The Eden Isle Traders Pt. 02

ONE.

Chelsee passed the time by staring at the ceiling and aching, and occasionally expelling the grain from his stomach. The best was when the hurt was so intense it consumed all of his thoughts. But as the days drained, he felt better, and consequently more idiotic.

The infirmary-men had told him later that the demon had likely chosen him for his Iso, which was a gross irony he wasn't yet ready to reckon with. She had established her magic in him at first eye contact, and from thereafter the pull had grown more and more difficult to resist. It threw him at first, when he thought back on the moment they had shared in the mess hall. He'd thought it profound and romantic at the time. To think all along, the end result would've been the same. Even still, he missed her gentle touch, silly as it was. It was uncommon to find aboard.

"Did she give you a name?" the infirmary-man had asked him, deadpan.

The embarrassment had been the hardest to shake. It had not taken long before the news of his misjudgement had run through the ship like a disease. His meals were delivered with snide sideway glances, and sniggers stalked the halls as men passed by the infirmary. Only Milton had been so bold as to confront him directly.

"You know, if they hadn't found you in time, she would've quaffed your soul up through her cunt," he'd said. "You'd've been a goner, but I bet it would've felt wicked."

It was the most popular he'd been aboard so far, and he hated it even more than when he was invisible. He felt the ship still, and he knew soon Akil would come to collect him for his journey. He fumbled with his quill, which felt dull and foreign in his hand, and produced script that was barely legible.

The worst, he wrote, was how he had made a laughing stock of his Iso. The crew regarded him now like a teenage boy. He had waxed about his Want, and his resistance to the Temptations of Flesh, but in the end, only he had snuck away in the night, basically prepubescent, unable to resist his first woman. But pleasure was difficult to resist when one was actually in its throes. A thought creeped up on him, that Akil had been right on this point all along, which frightened him. A solution, he wrote, was to refuse pleasure altogether.

It is a currency the same as coin. Most men have not the resolve to keep themselves from temptation.

Then, bored, Chelsee wrote about sex. He wrote about how good it felt to have a hand touch his penis. How novel the sensation of the pull. It felt nice to have somewhere for the stiffness to go. It felt nice to be invited in. He drifted back off to sleep with his parchment on his lap, and an erection poking from underneath the linen.

When he awoke again, Akil stood over him. His writings splayed and crumpled as he sat up. "Did you read these?" he asked uncomfortably, the sleep still falling from his mind.

Akil smiled. "Best dry yourself and gather your things, consult. The cliffs of Meo await."

TWO.

"He knows not the way."

"He knows. He already said he knows."

The hill had grown so pitched that Chelsee's calves burned with the effort of climbing its face. He slipped on a bout of wet soil and steadied himself with a tree branch, splattering mud onto the hem of his garb, but he was cautious to not despair.

"We spend a healthy time mastering this," he warned. "Some much longer than others."

"He will repeat himself again," Illya sighed, "simply because he likes hearing himself talk."

Then, the rain poured as if the ocean had opened up above them and collapsed. Reflexively, they reached to steady themselves with the trees.

"You must accept the path for what it is," Chelsee hollered. He wrapped his arms and legs around the base of a tree and hugged tightly. Now, the hill had pitched almost vertically. His satchel of parchments swung, threatening to fall if not fastened by its strap. "It is not good nor bad. It simply is!"

When the rain had let up, they took to climbing the trees like ladder rungs.

Even with its vile temperament, the cliffs were ripe with life. Bugs buzzed in his ear, and bit at him. Creatures hummed, and droned, and dashed across the brush before Chelsee could spot them. Pieces of bark flaked off as he climbed, where some mysterious corrosion had burnt the trees to crisp. He wondered what sort of a creature could do that, and then set the thought aside when he realized he would rather not know.

Chelsee had a good bit more strength on his side since the last time he attempted the cliffs. Then he had fallen many times, and despaired it was impossible. Illya and Jordana did not have this problem, at least not on the surface. They climbed ahead, pulling themselves up with the ease and strength of monkeys, though Chelsee knew they were the reason this had gone on so endlessly.

Akil hoisted himself onto the trunk beside him and stopped. "We should rest for the eve. It'll be too dark soon to see properly anyway."

"It won't matter if we cannot get past the act," Chelsee said. "I've seen it before that the hill will stretch on endlessly. You cannot brute-force your way past."

"We've been at this half the day," Akil said.

"I agree with consult. It matters not." Illya said simply.

Chelsee was surprised. "Thank you, "

"Because he knows not the way."

He tempered his frustration, because he knew it would not help the state of the cliffs. Chelsee's arms already burned from the effort of carrying his weight, and the threat of the fall down did nothing for his unease. If he carried on this way, then they would truly be stuck.

"I've said it already. You cannot force your way out of the magic of the Meo." It felt good to stop and straddle the tree. "If you feel as if you have grasped your own state of being, which I strongly urge you to reconsider," he shot a pointed look at the twins, "then the way out of the cliffs is to accept the state of them, and move forward without expectation."

"This way this, this way that. You make complicated, but is simple." Illya jutted a trunk-like finger at him, and then at the forest. "This is path ahead. We go this way, and eventually we reach the destiny." He looked to Akil, his brows furrowed. "Destiny. This is how you say this?"

"Destination. We reach our destination."

"That," Illya said. "That is all we need to know."

"This will go on forever if you keep thinking like that," Chelsee said, irritated. "You will feel it when you have accepted your second act, and the way will become exceedingly clear to you." But Illya had turned his back to him already, and continued climbing. Branches shook and dropped leaves with the weight of him. Once he saw that Illya had moved on, Jordana too resumed climbing.

