Downpour(6): New Glasgow

6. New Glasgow

     Nick was amazed as Callum led him through the town. It looked as though the castaway had been busy over the ten years since landing. There were small huts, not standing more than six feet above the ground, but there were also some that looked like they were multiple stories tall. All of them were made from pieces of various wrecked aircraft. Nick thought he saw a porch swing made from the wing of a World War Two bomber plane.

At the end of the makeshift street was a large building made from the nose of a commercial airliner. It stood nearly twice as tall as the rest of the buildings, and Nick was surprised at how little damage it had sustained. The hull was sleek and shiny, despite the vines and creepers beginning to grow up the base. Even as he was noticing it; Nick caught sight of a native boy scrubbing at the side of the hull, trying to get the grime off.

     “That there is the chief’s hut. Don’t ask me how we got it here. It took us quite a few days and we pissed off most of the jungle along the way. Even started a sizeable war with one of the neighboring tribes over it. They wanted that hull really bad.” Callum spat on the ground, as if remembering a great battle.

     “You were in a tribal war here?” Nick was still absolutely stunned at how well Callum had adapted to his surroundings. I was nearly dead after two days in the jungle. I can’t even imagine ten years. Nick felt embarrassed by his lack of survival skills. Had it been any other climate, he would have likely been fine, but he had always purposefully avoided the jungle.

     “Oh tribal wars are nothin’ like the wars at home. Mostly it’s just a bunch of spear waving. Every once in a while, one of them throws one, but it’s a rare occasion that anyone actually gets hurt.”

     As they continued walking through the street, Nick caught glimpses of villagers staring at him through passenger windows in metal hulls. The tinkling of metal on metal was always in the air, as it seemed as though each family had taken to making wind chimes of whatever leftover parts they had. Off to the right, Nick spotted a large cylinder, punched into the ground, surrounded by what appeared to be fuel lines. “What is that?” Nick asked.

     Callum swelled up, full of pride. “That, is the one building that took over four years to build. Took quite a bit of convincing to get the chief to let me do it, but there she is.”

     The construction didn’t look especially complicated to Nick, but it was the only building that had the series of odd tubes running out from it. “Is it some kind of fuel storage?” Nick couldn’t see why they would want to keep it, but it might come in use in some way.

     “Oh heavens no. That’s our distillery.”

     Nick’s heart, leapt and did somersaults in what felt like a gold-medal-winning gymnastic performance. “D-distillery?” The words could barely leave his mouth. The pounding headache he had been feeling all morning subsided, and even the pain in his leg did not seem as bad. “You’ve got a distillery?”

     Callum let out a hearty laugh. “Oh aye, we’ve got a distillery. I must warn you, it tastes worse than a jungle rat’s sweaty ass, but you’ll be drunker than Baron Foulkes during a cessation hearing.” Callum eyed Nick, watching for his reaction.

     “I’ll be honest with you. I’ve got no idea who that is, but I’d be willing to take his record to task.” Nick was grinning like a school boy who had just been given the day off. Maybe the jungle isn’t so bad after all. Nowhere can be that bad if it’s got a distillery.

     “Well in that case. I’d say today’s a cause for celebration. Oy, come out ye bastards, we’re having a party!” Not long after he had yelled it, the villagers began coming out of their huts, each clutching ceramic cups bearing the logos of various airlines.

Just how many planes have gone down out here? Nick shuddered at the fate of the others who must have fallen prey to the jungle’s many dangers. The villagers began to whoop and holler as from the large building at the end of the street, the chief emerged.  

     “Oh, forgot one thing,” said Callum. “We’ve got to ask the chief’s permission.”

     The chief was a large man, built thick with muscle. Around his neck he wore a series of phones, all pierced with thick, metal, wire. “He really likes phones,” whispered Callum. “Not sure why, but when I asked him about it, he just mumbled about magic. Puts ‘em on his necklace whenever they run out of battery.”

     The chief’s hair was long and black just like everyone else in the village. It also contained pieces of scrap metal, woven in as what Nick interpreted to be symbols of status. In his right hand, he carried a large spear, made entirely of metal, with a mean looking tri-tipped point on it. “Stay here,” said Callum. “I’ll go and talk to him.” Callum walked up to the chief as though he were an old friend and made a slight bow before him.

     The chief began to whisper to Callum, making Nick wonder for a moment if he was about to be in danger once more.

Callum laughed and made some gestures to Nick, and the sky, but the chief continued to look sour.

