you want to talk.

Romalla sighed and shook her head. She hopped for a few more minutes and then muttered, “Just foolish, irreverent thoughts.”

I nodded, not knowing exactly how to reply to this. I tried to think of a way … to let her know it was okay to share that. Eventually, I managed to say, “It’s always okay to think things.”

Romalla turned to face me and clenched her jaw. This time, her sigh had far more weight. Then she said, “Krogallo always told me not to question the ways of the gods. We can’t possibly understand their minds, their powers, their limitations, or the cost of what they do. It is the place of a prophet to represent their will, not to question it.”

Unsure what else to say, I asked, “If you don’t let yourself think about things or talk about them, won’t it just … hurt you inside?”

For a moment, Romalla walked in silence. Her narrow and quickly-darting eyes gave me the impression that she was chewing on this idea (and with much more care than she’d chewed on the lizard).

Still, it was difficult not to feel I was pushing her too much. “I’m sorry,” I said and waved my hand. “You don’t need to tell me things you want to keep to yourself.”

Romalla nodded.

My brain, however, had latched obsessively onto what I was doing. Was I now using reverse psychology or subconsciously trying to guilt Romalla into telling me her every waking thought due solely to my insecurities? The idea made me feel itchy, and my brain went into overdrive trying to change the subject. “So … did the, um, rats—I mean—lizard taste as good as fish?”

“What? Oh, they were pretty good,” Romalla said absently. She looked down at her feet as she hopped. Then, after a few minutes, she finally spoke. “Before … I was thinking about you, Bassello. Or … I guess I was thinking about the Sleeping God. If you’d come sooner or differently, you could have saved Krogallo, my father, and many others. You could have taught us your ways and all you knew, long ago.”

Even though I knew it wasn’t my place or within my power to answer for any hypothetical gods, Romalla’s questions hit me hard.

Part of this was because I thought that her question was absolutely fair. If the gods were going to intervene, why not do it sooner? Why not do it correctly? Why come as a machine with amnesia? Why send me? Between my incompetence, my fear of heights, and my inability to fight bravely on behalf of her people, I fell quite short of any model god or even a decent demi-god hero.

For a moment, I forgot that I didn’t even think that I was a god. And when this occurred to me, it didn’t help much. I wasn’t even a model robot. Someone else with a body so capable of killing would have been able to do so much more.

Then I felt a surprising bit of anger inside me. I had the Night People, from the beginning, that I wasn’t a god. It wasn’t my fault that Krogallo hadn’t believed me … and told everybody his dumb beliefs! He should have known better and told them that I wasn’t divine, especially after he saw what kind of person I was.

I found that part of me wanted to lash out—to say everything I was thinking. Maybe Romalla would have been better off if I had. But … I had promised her that she could tell me anything. To have lashed out would have been like inviting her to trust me and stay perfectly still so I could stab her in the back with one of my machetes.

All because I couldn’t bear the weight of her hidden expectations. All because I was angry at the pressure that Krogallo had out on me … before he left us forever. There was nothing I could say because I didn’t have any answers.

All I had was pain … and more questions of my own.

-O-

We walked silently for about an hour before Romalla’s hops slowed. I wasn’t sure what time of day it was, but I realized she had not slept in a long time—especially after all our physical exertion in climbing the Wall. Her earlier energy boost, during which she’d finally eaten, had made me forget.

I stopped and wordlessly offered my hand for Romalla to perch on. She reluctantly did so, hooked her claws around my fingers, and dropped to hang upside-down. Romalla quickly fell asleep—and could not be stirred even by my walking and machete-swinging.

Hours passed … and the jungle became dark enough that I was sure it had to be night. At first, this was fine with my night vision. As the hours dragged on, however, something strange began to happen. I didn’t notice at first, but my mind entered a sleepy daze. Then my body became a little more … sluggish.

On the island, I had never been able to sleep. Now it felt like I was driving on a dark road late at night. My movements became increasingly automatic. My thoughts drifted to nothingness. Intermittently, I would briefly wake up and replace that I was in a new place … only to soon fall back into a trance.

I was walking …

No …

I was crouched down …

In a boat …

A makeshift canoe.