"You cannot go on forever!" he shouted up at him, but the trees swallowed his words. "Your strength will not allow it! You must accept first!"

"I care not for this-way Iso bullshit," Illya hollered back down.

"Then, fine!" Chelsee had reached his boiling point. "But it will be the death of you."

With a suddenness and a force he could barely comprehend, Illya had dropped down onto his tree, and glared storms at him. "I will be death of you first, if you not careful."

"Enough," Akil said.

"No. Let him speak. I want to hear apology."

"My ego is not so undisciplined that I cannot apologize when I am wrong," Chelsee said. "But I am sorry for nothing."

Illya sneered. "Me too." He pushed his palm into Chelsee's chest, and despite his efforts to cling on, he went springing down onto the trunk directly below. He fell flat on his back, his shoulders and legs conforming around the much thinner bark. The pain rushed into him. He could hardly muster a cry.

"Wilona specifically said not to kill kim!" Akil bellowed. "Are you suddenly so hot-headed that you no longer follow orders?"

"Am I not now hunter?!" Illya defended. "I know difference between regular push and killing push!"

Akil's head jutted out from his position above. In the darkness, Chelsee could only see his silhouette. "Are you hurt?"

"He is stick! Of course he is hurt."

Akil climbed down with half of Illya's ease, but enough to make Chelsee realize he was completely outpaced by all of these men. It created a twinge of inferiority in his chest. Funny. He wondered if perhaps he was the one holding them back.

"Ugh. He's bleeding," he said, loudly enough to carry to the twins. Akil looked up at them. "Let's stop for the night. I'm tired anyway."

"Fine," Illya agreed. "We sleep, then we go my way."

Chelsee stayed on his back, and said nothing.

THREE.

He should have kicked up more of a fuss about going. They very well could get stuck on these cliffs forever now, because of those two idiots. He should have known it, too. They were not of Iso. They had no care to be.

It was at least nice to sleep among the stars, and the breeze was cool on his skin. He returned his attention to his teachings. It was too dark to write, but his spine hurt, and he needed a distraction. It was something about... the world, its likeness. The thoughts evaded him.

... Only he had touched ground here. Should he not then guide the voyage? Is that not what he was sent here to do? A thought made its way in: that he was ill-fitting among these other men, and they knew it. They were spry like adventurers, and had the strength of hunters. Among the consults it mattered not the differences, because among those men he could always find common ground. But aboard it was apparent the common ground was a barren nothingness, and here in the cliffs it was impossible to ignore. With every step he gangled.

... But then, that was a realization. He wanted to lead because he wanted to show them something of Iso, his own contribution to the voyage, in the hope that they would accept him. Chelsee could name the feeling then: desolate.... But then, that did not make sense, because he neither liked nor respected the twins. He longed for his pen, aching to make sense of this, and aching in general.

The branches beside him began to crunch.

"Is someone there?"

"Aye," Akil said after some time. "I did not think anyone was awake."

"I couldn't sleep either," Chelsee admitted freely.

"... Right."

His eyes wandered listlessly up, to where the twins somewhere slept; no doubt soundly, which was the blessing of having no thoughts to bog you down.

"What keeps you?" Chelsee did not expect him to answer honestly.

There was a pause, filled in by the thrum of the night. They were too far in to hear the ocean anymore, which was strange on Chelsee's ears after so many nights at sea. It had once disturbed his sleep with its whooshing and its constant motion, but now the stillness and the silence of the night felt incomplete.

"My thoughts are with Captain Wilona," Akil said. "I suppose I worry for her."

"I see," he said slowly. "Why do you worry?"

"Not anything I would share with the likes of a prying ear," he said, remembering himself. "I wish for her success is all. I'll make you regret it if you repeat it."

"But you do not foresee her success. Otherwise it would not keep you awake," he guessed. "It is a problem born of resisting the way that it is." He said it with a familiarity, almost unthinking. His tongue had taken these shapes many times, the way that it is. Then, a realization unfogged. "I think you shared with me not to indulge my curiosity, but so I would now know what you know, which is that it is you that is holding our journey up on the cliffs."

Akil paused again, which was beginning to irritate him. "I had a suspicion."

"Why would you not say? I could have helped," he demanded.

"I am a man," Akil said, offended. "Why would I not attempt to find my own way?"

"Fine. Find your own way. Goodnight."

Branches thrashed and snapped as Akil made his way over to Chelsee. He did not say it to call a bluff necessarily, although he knew that that would be the outcome. It was the same with every man of the sea. They were too proud to admit that they needed help until it was yanked from them, and then the desperation kicked in.

"It is my duty to get her what she wants. Is it not?"

Chelsee opened his eyes. "But you do not think it possible?"

"I think it not... practical."

He sat up slowly, so as not to rouse the panging in his back. "But if you cannot accept the outcome of it, you cannot accept the way of the cliffs. That is the crux of it."

Akil considered. "Then I cannot accept."

"But then we cannot proceed through the cliffs. So is the magic of them," Chelsee said evenly, as if he hadn't been repeating it for the whole of their journey already.

"So what then?" Akil asked. "Surely there is another way. Surely not everyone that comes here is as devout and passionless as you." He said it like he was describing the black of the night, and Chelsee surprised himself with how much it stung.

Hesitation pulled at him. "There is a way in, that they would offer the studying consults when they could not face the cliffs," Chelsee said slowly. "It is mostly up to you, still, but I could show it to you. Or what I remember of it."

