DESPERATE  MEASURES

Part Four:

Maximus had not returned yet and, after she'd gathered a number of coconuts

together in a small pile for future use, she decided to build a fire.  Just inside the

tree line lay an assortment of dry debris.  She walked among it, picking what she

wanted and tossing it out onto the sand.  Having no flint, she was forced to resort to

the friction of wood upon wood, a method much harder on the hands, but one she

knew well.  Kneeling in the sand, her back to the wind, she carefully shredded some

small fibers from the coconut husk, mixing them with some white fluff she pulled from

a large seed pod she happened upon. Unlike Mr. Hanks, she knew what she was doing

and before long had a small fire snapping and crackling.

She rubbed her still-tingling palms down her thighs then slowly began to add larger

elements to her blaze.  The wind was so strong, though, that the flames licked almost

parallel to the ground.  Walking a bit further down the beach, she gathered large

pieces of driftwood and dragged them back, then set about constructing a make-shift
wall between the fire and the direction from which the wind was blowing, leaving a

space of sand wide enough to sleep upon. For two to sleep upon...just in case. With the

addition of some rock and the judicious weaving of fallen palm fronds into her wall,

the flames began to straighten. 

"There!" she said to herself.  "I think that will do."   She looked at the currently
cloudless sky.  "If it doesn't rain," she added, knowing that a more permanent

provision would have to be made.

She sat by the fire eating chunks of thick, white coconut meat, looking toward the

palms now and then, wondering when...or if...Maximus would decide to come back.

The General had, by now, gained the top of the highest of the hills and stood there,

heaving a large sigh, as he turned in a slow circle. On every side the sea stretched

endlessly to the horizon. He closed his eyes, seeing again the face of the man he knew

as Siddius. Something had made the man seethe with anger as he'd confronted them

in Maximus' room. Opening his lids, he looked out across the ocean again. Was this,

then, the result of that? Was this some form of...exile? It would seem so.

He blew out a long breath. Well, he'd just have to deal with it. He scanned the entire

island, looking for signs of human presence, but the single mark of that was a thin line

of smoke coming from the beach where they had arrived. Was that the right word? 

Arrived? It would have to do. He had no idea what that horror was that had transported

them here.

Brianna. There was too much to think about there. He would deal with that later.
Now he needed to find fresh water.

From his vantage point he could see a much easier path back to the beach. Did he

want to go back there? Not really. Not now. Not yet. But he felt certain obligations
for her welfare and could not leave her to fend entirely for herself in such a place.

Against his will, Siddius' words shouted in his brain:
"She has, in fact, been working with me, following my instructions to seduce you,

to keep you from discovering the truth not only of where you are, but of the fact that

you were never even real. Ask her. Ask her who she is, what she does for a living. Ask

her who I am."

He had let himself trust again, feel again. How stupid of him. Every word the man
had spoken cut through him like some dull and rusty blade, opening old wounds that

were, themselves, not really healed. And what did he mean by "never even real?" 

Probably just a cruel taunt.

"No," he said aloud, "not now." And he returned to his scan, following down the

sides of the hills, looking for some trace of water. There! Just at the curve of one of

the hills. That could be a small waterfall. He studied the land between himself and

that location carefully so, once down from his height, he could find it. Then with a

grim determination, began his descent.

The dark litany would not leave him alone, however. "Ask her." "Ask her who she is."

"Ask her what she does for a living."  "Ask her who I am." Her competence with the

bow came to his mind. The scar on her back. Was she some sort of female mercenary?

Only the welcome sound of falling water just ahead detoured his mind from that

unwanted road.

Yes. It was thin, not more than two feet wide, but it cascaded down the steep embankment

in a series of leaps from ledge to ledge, ending in a deep pool about 20 feet across. He

stood on a flat rock that jutted out half-way round the pool, his eyes lighting with pleasure

as he watched the fall of water. Without this, survival would have been problematic. With

it, he could manage the rest.

Sweat had plastered his tunic to him uncomfortably. Unbuckling his wide belt, he slipped

the tunic over his head and knelt, rinsing it in the clear water. He draped it over a bush,

took off his boots, and dove into the water.

Brianna, tired of waiting, decided to forage a bit on her own. Surely there must be some

sort of edible fruit growing here. She decided against following the direction Maximus

had taken. Obviously he had not wished her to accompany him, so headed into the thick

growth a bit more to the right.

She'd only gone about a hundred feet before encountering mangoes, ripe and hot in the

mid-afternoon sun. Pulling the large piece of her skirt from her bodice, she fashioned it

into a sort of sling, which she filled with the fruit. Turning, she looked back the way

she had come, trying to decide it she should retrace her steps to the beach. No. It was

still early. She would press on.

After a while she came across some red berries that she did not recognize, and so let

them alone. They resembled far too much the "never wake up" berries from Blue

Lagoon. She would stick with things she was sure of. She hoped Maximus would do

the same.

A bit further and the sound of water caught her ear. She quickened her steps, eager

to find its source. A pool! She was about to step out from behind some shrubs when

she caught sight of Maximus. He was swimming and she stopped, remaining in the

shadows, watching him.

He cut the water cleanly, barely splashing. When he reached a rock outcropping

about 25 feet from where she stood, he pressed his palms on its edge and raised himself

out of the water, turning to stretch out on his back to dry in the sun.

Her chin trembled. How beautiful he was. How recently...no...no...he no longer wanted

her. But how could she not see him like this and not remember another pool, another

hour when the wetness of his flesh lay against her own?

 
She stood there, silently watching, the scent of mangoes filling the air, trying to hold

the pieces of her heart together.

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