I felt the warmth of sleeping bodies on either side of me. They were the only reason the freezing air was not too much to bear. One was an elderly woman with brown leathery skin, thick black braided hair, and crooked teeth. I knew her … the sight of her made me feel safe. The other was her son, who had slightly better teeth, lighter skin, a round face, and a little bit of extra weight in the belly.

At some point, they told me to keep my head down. But … what if a person in the water needed help? Or a dog?

No, they would tell me that it was too dangerous. We’d seen guerrilla soldiers earlier that day on motorboats. They’d been firing guns … making people scream before they were suddenly silent. So, I did what I had been repeatedly told to do and kept quiet.

Despite the splashing, I pretended I wasn’t there. Then I heard something cough and sputter water—then they whimpered. It wasn’t that loud … but too loud for me to ignore. The guerillas would come … and make sure all of us were quiet.

I grabbed hold of the boat’s edge and nearly shouted at the unexpected pain from my fingers. Looking down, I noticed how battered they were—with several missing fingernails. I … I couldn’t let myself think about why they were like this. Instead, I leaned over the edge and tried to hush the splashing figure. This had the opposite effect of what I wanted.

The figure began to gasp louder, sounding like they were trying to form words. However, any communication was perpetually cut off by water getting in their mouth.

Itchy, hot panic overtook me. My fear was at war with my guilt, making me sick. Finally, I couldn’t bare it any longer. I reached out a hand into the water while bracing my other hand against the splintery side of the boat.

The splashing figure took my injured hand, bringing a few tears to my eyes. I knew from their grasp that they were a person. It took me a moment for my eyes to adjust under the dark and foggy air—to finally see the figure I now held steadily over the surface of the water.

He was a teenage boy about my age. The slight moonlight reflected off his pale skin. That was all I could see of him.

In Spanish, I whispered. “Los guerrilleros nos estan buscando.” It meant that the men with guns were looking for us. I wasn’t sure how to say that they were indiscriminately killing people. But I’m sure my American accent gave my limitations in the language away.

“Pull me in,” the boy whispered in English … in a clearly American accent.

“I can’t,” I replied. Already, my shoulder muscles were burning … and I was replaceing it difficult to keep his head afloat. There was no room for him inside the boat … and not just for comfort. The two adults already had to dangle their limbs off the side to make space. The son’s legs were dangling off either side of the boat, and his mother had her entire torso folded over the front deck. Both of their backs rested on me—while I sat on the wet floor of the boat. And, already, the sides of the boat were dangerously close to being submerged.

I thought about reaching for a thin cord that we could use to tie him to the back of the boat. It wouldn’t keep him warm or dry, but he at least wouldn’t drown. It was the only solution. There was no way we could get the boy in the boat without flipping or sinking.

I whispered, “There are two other people in the boat. There’s no room, and we’re about to sink.”

“Americans?” the boy asked, his eyes opening hopefully. I thought he was probably looking for his parents.

I shook my head.

I looked at the old Bolivian woman and her son, wondering if I should wake them. Maybe they could replace a way to get the boy into the small boat with us.

However, the boy tightened his grip on my arm. When I turned to look at him again, he was shaking his head. He said, “I saw an American helicopter flying near here. They’ll take us back to the States if we get there in time. You just have to get me in the boat with you.”

“There’s no room!” I repeated in a hushed but worried tone, not sure how to emphasize how close we were to sinking.

Again, the boy shook his head and said, “Not for them … the helicopter wouldn’t take them. And she’s … already really close to falling in.” He was looking at the mother.

I froze and felt my eyes widen, unsure if I’d heard him correctly.

The boy quickly added: “She can grab onto the side … or we can grab something for her to float on. Her people’s rescue boats can pick her up. But we have to get back to the States. We have to replace our parents. Come on, this might be our only chance!” His tone was louder, now, dangerously so.

He looked like he was going to say more but was momentarily cut off by the distant sound of a motor. It was drawing closer … from somewhere out in the darkness. Then came the beams of flashlights. My face became hot, my heart raced, and my hands became like noodles as I tried to get the green paracord in the bottom of the boat.

“God, fine! I’ll do it,” the boy hissed and began to try to pull himself into the boat. But his weight briefly submerged one side of the raft, letting in water. He was going to sink us!

