The Forgotten Land of Myria

Angus

The bus ride back home was dreadful. My mind was smeared with disappointment and I couldn’t seem to get over it, mostly because I knew it had been unfair. I deserved that award. How could they have given it to Arish?

Sebastian, who was sitting next to me, was clearly apprehensive to the fact that I hadn’t uttered a single word since the ceremony. I kept that throughout the entire trip, and by the time the bus pulled at my stop I was so angry that when I turned the corner of my street, I yelled at Loose-Tooth Joe for babbling. When I got home I didn’t even bother to greet Margaret and Harold. I simply went straight to my room and slammed the door, letting them know I’d lost. After that, I spent the rest of the day locked in my room doing the only thing I could to cheer myself up--make music. I played through an entire concerto on the cello, a couple of marches on the piccolo, some modern tunes on the harmonica, a few pieces on the wheelharp, and the guembri--a three-stringed Arab instrument--and finally, a collection of original compositions on an instrument that I invented--the trellophone. Once I had gotten my share of music, it was already nightfall and I was still unsatisfied. My disappointment kept me up all night, performing mentally stimulating diversions, such as building another wooden landmark--the Taj Mahal this time--and two new model airplanes. On top of that, I went about finishing three end-of-term papers, two weeks ahead of time. By then it was 6:30 am. Fifteen minutes later, the Sunday morning sun was just shining over the horizon when my head hit the pillow; exactly 24 hours after the entire episode had begun.

I woke up about three hours later with Margaret rapping on the door. Taking it as I owed it to her for not having left the room once since I’d arrived, I calmly made my way to the door.

“Good morning?” I said, trying to put on my best sunshine face as I opened the door.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Margaret said, quickly wrapping her arms around me. “Are you holding up ok?”

I nodded.

“Good!” she exclaimed, instantly changing her mood from mellow to engaged in action. “because I need you to grab your bike and go down to the market to finish up the grocery list.”

I sighed.

“Can’t you ask Harold?”

Margaret shot me the typical strict expression that she makes when I question her authority.

“Harold’s resting,” she said.

“Exactly what I should be doing,” I muttered under my breath.

“For goodness sake, Angus!” Margaret replied, straightening herself up. “It’s pitiful that you lost an award, but now it’s time to move on. So stop feeling sorry for yourself and get busy!”

Those were just the words I needed to hear. She waited by the door as I got dressed, and gave me an encouraging pat on the back when I walked by her.

“Come on, now, let’s go!”

I grinned. Margaret’s optimism was by far my favorite quality about her. The breakfast table was set, and I hadn’t eaten since the ceremony, so I wolfed down half a loaf of bread. On my way out, I had an idea, now that I was in a more positive mood (not that I had completely forgotten things). I took the rest of the loaf of bread and wrapped it in a picnic towel. I’d decided to apologize to Loose-Tooth Joe for yelling at him.

I yanked my bike out of the rack and sped down the street. Loose-Tooth Joe was in his regular spot doing his regular thing--yelling nonsense. I tried approaching him stealthily, but he instantly caught my eye.

“You!” he said, shaking an angry fist.

“Hold on,” I raised my hands apologetically, “I’m here to account for my behavior yesterday. Here.” I handed him the bread, but he completely ignored.

“To ’ell wi’the apology” he said. “You’ve go’ta listen’a’amee.”

I stood there a bit confused, until I finally decided to just set the bread down and walk away.

“Listen!” Loose-Tooth yelled, “The sky’s gonna bleed today. Bleed! You watch it Smar’y! Jus’ you watch it!”

“Okay, Loose-Tooth,” I replied, trying to sound polite. “I’ll watch it.” With that I waved goodbye, got on my bike, and raced off, leaving him to shout more nonsense.

I finally arrived at the market, parked my bike at the racks and entered the grocery store. I sped through the aisles looking for supplies on a “mile-long” list. Strawberry jam, sausages, potatoes, BBQ sauce, etc. As was typical in times like these I turned my mind to robots as I turned onto aisle 3, and found myself and the entire contents of my cart splattered across the floor. A giant glass jar of pickles shattered. There were a few gasps from other costumers while my awkwardness in picking things up evidenced the clear need for robots.