Akil perked up. "Go on then."

"It's... intimate," he warned.

Akil stared blankly at him. "Do you think me diseased?"

"No," Chelsee fumbled. He supposed that was his fault, to assume, though he feared Akil did not fully know what he was asking of him. He battled his want to be helpful, while knowing there was no possible way that this would end well. But then again, what choice did they really have? To return back the way they came, empty-handed? He suspected the pirates wouldn't even hear it. To venture forward forever then? And for himself, how long could he truly go on, demoralized in this way?

"You have to take my hands, for this first part," he said.

"You consults..." Akil groaned, and set his hands in Chelsee's. His hands felt calloused, foreign to him, but strong. It was strange to feel, set against his usual distant easiness.

Chelsee bowed his head and offered the chant of Meo, or his best approximation of it. As he chanted, cords grew several points on his crown down to his lower spine, and connected themselves to Akil. With it came a warm sense of bearing. It was a connection that consults recognized as sacred, an interweaving of years of familiarity in one pass. This was a delicate state for men. They were not entirely themselves. Akil breathed it in, on the cusp of making fun, but even he could only be in awe of the magic.

His gaze floated down to the sacral cord, which connected his genitals to Chelsee's. Chelsee blanched. "These are the roots that compose meaning to all men," he explained. "Naturally some are... more primal than others."

Akil passed his hand through the cord. Its glow flittered, and sang a single low note as it was disturbed, but it did not break. "They're not solid," he wondered.

"They're representative of something," he said. "A bond we now have. I can't remember the specifics," he admitted.

Akil nodded, thinking. "So what now?"

"It's better on the ground, but I suppose for this circumstance, you could simply lay flat."

It was a bit like a calf walking for the first time. He knew the direction he should go, the shape of the steps, but not how to do it exactly. "I suppose it could be a matter of the heart," he said aloud, more to talk himself through.

He laid his hands in the center of Akil's torso, and pushed hard, hard enough to break the bones and enter the root of the problem. The night sky collapsed into the trees, and then onto the two of them. Together, they ventured into the heart root.

Seated at the table was Wilona, the twins, and a small girl Chelsee didn't recognize. He guessed it was the captain's quarters by the writing desk at the head of the room, and the lavish tapestries on the walls. To his eye, the room was expensive, but garish. In one corner, there was a petrified head, mid-shout, sitting on a marble column. There were several horns that took space on the wall, and several weapons of varying material. The hide of an impossibly large serpent had been placed underneath the dining table. This was a trophy room, as much as it was a quarters. It was bizarre experiencing it through Akil. Not just through his vision, but also his being. He could sense the familiarity they shared. He could taste the crunch of the bread.

Wilona sat at the table's head, ingurgitating a slab of boar's meat. Chelsee hadn't realized how large she was, even sitting down. She was at least Akil's height, if not taller, and she was solid, like the boar she was devouring. Her muscles writhed and flexed as she ate. He felt a pang of appreciation, watching her eat like a man might. He knew it was admiration that belonged to Akil. For himself, he had only formally met the captain once.

"We could keep up with the bounties even still. Amass our wealth. It would take time to find it anyway," Wilona said. "Likely years. Possibly the decade." She took another bite.

"We have time," Illya said. "Is worth it."

"And would we be returning this to its highest bidder? Or its rightful owner?" Akil asked.

This rattled Chelsee. The thought bubbled up first as if it had been his own mind, and when Akil spoke his mouth moved involuntarily to take the shapes. He was merely a presence here, a being within a being, experiencing everything with no say of his own. His heart seemed to pump stronger than usual, and he sat up straighter than he normally would've. Is this what it was like to be Akil? He didn't know a man could take up space so willingly.

Wilona drank casually. "I've not decided yet."

Akil shook his head, amazed. Chelsee wanted to giggle when he felt it as if his own neck moved, but it was swallowed up by his lack of being. "With this big a bargaining chip, it hardly matters."

"Sounds fun," Illya sat back in his chair. His plate was empty. "We three are in."

"Excellent. And Akil?"

"I'd follow you endlessly," he said. It was the most alight Chelsee had seen him, and for that matter, it seemed a far off time ago.

This was the wrong root. He pulled them out before he intruded too far.

Akil clutched his chest, looking irritated. His eyes remained closed. "Go where you are needed, consult," he warned.

This mediation agitated most men in this way. It was difficult for them to surrender, even the consults that knew of the unpredictable nature of the roots. When it came to the dealings of man's most important memories, most were inclined to protect them with a fierceness. The guides of Meo were especially chosen to be able to handle these outbursts. His own guide had offered him a kind sympathy when he had entered his own heart root, which was a memory Chelsee tried to think of only when necessary. If this was at all a similar feeling to Akil's, he understood him.

"When we entered into the chant, we entered into a bond of secrecy," he said. "It would not be of Iso to leverage it against you. Consider it forgotten."

"Alright..." Akil did not look convinced.

"However, we must proceed before morning. I do not think your heart root is the problem."

Akil groaned, and dropped his hand from his chest. "Be quick then."

Chelsee studied him. It would be easier with a more forthcoming participant. He supposed if Akil loved Wilona, the problem could be sacral? His hands hesitated, and then placed themselves just above his groin.

Akil jerked up, and gripped Chelsee's bicep. He winced in pain. This was a delicate state for men, he reminded himself. They were not entirely themselves. "It is where the sacral root lies," he said carefully. "I'm to explore all options, am I not?"