Adrenaline pulsed through me. I pried his fingers from the edge so that he fell back into the water. I grabbed an oar and paddled the boat away from the boy and the lights. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing … though I was in control the entire time. I was making sure that we survived … that I survived. With the adrenaline, I wasn’t sure how long I spent rowing away from the danger I knew would end us.

Eventually, something stirred the son from his sleep. He silently looked around, saw the lights, and then saw me. He put a hand on my shoulder, gave a reassuring squeeze, and gently took the oar to move the boat even more swiftly than I could.

Now finally able to stop rowing, I lowered my head back into the belly of the boat and panted heavily. My ears became hot, and I could hear my heartbeat in them. I could still hear the boy splashing. Finally, I began to realize what I had done. My body began to tremble.

Then, I floated …

In darkness …

Seeing a small beam of sunlight …

Shining in my face …

I stopped and stood still in that beam of light—letting it wash away the night and the water—so I was again in the jungle. There I remained for several minutes, feeling as the daze lifted entirely. Eventually, I found myself able to think again. I wondered what had happened and why the sunlight had caused it to stop. Then I remembered the solar panels that were my ears and shoulders. Had I run out of energy?

Between my exertion in the fight, shooting the gun, and climbing the Wall, I supposed it made sense that I had drained more power than usual. Also, we had been completely cut off from sunlight since entering the jungle.

I wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t come across more sunlight to energize me. Would I have become stuck in the nightmare forever? The memories of what had happened in my horrible dream about the water had mostly faded. Until all I remembered was the fear … and all I knew was that I didn’t want to return to that state again.

I looked around and spotted another sunny spot in the distance. By some fortune, we had finally reached a place in the jungle where the canopy was not all-consuming. I walked to the brightly lit area—over a small, rocky outcropping and a small stream that trickled pleasantly. There were a few large boulders as well, ones that did not look to have come from the Wall.

I looked down at Romalla, still asleep and hanging upside-down from my index finger. Her torso expanded and contracted with heavy breaths and an occasional twitch … maybe from some unpleasant dream. I wondered if I should wake her but decided she needed as much rest as possible. So, I gently hooked her claws onto a branch of a small tree that had grown alone out of the rocky shore.

I sighed and then pointed my bat-ears toward the sun. Like before, my mind went into a haze … but it was different. It was like nodding off in a warm patch of soft grass.

The water trickled, the wind blew, and the hours passed.

I eventually became fully alert, as I had been before beginning this journey. I was standing in the orange glow of the evening sun. I felt like I had just woken up from a heavy nap. I took a seat on a boulder. My mood seemed … a little better now. At least I no longer felt like I would be lost to my own nightmares. However, I noticed that my blades had still not retracted. I sighed and decided to wait as Romalla slept.

After getting through a small amount of grogginess, I found myself wondering whether climbing over the Wall had been a mistake. Steelface had said I was trying to replace someone to solve my problems for me instead of doing what I had to protect the Night People.

Should I have stayed? I did have a gun … and had successfully fought him off with the help of the Night People. But what if more Golems came? Maybe I was just running away because I was scared … and for the answers I wanted.

Familiar feelings of guilt and panic began to eat at me. Instinctively, I tried to control my breathing and quickly remembered that I had no breath. I gave a silent groan and stared aimlessly at the jungle. I tried not to think of anything … to just be numb. However, my stressful feelings always returned.

Right when I was about to give up and begin pacing, I noticed a particular green vine. This one had red thorns. It wasn’t unique; vines just like it, and even ones with green or brown thorns, grew throughout the jungle. However, as I studied the thick needle-shaped thorns, I noted that some were sitting at acute angles.

I stood and walked to a vine with a particularly large thorn shaped like a hook. I lifted the vine and effortlessly pulled it free from the tree roots it had tangled itself in. It seemed easy … but this was probably just my mechanical body at work—judging by the tearing sounds and the damage it had done to a nearby tree.

As I held the vine, an amusing thought occurred to me. I knelt and began to scoop dirt from a soft spot in the ground until I found a purple worm in the soil. I felt a bit bad for the worm … and so I tried to be as quick as possible as I threaded the creature onto the hooked thorn. Once I was finished, I held the vine and appreciated my handiwork. I was an all-natural fishing line—complete with bait.