Immediately, some employees rushed to clean up the mess, as I turned my attention to the obstacle that had caused this outrage, but the man I crashed into didn’t reply. He was only 6’3” tall, but looked like an Easter Island head plopped directly onto a thickly roped graffitied wall, which led me to presume he might belong to some tribe from Papua New Guinea, or someplace around there. He was definitely not from here by the way he was dressed--a sleeveless navy blue armor cloak, bordered with golden embroidery that matched his tattoos. His left arm was wrapped in silky bandages ending in a glove that covered up to half of his crimson-flame tattooed fingers. To top it off, the man had straight black hair that cascaded down to his tailbone, and a crown braid that hung with a bird’s feather over his left shoulder.

I stood there, waiting for a response. As he stared speechless at me I began to grow impatient and uncomfortable.

“Listen, I don’t know if you speak English, but--WHOA!” I yelled as I slipped on a mush of smashed jam. I tried to grab on to something, and, just as my face was about to meet the cold floor again, the man caught me by the arm and yanked me back up, making me take a leap forward and almost knock over a stack of chips. I stiffened my facial expression and turned back around to find him walking away towards a TV.

He stood there for a minute watching the 10:30 news broadcast. I noticed that a crowd was gathering around the TV, so I left my remaining supplies at the cash register and decided to see what was so interesting. What was being broadcast was an attack that had happened just off the coast of Brisbane. I managed to hear through the gasps and comments of what was now a shocked crowd formed by almost all of the customers in the market and a few employees.

“A mysterious menace has just occurred this morning, around 7:30 at Sandgate Beach in Brisbane,” reported one of the announcers. “The exact occurrence of the events is not completely clear at this time but it seems a violent whirlpool with the compression power of a tsunami wave, spurted about seventy feet from the shore engulfing everything in a twenty-foot diameter. So far sources have detected five harbor boats, a few surfers and beach-goers, totaling 61 victims so far to have disappeared in the natural phenomenon. Citizens are devastated, with not a single sign yet of any of the victims. They seem to have submerged under the center of this unknown force. Amazingly, one young man managed to survive. A 19-year-old named Roy Kendon who apparently was surfing during the occurrence of the whirlwind was somehow able to make his way to shore. He is currently unconscious, being treated in a local medical center. On a peculiar note, a rescue helicopter pilot is also being treated after insisting that the whirlpool was caused by a giant sea monster. Researchers are trying to detect the cause of the event, and we’ll be sure to update you should sea monsters be involved.” Murmurs and exclamations rippled through the crowd of frightened faces. I suppressed my giggles at the sea of monsters around me and put my mind to finding a rational, geophysically sound explanation.

I then noticed the tall native man I had stumbled into backing away from the crowd. He had a stern expression on his face as he lowered his head. There was something about him that suggested a connection to the event.

Does he know something? I asked myself. He doesn’t seem at all shocked by the news. Then again, he doesn’t look like a guy who’d be scared of sea monsters.

He quickly raised his head and examined the frightened customers. He turned his head towards me with a dead face. As the glass doors opened, he reacted like he had just heard an explosion outside. He looked back towards the crowd for a moment, and, abruptly, burst out the door like a madman.

“Hey wait!” I yelled. I ran out trying to spot him.

When I got outside I was gobsmacked. The skies were covered in clouds. Although it wasn’t your usual set of “grab your umbrellas it will rain” clouds. It seemed like just one big cloud with no altering textures and, racking my brain hard, I couldn’t recall the sailor’s take on bloodshot red skies at noon.

I looked both ways and couldn’t spot him anywhere. Short of breath, I ran back in, picked up the bags that held my groceries and threw some notes on the counter.

“Keep the change,” I told the cashier as I hurried out.

I circled the block twice, but upon finding no sign of the man, I realized it was useless and zoomed back home under the darkening red sky. As I rode along, upon examining the people I passed by, I had the assumption that no one had noticed what I was seeing. No one seemed to have a clue what was going on. Thunder rumbled loudly, almost knocking me off my bike, and everyone seemed to be going about their casual daily lives.