Akil forced him into a stare, assessing. They were almost nose to nose. Chelsee could feel his breath, and could feel the intensity of his emotions as if they were his own. He wanted to hit him, which meant Akil wanted to hit him, which is how he knew he needed to tread carefully. Was this always how he operated? It was no wonder he was always so charged. In the same way Akil's anger flowed through Chelsee, did the fear and the weight of responsibility flow through Akil?

As if in answer to this, Akil softened suddenly, and reluctantly released his grip. The blood flow resumed in Chelsee's arm. He laid himself down. "Proceed, consult."

Chelsee found the hard mound above his groin. They entered the sacral root.

The faintness of this memory was interesting. Did Akil not remember it well? Or was the cloudiness indicative of an unwillingness to accept? Chelsee wondered if Akil could feel his uncertainty.

The room was washed in blue, hours off of the morning. Akil laid tangled in disheveled sheets. A man stood, dressing himself quietly.

"'Tis a special cowardice to flee in the night like this, don't you think?" Akil said without stirring.

"Even off duty, you speak like a sailor," the man replied.

"We don't set off until tomorrow," Akil said. "I'm sure you didn't intend to commit such a mutiny by fleeing in the night... but if you did, you'd have time before you needed to venture off." He lifted his head. "Unless there was nothing worth sticking around for."

The Isoic crest of his robe gleaned in the light, a muted burgundy against the wash of the purple evening. Chelsee's heart leaped when he recognized it. A man of the consulthood, aboard the Eden Isle?! Had he been naive to think of himself as the first? But even if he had, it couldn't have prepared him for this.

Responding to this lack of concentration, the memory swirled and eddied like smoke.

The man shook his head. "Akilan, it is not in the way of the consults to form such earthly attachments. If anything were to happen to you on your ship..."

"Do you think me that weak?" he asked.

"It is not relevant. It is the feeling it evokes for me." The man made a sweeping gesture over his chest. "It is the attachment I feel to you. I cannot bear it. It was already a misstep to have come here in the first place."

"But not the several nights before that?" Akil asked lightly, and then scoffed. "You men of Iso... You so greatly fear pleasure, but still you are drawn to it, like anyone. Does that not clue you in?" For Chelsee, this was a surprise. He wouldn't have thought Akil was... And then the way this man crossed over to meet him in the bed... It stirred something. He kissed him, which the man allowed. Chelsee searched for his name in Akil's memories, but he couldn't find it. They enjoyed each other in this way, impassioned, and fell back onto the bed.

Akil cupped the man's cheek, and set kisses along the square of his jaw, "Night after night, you beat yourself up for this. And yet still you come back to me," then down his neck, "because you're mine."

"Akilan," the man moaned. "I cannot."

"You can and you do."

The memory faded into a cloudy oblivion, and when it returned, it was muddier. The man was on all fours, and gripped the headboard with white knuckles. Akil mounted him from behind. He thrust in, evoking animal-like groans from the both of them, and he titillated kisses along the man's back as he went. For Chelsee, it was too tight a sensation on his penis. He wanted to pull back from the pain, but, he realized with a jolt of fear that he was unable to remove himself from the memory.

The man reached to grab at him. Akil found his hand and squeezed it, and then thrust again. "You're mine," he reiterated, firmer this time.

The vision obscured.

The two lay in bed, entangled. The man laid on Akil's chest, and fondled his soft penis idly. "You could at least stay for the summer, you know," he said softly. "We've been down on our bounties since the Acacian traders have come east. We could use the good fortune."

"Their weaponry is vast," the man agreed.

"Our magic is still unrealized," Akil defended, bitterly.

"And it is precisely that that I cannot abide. You know this."

"Aye." Akil crouched down to kiss him, wanting. He had stiffened again. Still, for Chelsee, the encounter seemed strained. The beginnings of different thoughts formed for Akil. He wondered how to approach it without Arter pulling back from him.

A name. Arter. Chelsee didn't know him, but it felt as if he'd said it over and over for years.

"Take me this time," Akil said as he kissed him.

Arter pulled back, his brows arched. "Really?" He sounded disbelieving, and Chelsee suspected he had reason to. He felt small pieces of doubt start to pinch at Akil, and felt him try to push it away.

Akil arched into him, which made Arter laugh into his mouth. "You'd always been too proud to let me take you," he challenged. "What's changed?"

Chelsee was pulled back to the trees. He gasped, like he had breached the surface of the ocean after drowning. Akil thrashed against the tree trunk.

Then, he was dragged back down to the room. Akil was on all fours, arched, aching for Arter to be inside him, and also tense with the thought. Even as distraction clouded his mind, he pulsed with desire.

"Unclench, would you?" Arter teased gently. He smoothed the back of his thigh. "You'll need to spread yourself more than that."

Chelsee tried to claw his way out of the root. He didn't want to feel this! He didn't want anything up there at all! Even the thought of Arter inside him made his muscles clench.

Arter craned his neck to kiss him. Akil parted his lips, and their tongues danced as Arter prepared him. He sucked in a slow breath as he fingered the ring of his anus. And when he eased his finger in, it made Akil quake. His erection strained and dribbled over the sheets with yearning.

Chelsee again tried to pull himself out. He could feel that Akil didn't want to share this, and he didn't want to so intimately bear witness. Unwillingly, they shared the experience as one, the tip of Arter's cock hovering over their entrance. He reached to wrap his hand around the base of Akil's penis. His wet palm moved the skin up and down. Chelsee tried not to surrender to the feeling, the memory, but it came at him from every angle.