I dipped the makeshift line into the small river and began to think about what Romalla’s face would look like if she woke up to a fish for dinner. I smiled to myself. The thought of it made me a little happy for the first time since what had happened on the Island. Also … the act of fishing seemed familiar and … calming.

I heard movement in Romalla’s direction. I turned to see her fly lazily to my side. She yawned and then was quiet for a moment as she just watched what I was doing. When I pulled on the vine to cast upstream, she cocked her head and asked, “What have you done to that worm, Bassello?”

Her tone and expression, while subdued, seemed slightly less heavy than what they’d been. It seemed the rest had done both of us a bit of good.

I looked at my handiwork—realizing how gruesome a sight it must have been that I had impaled a poor little worm on a thorn and dunked it into water. I blushed, scratched the back of my itchy neck, and replied. “I’m… uhm … fishing.”

“It looks more like you’re soggy worming,” Romalla said, ever-accurate in her observations.

I was about to explain when, to my surprise, the vine pulled taught. I froze in an instant of excitement and confusion, before I gained the presence of mind to pull.

The fish that came out of the water was the size of my hand—which was to say, not gargantuan but pretty reasonably sized for the small river. It thrashed on the end of the line, and I barely managed to maneuver it over the shore before it got free of my makeshift hook.

Like so much else in this jungle, the fish was green—with scales that easily glimmered in what little golden light remained. I noticed a bit more expression on its face and eyes than expected. The long, jagged teeth were also not too dissimilar. However, the most stunning aspect of it was an inner mouth with even more teeth … extending out in a way that I thought should have been in some kind of space-horror film.

Romalla, however, was not so fascinated by the anatomy. She pounced on the bouncing creature and then put one of her hooked claws through its head—killing the fish instantly. Her eyes were wide, and her jaw was already hanging open. “I’ve never seen anyone catch such a fish by diving into the water.”

I gave a small smile and said, “Well it’s… for you.”

That was all Romalla needed to sink her white fangs into the fish’s side and begin to tear strips of skin and meat. Wet tearing sounds filled the air.

I wished I could cook it up and share in the meal. However, just the victory in itself made me feel a surge of energy. I felt a digital smile form on my face panel.

Romalla soon got to the bones and started crunching the smaller ones between her jaws. After a few minutes of eating voraciously, she finally stopped. Her face was a slimy mess, her stomach was distended a bit, and her face expressed a new level of contentedness. She stretched her wings and began to clean herself … until something in the sky caught her eye.

I looked up and saw a white flash—like a ghost gliding above me. It took me a moment to realize it looked like … a Night Person!

Romalla looked at it and then back at me—her eyes even larger than when she’s seen the fish. Then, without a word, she hopped into the air and took flight after it. As I clumsily clamored to my feet, I heard her screech, “We wish to speak to you!”

The white Night Person did not reply. I saw them flee—with a long tail flowing behind like an elegant silk cloth. A tail? It seemed Night People looked quite different on this side of the Wall. And why were they running away? I wondered if maybe albino bats were racist. However, I was more inclined to believe that this one was just scared of the giant robot and its overly zealous green cousin chasing it.

I then wondered … was it possible that they spoke the same dialect on this side of the Wall? I shouted, “Romalla, they might not know the language of your people!” I began sprinting after them.

I wasn’t sure that Romalla heard as she gave chase. She began weaving through the vines and trees, keeping up reasonably well with the white blur.

At first, I managed to dodge trees and vines enough to at least keep an eye on her. Then I lost sight of her. No, there she was! Then she was gone again. Gradually, the seconds of her disappearing began to add up, until I finally realized that I hadn’t seen her in nearly a minute.

“Romalla!” I shouted. I had to force my way past my growing feelings of panic and my brain’s urging to run aimlessly in some direction to try to replace her. If I did that … I would most likely end up even further from her.

I forced myself to stand still and antsily bounced my weight between both feet like I had to go to the bathroom. Until I heard an unmistakable screech. I sprinted toward the sound and saw the albino Night Person about ten feet above me.

Then, an enormous yellow shape snatched the Night Person out of the air. Everything went slow—as true panic filled me, and I looked up in helpless horror.