I looked up at the sky again. The blood red clouds seemed to shake with every ear-splitting rumble of thunder. The clouds were spiraling like a hurricane, and strangely enough, the eye of the spiraled cloud was covering the same trajectory as I was. It was almost as if it were following me. Shaken beyond my wits, I made a sharp left onto a different route and sped up my pace. Sure enough, the eye of the large cloud shifted in my direction. I kept riding faster, faster, following the eye with my own. Faster, and faster, until a group of pigeons flew in my direction and...

BANG!

I crashed. I stretched out my hands to break my fall and bits of garbage flew everywhere as the dented dustbin toppled over. A few people rushed to help me, but I picked myself up in time. One of the pigeons had hit my face and I pulled out some plumage from my mouth.

“Are you alright?” a lady asked me as she helped pick up my newly splattered groceries. I saw the cloud’s eye park itself right above us. “Is--something wrong?”

The lady looked up as well, but didn’t notice anything.

“Do--do you not see it?”

“See what?” the lady replied, confused.

“Right there!” I waved my arms at the sky, “The red clouds! They’re right above us! The sky’s gone dark, and--”

When I met the lady’s eyes again, she was looking at me like I was some sort of maniac. I noticed a group of people were staring in my direction.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the lady said. She began to walk away from me, looking over her shoulder every now and then.

Incensed, I picked up my bike. The way those people were looking at me--like I was not a part of this world. A stranger. I felt like--

“Loose-Tooth Joe,” I said out loud.

The sky’s gonna bleed, his words echoed in my year. I instantly hopped back on my bike and sped home.

When I turned the corner where he usually stood, I found nothing there. No sign of Loose-Tooth, his can, or any of his few belongings. Nothing. I backed away from the spot, confused out of my mind, until I finally heard a familiar voice. “Oy!”

I wheeled around and there he was, crouched against a light pole.

“Didn’ I tell ya?” he grinned.

“You knew about this. How did you know about this? And why can’t anyone see it but me?”

“Can’ tell ya that,” he replied. “But listenamee. They’ll be comin’ soon.”

“Coming? Who?”

“Ya better watch it, Smar’y.”

He got up and smiled at me, wiggling his loose tooth with his tongue, and proceeded to cross the street, but before I thought about going after him, a double decker flew in his direction. Frightened, I cringed, and when I looked back there was no more sign of Loose-Tooth Joe.

Thirty minutes later I was opening the front door, covered in dirt and sweat, carrying the war-torn groceries under my arm and trying my best to look serene.

“What took you? And what happened?” Margaret gasped. She grabbed my face and pressed it together, scanning my eyes to make sure I was in good condition. She then gently took the groceries from under my arm and set them on the table.

“I, uhh--I crashed,” I said, struggling to sound solid.

“’Course you did,” said Harold, grunting from the couch. “Always have your head in the clouds.” I flinched.

“What’s wrong?” Margaret asked again, holding me by the arms.

“I--I’m fine.”

Curtailing the inspection, I rushed to my room and as soon as the door was closed behind me I sighed and slid down to the floor.

What the bloody hell had just happened?

Before I could rummage my mind for suitable answers, I heard a knock. I backed away from the door and saw Harold enter the room.

“What’re you doing on the floor?” he sighed. I stammered as I tried to find words for what had happened earlier today.

“I--when I went to the market--I, uhh...on the way out--saw something...well--”

“Red clouds?”

My eyes lit up.

“Y--you saw them too?”

“I think that’s obvious,” said Harold shrugging as he leaned back on my desk chair.

“No...no one else seemed to see it,” I contested.

“There’s a good reason for that,” he replied, drumming his fingers on his chest. He then leaned forward, the way he does when he’s about to say something extremely important. “I don’t suppose I’ve ever told you how you came into our lives, have I?”

I shook my head, feeling quite relieved. It was something I always wanted to know, but never had the courage to ask about.

“Well, it was quite simple actually. Twelve years ago, on a bleak mid-summer afternoon, a man appeared at our door. He wore a London Fog, and I remember he had a glassy white eye. In his hand, though, was the hand of a toddler wrapped in blankets--that was you, Angus.”

Though I tried to keep a straight face, I probably looked like a child being told a bedtime story.