He whined, and all at once Chelsee was almost sure it had come from his own desire, and not Akil's. He felt perverted looking in on this, craving Arter's cock. It felt both wrong and amazing.

Arter cupped Akil's jaw, and kissed his neck. He pushed the tip of his penis in against the suction. Reflexively, Akil's grip bore into the mattress. He stretched uncomfortably, and through gritted teeth he insisted, "Don't stop. I can take it."

"Don't be a hero," Arter said, and pushed in. He writhed around as the space filled inside him, stretching. His pain exploded as the full length of him drove in, unrelenting. He wanted to ask Arter to stop, or hurry it up, but he was too proud to say, and eventually the hurt became a tentative pleasure. He grunted as Arter bore into him fully, struggling to breathe through the discomfort. "I said I can take it," Akil snapped.

Arter pulled his length out, and before Akil could feel alleviated, he slammed into him again. Brief flashes of extreme pleasure passed over him in waves, in between the struggle. Something deep inside of him was hit and satiated. He used his hand to stroke himself, teetering on the edge, resisting the urge to cry out. And he craned to kiss Arter again, because it felt good to completely submit to him.

Chelsee yelped at the pace he had no say in controlling.

"All I want is for you to feel good," Arter said in his ear.

Akil fought against this sentiment, as if it meant something else; what Chelsee didn't know. But he allowed Arter into him again, and again. He wished to be claimed by him. He'd never allowed it before because there was a permanence to it. A secret intimacy he would forever be letting someone in on, that had equal potential to revive or humiliate him. He knew this would stick with him, and still Akil permitted it. He silently hoped that Arter would take this for what it was, a real devotion of his love. He would not be on all fours, spread open and gaping, for any other man.

In another way, Chelsee, too, was overwhelmed by it. He wanted to push against Arter's hips to slow him, but he was powerless to do anything except take it. His full length rammed into him relentlessly. He felt overstuffed, like he'd eaten too much, or like he needed to shit. But the pleasure! There was such shame in being dominated, which he hoped was a feeling that really belonged to Akil, but it only made him want it more. But he could hardly take the size of it! If it were his own body at stake, he was sure it would've been left torn and bleeding. Arter rammed into him, until they were both slick with sweat. A hope began to bloom. "I want this with you forever," Akil said breathlessly.

Akil released himself into his hand. "Gods," Arter cried out, closing in on his own release. As he approached, his thrusts grew sloppier, and his hands roamed, until he roughly stuck two fingers into Akil's mouth, stuffing him on both ends. "You drive me crazy," he gruffed, pumping faster. Akil laughed over his fingers, and in response, Arter shoved his face into the mattress.

When he gave him his seed, he shot out in ropes, until the moisture filled him and overflowed back out onto his thighs. At that moment, Chelsee understood why Akil would want this. Filled, bred. He felt protected under Arter's strong body, and claimed by his semen. The two stayed that way for a time, unmoving. Chelsee searched for Akil's thoughts, but he found none specific. Only the satisfaction of release, and then a strange wave of sadness. He listened to their breath, as it settled from an aggressive pant into a slow draw. Arter laid his head on Akil's back.

Satiated, Chelsee felt like he was going to melt away. The vision melted with him.

Then, the orange of dawn crept underneath the purple night sky.

Arter stood at the bedside, tying his robes. Akil clutched his wrist. "You're not serious," he pleaded.

"In my heart you are all that I want," he said. "But that cannot be enough for me. I've my oaths to think about." He set his hand over Akil's tenderly. "I worked my whole life for this..."

They locked eyes, assessing and perhaps challenging each other's wills. After a shared tension, Akil released him from his grip, pushing him. "Fine, go."

It was infuriating because Chelsee could feel there was a great deal more that Akil wanted to say, all of it more impassioned than what he decided on. Why did he hold back?!

"Akilan,"

"Do not," he warned, and returned back to the bed. Chelsee felt the acute pang of heartbreak. "What use do I have for a slave of Iso, anyway?"

Chelsee was brought suddenly out of the root, the night's cold sobering his dreamlike state. Akil had seized his neck. He grabbed limply at his strong wrist, but it was useless. Akil's eyes were honed in on him, serpentine. "I told you once, consult, did I not? To not go where you are not wanted?!"

Chelsee struggled for abrupt, disconnected breaths. "This... this is the problem," he fought to say. "The way. That it is."

"The way that WHAT is?" Akil demanded, furious. "You imbecile, Arter sealed his fate! He is left now. I've no choice but to accept the way that it is, do I not?!" He throttled him. "So what business have you there? At that night?!"

Their chords teetered, but they didn't break. As if he'd suddenly become aware of them again, Akil released his clench. "Get these off me," he snapped.

"I cannot," Chelsee realized softly. "That was the wrong root. They will not sever until we identify the problem." Off Akil's glare, he added lamely, "I just remembered."

Akil was caught in an indecision. His eyes stormed, and Chelsee thought he might strangle him again. He regarded the cords with listless anger, but then reluctantly eased. Confusion came over him, and then defeat.

"You are not the only one who has lost..." Chelsee tried to say, but Akil cut him off.

"Do not speak." Then he conceded, and laid back down. "Just... do it."

It wasn't supposed to work like this. When he had had his own meditations, he and his guide had moved from root to root in pursuit of the problem together. When they exited his memories, peacefulness washed over him. Like an untangling of knots, they worked his tensions methodically until they found the core of his troubles. But Akil fought him at every corner. He didn't pursue his problems, he defended them against outsiders. They couldn't possibly go on like this.

"If we are to continue, you need to fully commit to the process" he said feebly, wanting to find his courage, but finding it difficult now while he was so flustered.

