5
I cannot say how long I lay there. I felt the coolness of the water as it made its way down my throat. The feeling spread outward from my throat into every part of my body. My arms seemed to regain their strength, and my legs could function once more. My vision began to come into focus, though only somewhat. I was still desperately hungry, and the hunger burned in my stomach. As much as I was enjoying the feeling of water upon my parched form, I knew that food would have to be next.
Whomever left this strange vat here, the people who had written this strange writing upon its side, they would have food as well. Hopefully.
The water splashed down on my face. I rolled onto my stomach, and the water ran from my forehead into my eyes. I did not mind. The feeling was truly wonderful, as though I were laying in a rejuvenating bath. I pushed myself onto my knees, bumping my head on the underside of the vat as I did. I laughed. I was giddy. Water. Life. I was going to live.
I crawled out from under the vat and stood up, using the vat as support. The vat was metal, and the sides were warm from the sun. How then did the water remain cool? I would have to ask the owners, when I found them. My hand glided upon the surface of the vat. The paint felt slightly blistered, likely from the heat. Still, I could not discern how the salt air had not rusted the vat's skin. I recalled time spent on the western coast. Anything metal rusted very quickly unless cared for. Our captain was sure to remind us to clean our weapons every day, lest the salt have its way with them. I supposed the paint on this vat was different, mixed to fight off the rust.
I looked about me, looking for some other evidence of supplies. There was nothing to the south. Moving around the vat, keeping myself in the shade of the tree, I looked northward.
'Ah," I said aloud, "there we go."
Just a moment's walk away from the vat was a small hut. It was raised on stilts, much like the vat. It was small, and I doubted that more than a handful could fit in it. It was rectangular, elongated. There were stairs leading up from the sand, though no door was evident on the short edge where the stair led. What made the small, white hut oddest were the metal rods sticking out of the top. How many lightening rods did a single hut need? Were the storms on this coast so very fierce? Some were straight, other rods were coiled. Beside the rods, at the end of the hut's ceiling furthest from the stairs was a large dish facing upward. Several strands of black rope reached from a box under the dish, to the roof of the hut. I suppose they used the dish to catch rain water, though from this distance I could not see where it funneled into. The people who lived here would have to climb up to reach the water.
I moved closer to the hut, stripping away my jacket. I let the parched leather fall in the sand, leaving it were it fell. It was soaked in sweat, and now with water, and was parched beyond any real use. Besides, the cool mist of the sea felt good on my chest. I removed my other shoe, and let my feet warm themselves in the soothing sand. I could not even feel the blisters which I was sure covered my feet by now. Once I found food, I would tend to them.
Food came first.
The hut had no windows, and even close up, the stairs seemed to lead to nothing. I wondered if the entrance was around the other side, but then why put stairs here? I could see evidence of footfalls, two or three, where the tide had not washed them away. People in boots had been here recently, and all seemed to surround the stairs.
I climbed the three stairs, and glided my hand along the hut's wall. It was smooth, much like the vat. The paint was the same, with the same feel, as though slightly blistered, though smooth at the same time. As soon as my hand brushed over the hut wall to my left, there was an odd chirping sound. I stepped back a pace, unsure of what I had heard. That was no bird I knew of, and the hut itself seemed to do the chirping.
When the chirp did not return, I touched the wall again. There was another chirp. My fingers glided over the smooth wall with its odd blister-texture, and each pass elicited another chirp. I wondered what it was that caused it. I pressed my palm against the wall, feeling its coolness against my hand. The wall chirped again, a louder, longer pattern. Then the wall itself seemed to light up, as though a torch were hidden behind a window. I stepped back again, fearing a burn.
The wall where I had lit up began to glow, with small flickering lights of varying colors. An image of a hand appeared on the wall, glowing red. I looked to my hand, but it was unharmed. The image of the hand pulsed and glowed red. I set my hand to it, matching the red palm to my own flesh. The wall chirped again, and more frightening than that, it spoke to me!
"Eissa," a lithe, female voice spoke from the wall. It was high pitched, as though she were very young.
I backed away, startled.
"Eissa," the woman's voice spoke, its tone questioning. "Eissa. Oya?"
"Hello?" I replied. Where was this girl hiding?
"Eissa, Oya?" the voice repeated. "Ika donan ooreeya."
I shook my head. "I do not understand," I replied. "Where are you?"
"Ika donan ooreeya," the voice repeated. The voice seemed welcoming, yet at the same time, without feeling.
Was she hiding behind the wall? Was the wall really some sort of clever window? I had seen the Kronan mages use magic to hide entire fortresses. Was this hut similar?
I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me, and I remembered my main concern for the moment.
"I am hungry!" I croaked. "Do you have anything to eat?" I pleaded. "Please, I beg you, I have not eaten for days. Do you have anything you could spare?"
There was a pause. "Ika donan ooreeya."
I shook my head in frustration. I did not know the language. Its sound was not at all familiar. Theris had three languages. Esian, which everyone spoke, was the oldest of the three. Krona had its own twisted tongue, but it was only spoken by the mages who served the Dark Lord, and those who worked closest with them. It was an angry language, full of hate and bile. The third language was that of the fishermen, who had developed an entire language unto themselves, in order to help understand the ways and will of the sea. Somewhere buried under their bizarre words was Esian proper, but only a scholar could say where. This girl's language was not like those three, though it did remind me of the Kronan tongue ever so slightly.
"Please," I said slowly, carefully. "I need to eat. Will you help me?"
"Help?" the voice repeated back to me. The tone was questioning, as though to confirm that I had indeed asked for help.
"Yes!" I insisted. "Yes, help me. I need food."
The voice repeated two of my words. "Help. Food."
"Please," I said one last time, leaning against the wall to support myself. The water could only keep me going so long, without food.
"Oobah," the girl said evenly.
Then, without warning, the wall before me slid open. Where there had been no indication of a door at all, the wall simply slid away, to the right. There was a slight swishing sound, along with the grinding of sand. Inside the door, the hut was mostly dark. I held still, unsure of what to do.
The hut's darkness was not