“He said he’d found you abandoned in the streets, but one would only be a fool to believe that. He noticed his own story wasn’t very convincing but he insisted that we took you in--he said destiny wanted it that way. When I took you in my arms that day, I knew you were something special. All three of us knew--the stranger, Margaret, and I. And do you know why?”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because that day the sky was covered in red clouds.”

He took a pause, allowing me to digest the information before proceeding.

“I had never seen anything like it before. Red clouds that spiraled around the sky--and they all seemed to be pointed at you...”

“And today,” he continued, leaning further towards me. “I wake up and see those clouds again, and can only believe that it means something.”

“But--what?” I asked, engulfed in perplexity. Harold smiled in response and raised his white bushy eyebrows.

“That part is left for you to figure out. The only thing I know is--you’re not a normal kid, Angus. There’s something quite--supernatural--about you. I can feel it. Hell, I don’t even know where you’re from! For all I know, you could be some blasted creature from outer space!”

I laughed, as he got up and ruffled my hair.

He stood at the door for a moment and then turned back around.

“One more thing,” he said. “Hang on a minute.” He left the room and came back a few minutes later with a small wooden box covered in flowers that looked like they were painted by a five-year-old. He slowly opened the box, like it was something he was forbidden to do.

“The day that that man left you here,” he said, “it was around your neck.” He gently removed a golden medallion from the box and handed it to me. It fit perfectly in my hand. I ran my fingers across it. It was bordered by small, fiery blue sapphire stones, at the top, bottom, left and right, with three tiny rubies in between each stone, except for the center hole that seemed to be missing a stone. Carvings of palm tree leaves encircled the second layer of the medallion. The center had an ancient carving of two wings wrapped around a creature, with a fiery arrow pierced diagonally through it.

It was probably the most beautiful piece of jewelry I had ever seen. Before I could say anything, Harold placed his hand on my shoulder.

“It’s no coincidence that those clouds are out again today. Time to find yourself, Angus.”

Having said this, he shut the door behind him, leaving me in a mix of thoughts as I held that beautiful medallion in my hand. I spent almost an hour lost in my own stories trying to clarify how I ended up in the arms of a mysterious man with a medallion around my neck. Or more importantly, how that man thought to bring me to Harold and Margaret--an old couple who always dreamt of raising a child and seemed to fit me perfectly as parental figures. Or why, in the midst of all that, red clouds circled the sky. It was no doubt that the questions of “where am I from?” and “Who are my parents?” had always followed me, but now more than ever.

My body shook, breaking away the chain of thought as I heard the phone ring.

“Angus Harper,” I said.

“Hello, Angus. Dr. Schejner here. Have you--have you heard the news about the disaster in Brisbane?”

“I have,” I responded. “Just now, actually.”

“Yes, well I can only assume that this wasn’t a coincidence. Seeing as I’ll be leaving for my research trip tomorrow, I’m still wondering if you’re at all interested in the offer I made yesterday. I would like a final answer.”

My eyes lit up and my hand clutched the medallion tightly. My entire life had consisted of unanswered questions. Mysteries. Things that had been hidden from me--certainly not for the worst. However, these unanswered questions trapped me. They were the traumas, the scars that screamed from the depths of my soul that had left a cold, hollow gap in my heart. They affected my actions, my feelings, and my emotions, leaving me intimidated, reluctant to take the next step, immersed in an inner anger. And the fact that, only now, Harold had decided to share this information, being the day that the red clouds reappeared in the sky, the same day that an unknown disaster occurred in Brisbane, the exact place that I was being invited to go to for hydrodynamic research--was definitely far from a coincidence.

“Angus, are you still there?”

“Oh...y--yes, I’m still here.”

“Do you have a final answer?”

“I--I accept your offer. I...want to go on the trip.”

“You do?” Dr. Schejner replied, sounding quite surprised with my response, “I mean, great. Pack your bags and be ready. Meet me tomorrow at the university at 9 AM. There’ll be a van waiting for us there to take us to the airport along with the rest of the research team. Oh, and make sure to fill out the application slip I handed you yesterday. You’ll have to present it tomorrow.

“Sure,” I agreed.

“Great! See you then!”

As soon as I hung up the phone I began filling out my application paper. This expedition would be far from a school trip to conduct an experiment on wave amplitude. My plan was different. I was going on this trip to get to the bottom of it all. I was going to get an answer.