Akil didn't move. "Do it, or I'll kill you where you sit."

Chelsee breamed with frustration. He was such a typical man of the sea, even when the moment begged something else of him. A simpleton, a stubborn ass.

"I heard that," Akil snapped.

Chelsee froze. "I didn't say it aloud."

If this unsettled him, he didn't give it away. At least not physically. Akil balanced himself on the tree, his eyes laid, his brows unfurrowed. But Chelsee knew it disturbed him deeply. He knew it because he felt it. This time, Chelsee didn't announce it. He reached a hand underneath Akil's back, and pressed hard on his lower spine from both sides.

In the origin root, Akil stood on the Eden Isle at first light, his eyes trained on the water. Beside him, Captain Wilona said, "I see no reason in dwelling on what cannot be."

"I'm the same," he said, distant. "But I believe I can change his mind about me."

"It sounds more to me like he's changing your mind," Wilona said lightly.

Akil thought about it. "I cannot let him walk away."

But then this had to be wrong, Chelsee thought, because Wilona already looked muddied in this memory of her. The sunlight seemed to shine through her, making her likeness shimmer the same as the ocean. Did it mean Akil had been remembering it incorrectly? As if to retreat from being found out, the memory clouded, and then reformed. The moment was more tense now.

"Arter will not appreciate this passion like some would," Wilona said. "These men of Iso are unmoved by the wants of us. They deem us undisciplined. Like unruly children that need to be taught reason."

"I would think him less of a man if he did not stay solid in his convictions," Akil said.

"I would think him more of a man if he went after what he wanted," she countered. "What stake does any man have in this life if he won't risk everything at least once? To not ever be scared, or to ever be invested. 'Tis like living with a hollow center. Like a spirit!"

Akil offered her a sympathetic look. "... I do not want it because I wish to abandon you, Wil."

"Then don't," she said firmly, and then softened regretfully. "I'm sorry. His lack of faith hurts me, too. I cannot imagine any red-blooded being denying a love like yours. But men are ungrateful by nature. They don't know how rare it is to find a real connection."

Akil looked back out at the water. Chelsee knew this time of morning well. It was still tranquil onboard, while the sun woke slowly, but once in the sky, the Eden Isle would stir. They would need to be off soon. The pressure of decision weighed on him.

"'Tis so rare that I must hold onto mine while I have it," he said.

"No, for you there will be more than one great love in your life," Wilona said gently. "And this next one, I'm sure, will come to love you without indecision."

Chelsee understood it now. "There is no way to reverse time," he said. The memory played on, but he knew even in Akil's sleep-state that he'd heard him.

"Stay," Wilona pleaded. "Think of all of the adventures."

Akil was irresolute. "You all are family to me..."

"You no longer have the option to leave. Not in this morning," Chelsee said over them. "The time to grief yourself with this indecision is done. You must let it go if you want to proceed in the cliffs."

"But I love him," Akil protested.

"Let it be," Wilona soothed.

"Akil," Chelsee said, "Release this."

"I CANNOT," he replied, and it shook the entirety of the root.

Then, the memory blurred back into the present time of the woods, with staggering ease. Akil sat up. "I cannot," he repeated. "And I've had enough of this."

The memories peeled away from him one by one. Blearily, Chelsee noticed that the cords had dropped somehow. He wondered if he could be relieved at that. Nothing was easy for him, anymore. He didn't doubt this convenience had a price.

"You need to release those memories," Chelsee said, forcing himself to concentrate through his daze. "Undoubtedly, they're keeping you from your own acceptance." He worked carefully to avoid another thrashing.

But when Akil replied, he did so with no more of the violent anger that had overtaken him."I don't think so..." he said. Instead he simply looked resolved. Chelsee blinked hard. Akil's eyes were glassed over, his back only limply holding up the rest of his body. The dreamy state of the roots still gripped him. Nothing of Chelsee's studies had told him of this half-woken state. He could do nothing but observe, and try not to disturb him.

"I need these," Akil said moonily. "They keep me sailing."

"You sail to outrun your troubles," Chelsee said gently. "It is not in the way of the cliffs."

"That's pirating," Akil replied.

"But the cliffs," Chelsee started to say, but Akil held his hand up.

"Worry not," he said. "That I will sort come the morning." Then, he laid on his back, and went to sleep. Chelsee blinked. This was a delicate state for men, he reminded himself again. They were not entirely themselves.

FOUR.

"Your solution is to leave?" Chelsee asked, uncertain. But Akil hadn't been telling him. In fact, he hadn't once met his eye the whole morning, which was all one for the twins. Even as he asked the question, Akil reacted as if he hadn't heard it, but Chelsee could see the cool glaze of anger fall over him.

It was not that men didn't leave the cliffs. In his month alone he had seen droves forced out. Really, the consulthood relied on it. It was what sifted those that truly understood what they were doing by leaving their personal attachments behind. The magic of Meo forced you to make a choice between your Want, or accepting the world for how it truly ebbed.

Really, he wanted him to stay because if he left, he would be made to brave the rest of the journey with the twins. That he did not think any three of them could manage.

Illya studied Akil questioningly. "Before mission is done?"

"The way forward will not present itself if I'm here. Apparently I care too much," he smiled, and clapped his shoulder. "I've faith in you. I've had my fill of this anyhow."

Illya nodded knowingly. "Iso-way bullshit."

"Exactly."

It was as if Akil's resolve had restored a balance in the cliffs. They had flattened, and the sunshine had made itself known. But now Chelsee was left to reckon with the twins. They plucked through the trees with long strides, and savagely ate a helping of nuts Jordana had produced from his pack. Chelsee trailed just behind them, leaving enough distance to make them forget he was even there. Not that they were eager to acknowledge him themselves. They hadn't looked back even once. If not for the thwip of the leaves as he brushed past, and his labored breath, for all they knew he had finally mustered the courage to run away.

Despite the fair weather, the journey was incessant. Chelsee's thoughts were with Akil.

It was not that men of Iso didn't fall in love, but the consults were taught to detach before they had a vested interest. He supposed Arter was right to remove himself once he recognized he could no longer accept the way, but Chelsee had never felt how that might hurt. He had pondered it, sure, but never felt. Told that way, he understood the cowardice of it. Even still, he longed for that closeness again. Even in the heat of the day, he wanted Arter's warm shoulders wrapped around him, the softness of his lips against his neck. He wanted other things, too. In a desperate attempt to banish the thought, he opened his mouth.

"Could we stop a moment?" he asked. "The sun is making me tired."

Jordana looked briefly over his shoulder, and the both of them continued on.

"Could we not kill him, and claim it was an accident?" Jordana wondered.

He intended to voice his appall immediately, but stopped when he realized it was the first time he'd heard Jordana speak at all. And what was more, he was speaking in his native tongue, Acacian.

"Wilona would be upset," Illya replied.

"She's upset more often than not these days, eh? I wonder if she feels the fruitlessness of this pursuit."

"No," Illya said. "She's got a second wind now that the consult made love to the succubus."

They both looked back self consciously, because the word consult was the same in both languages. Chelsee averted his gaze to the trees.

"I forgot that," Jordana said. "Idiot..."

Illya smiled, and smacked his shoulder. "Akil said he found him jerking himself in the infirmary this morning."

Jordana laughed. "One taste of pussy, and he's forgotten himself completely."

Something burst out from the trees. They froze. Chelsee's heart thundered in his chest. In the gathered silence, they waited for it. He wanted to ask what the hell it was they were after anyways. He realized how idiotic it was that he hadn't inquired sooner. All he knew of the cliffs of Meo was the trees, the endlessness, and the group of consults he had been guided by. He had never been this alone here before. Just as he opened his mouth, another disturbance broke out just ahead.

Illya looked at his brother. "Go," he affirmed.

Readily, Jordana leapt and transformed. His body conformed mid-air, shrinking and twisting until he had landed on all fours, coated in white fur, and with a snout that sniffed fervently as he sprinted away. Chelsee could hear his own scream, though he hadn't remembered deciding to make the sound. It escaped him before he could stifle it.

Illya ran after him into a small clearing, with a hut positioned offsides.

"It's really here," Illya said, stunned. He half-stepped in its direction, then stopped as Chelsee breathlessly caught up with him. These goddamn twins were fast, but he supposed it made sense for halfbreeds. There was so much he didn't know. The thought exploited his fear, standing in the clearing, awaiting whatever creature that came to wreak its thoughtless chaos.

"You go away now, consult," he said. "Or you get hurt."

Jordana breached from the woods, and scrambled to cut to the right at the last second. Where he'd stood before, an explosion of liquid splattered the trees, and melted some of the tree bark. Behind it, a speckled goat bleated, and chased after him. It was moving too quickly for Chelsee to get a good look, but its essence was told in its red eyes, and the chain it dragged from its collar. His mouth gaped in shock. The goat bleated, and rounded back into the clearing. Illya positioned himself, ready, but as if sensing his unease, the creature fixed its thoughtless eyes on Chelsee instead.

"Consult!" Illya yelled.

Chelsee scrambled to get out of the way, narrowly missing the belch of liquid that corroded where he'd just been standing. The breath left his lungs. He scrambled, undignified, on his hands and legs, to nowhere in particular, simply away from where he had been. His mistake was that he didn't look where he was going, and set his palms in the corrosion the goat had spewed earlier. It burned horribly. He fell to his back, shrieking, trying in vain to wipe the acid onto the grass.

It stopped, reorienting itself. It lifted a front leg, and dragged it against the ground slowly. Chelsee wanted to get up, but the burning in his hands was unlike anything he had experienced. He wanted to succumb, if it meant this pain would go away. In the chaos, a thought occurred to him.

He bowed his head, and authored a chant. The goat charged.

In the same moment, Illya hollered, "He's fucking singing?!" as Jordana barked, and ran to intercept it. Chelsee kept his concentration, and just as the goat was to reach him, its head dropped and it began to skid on its hooves. No sooner than that, Jordana had reached them, and snapped its neck up in his canine jaw. He flung it back and forth until it was bloody, and dropped the limp carcass onto the clearing.

"What the fuck is the matter with this guy?" Illya demanded.

He badly did not want to pass out. Not for a second time inside of one week, and not in front of two men itching for a reason to see him gone. It would be all too convenient. He could see the story even as he faded: how the goat had gotten him despite their best efforts, and they disposed of his body off the cliffs and into the ocean. He was sure Akil would be relieved to know his secrets were safe, and he doubted the rest of the ship would even blink.

The twins consulted outside of the hut. Even as his skin corroded, they were back to ignoring him again. Maybe he should pass out, out of spite. They could drag his body back down the hill. He propped himself up, and then hunched over when he realized he did not have the wherewithal to hold himself.

Illya held a fabric out for Jordana to sniff. He grabbed the scent, and entered through the degrading panels of wood at the front. Beside Chelsee, the goat seemed to stare at him, glazed. "He's a dog. Of course he's a dog," he said breathlessly.

When Jordana came back out, he had stretched back into his humanness. Or what he passed off for it, anyhow.

"Nothing," he said. "But he was here."

"So then the maps are true," Illya observed.

"Please. I'm in pain," Chelsee begged. Even in his suffering, he knew he sounded pathetic. This strength of ache made him concede quickly, and care not about the embarrassment. He hadn't known that about himself until he'd boarded the Eden Isle.

"If you're going to leave me to die, at least do me the mercy of killing me quick," he whined. He didn't have time to walk back the thought, before he realized his mistake.

The twins watched him beadily. "Acacian?" Illya asked.

Chelsee paused, on the cusp of a lie, but then relented. Illya and Jordana shared a look.

Finally, Illya broke the silence. "It matters not," he said. "He'll get himself killed with his sing-songy nonsense eventually."

"I was chanting," Chelsee said, but they had disregarded him again. He laid back down, since that seemed to be all he was good for here, and surrendered to the pain. It was excruciating, but like all things that were, he hoped the feeling would plateau. Chelsee felt as though he were watching himself from the outside. He could feel his blood coarse through his muscle, feel himself draw small breaths into himself, and most of all he could feel the skin peel and fall from his arms.

He did lose his consciousness, eventually. Just as he went, he felt Illya haul him onto his shoulder, and take him home.

... Not home.

Back to the ship.

FIVE.

The next few days were quiet. He felt a little used, the way the hunters had dismissed him cold onto the floor, but he supposed that was better than degrading in goat acid. That was a sentence he omitted from his writings. He doubted even the consults would know what to make of that. He hadn't even seen Akil or the twins since then. All the better to put the cliffs out of his mind.

One thought did stick, unfortunately. When Illya had thrown him into the infirmary, his hands seared so badly it woke him briefly into half-consciousness.

"I wonder if he'll live after all," Jordana pondered. "We should've killed him. He could cause problems for us."

"He won't last," Illya replied. "The helpless always run out of luck. Until then, it is what it is."

Jordana snorted. "In a way, that's the basis of his Iso, is it not?"

All of his writings of the cliffs ended in the question of the twins. He described them as mean-spirited, ignoramus, and uncultured, and yet he couldn't say they were resisting of the way that it is. He'd been so swept up in himself, he hadn't even thought to ask himself earlier how they could've made their way through the cliffs at all, no less with such ease. Actually, when Chelsee really thought back on the last few days, he hadn't done much thinking at all. It occurred to him that the maintenance of his Iso was far easier without the threat of the pirates. When introduced to natures that truly rubbed against his own acceptance, it revealed his foundation to be paper thin. It was easier to meditate on the open ocean than it had been with the hostile twins, and the bugs biting him. Just like it had been easier to meditate in the quiet snow of Acacia, at his consulthood. Was this how the ship had always seen him? Naive to the real world? Like a child with ridiculous fantasies? He needed to remind himself it was not of Iso to assign meaning where there wasn't any, yet all the parchment in his satchel had been soaked from the constant downpour of the cliffs.

While dinner went on in the mess, he stood portside and let the salt air soothe him. His thoughts drifted to Acacia. At least, he would permit that the warm and the ocean spray were nice compared to the frigid cold.

"Good evening, consult," Akil said. Chelsee felt his presence draw up on him. "Not hungry? We've fish stew for dinner. I thought you had requested it." Akil grabbed the back of his neck, and forced him hard into the railing. The pain rang so hard in his skull that his mind went blank. He clutched his head in his hands.

In one way, Chelsee knew this was coming, because he felt it. He would wake for his morning meditation, and his mind would wander to Akil's white-knuckled fists on his sheets. He would go to bed thinking of Arter's thrust, and his strong arms. It was beautiful, and filled him with the deep ache of longing. He didn't know sex could do that. Had Akil, before that night? Akil laid swift, assured kicks into his side, and drew him up only to throw him down again.

He couldn't ignore, either, the dense history he was now privy to. Men were interesting creatures. They often betrayed their own interests, and this pirate was no exception. He wondered, even as he took his beating, if there were words Akil thought but did not say. Chelsee felt he understood him a great deal better now. But men like Akil would view this understanding as a weapon forged against them.

With this feeling, there was also a strange misery. Chelsee would like to have married his Iso to a resolution about this heartbreak. When he had been alone with his succubus, she had suggested to him that despite their meeting now, the paths they had taken - those they had little say in - were really what forged their fate moving forward. He had said to her that their meeting now was the most important, but what of that thought now? If Arter of the burgundy crest could walk away unresolved, and if Akil could somehow both resist acceptance and move on, and if the twins were the most equipped to cast no wants on the way that it is... then perhaps to be of Iso was to contribute nothing to the conversation.

"I wanted to tell you," Chelsee said. Akil froze. He had bunched a handful of Chelsee's robe in his grip. His other fist was drawn back, mid-punch. Chelsee stared up at his next blow, fearful, but his disposition was deadly calm. "I would've been moved by your passion, even despite my consulthood. We're still human, after all."

Akil's eyes darkened. "But it wouldn't have swayed you," he said after some time.

"Not if I were committed to the consulthood, no," he said sadly. His temple felt warm with blood.

He could feel the start and end to many thoughts in Akil, none that he voiced. When Chelsee looked at his face, he knew he felt it too. They were bonded now, in some new way. Finally he drew a deep breath, flattening his anger. He threw Chelsee down onto the planking, and started in the direction of the mess hall. "Slaves. You're all just slaves."