The chief pointed to Nick and made what appeared to be an obscene gesture, which Callum quickly corrected. Nick began to wonder if Callum was in danger too, as the chief looked angrier with each passing second. He slapped his chest with an open palm, and glared at Nick. I suppose Callum did say they were rather hostile.  

     After what seemed like an eternity, of terse whispers and quiet argument, Callum stepped away and walked back to Nick. “Alright, he says we’re allowed to have a celebration, and you’re allowed to stay, but on one condition.” He

     “Alright, what’s that?” asked Nick, hoping whatever it was didn’t involve bodily harm.

     “He wants you to challenge him to a drinking contest.”

     The chief looked at Nick and laughed. The next thing Nick remembered was waking up in a plush first-class airline chair next to a bon fire.

     “Well good morning sleeping beauty,” said Callum with a slight slur to his words. “Nice of you to join us again.”

     Nick opened his eyes blearily and realized that the sun had gone away, and thousands of stars twinkled above them. It was just him and Callum sitting around the fire. Callum still clutched on of the airline mugs from earlier. “What happened?”

     “Well, I’d say you got pretty close to beating him, but the chief won out in the end.” Callum laughed. “I have never seen him so pissed though. After you passed out, he could barely stand. Nearly ran into the side of his hut on the way back.”

     Nick’s head throbbed, but he didn’t mind. A part of him had missed the feeling of a good hangover. His throat was dry, and when he spoke, he could feel it cracking. “So I take it I can stay the night then?”

     “Oh yes, he was very pleased with your performance. You’re in his good books now.” Callum winked at Nick from across the fire. “Here, drink this, it’ll help.” He picked up a gourd from beside the airline chair and passed it to Nick.

     Without questioning it, Nick upended the gourd and drank the liquid within. Sweet nectar burst in his mouth, clearing his head almost instantaneously. “That’s quite good,” he croaked.

     “Better than any hangover cure they have back home that’s for sure.” Callum looked far away for a moment.

     “Do you ever miss home?” asked Nick.

     “Oh sure, for the first year or so. I thought about going back to see my family, but they all probably think I’m long dead now. It’s no sense in going back.” A hint of sadness had crept into his voice at the mention of family. “Besides, things are going pretty well out here as you can see. I’ve got a new home here, and it’s not a bad one.”

     “I’ll drink to that,” said Nick, finishing what was left of the nectar.

Callum raised his mug as well. For a moment they both sat, staring into the firelight, listening to the quiet sounds of the jungle beyond. Nick thought they sounded peaceful when he was not stranded in the elements.

“So tell me Nick, what brings you into South America in the first place?” Callum asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s a long story, but the simple version is that I’m here looking for a friend.”

“Odd place to find a friend,” Callum said, with an air of suspicion.

     “Well, it’s an odd sort of friend.” Nick remembered back to a cave high in the mountains, and covered with blood.

     Callum remained silent, waiting for Nick to continue.

     “My friend,” Nick found it difficult to say, “he died. We were on a climbing expedition about a year or so back, and it went south.” The scene made Nick feel sick, even just thinking back to it.

     “Why come all the way out here to pay your respects if he died up on the mountain?”

“I,” Nick faltered. The idea seemed so strange saying it aloud. “I’m not here to pay my respects. I’m here to bring him back.” The fire sputtered momentarily as a strong wind blew through the village.

     Callum’s eyes darkened. “Bringing him back eh? That’s some dark magic. Don’t go talking about it too loud around the village. You’ll make people nervous. We try to stay as far away from that sort of thing as we can.” He made the crossing symbol across his chest once more.

     If only he knew crossing his chest did does to ward off spirits in the slightest. It felt bad to be cynical about a man who had helped him so much, but Nick couldn’t help it. “Actually, it’s got nothing to do with black magic.” It had more than a little to do with black magic. “Mostly it’s just a matter of finding a path into the Land of the Dead.”

At the mention of the name, a strong breeze blew through and caused the fire to sputter. “It does that a lot around, here doesn’t it?” said Nick, surveying the dark forest around them with unease.

     “Not usually,” said Callum, deep in thought. “Still don’t understand why you’d have to trek into the jungle.”

The conversation seemed to be making Callum uncomfortable, but Nick was still feeling a bit of his buzz, and continued. “As it turns out, death is a bit of a tricky business. From what I’ve read, and ever since he died it’s been a lot; A soul goes to rest in the same place that it was born.”

Callum nodded as if this seemed to make sense to him.

 Originally I thought I was going to have to find a portal near Akron Ohio, but after a little digging, I found at that he wasn’t born there initially. See, James was born when his parents got stuck in an airport in Peru. As a result, his soul became eternally bonded to the country, and when he died, I believe it fled back here.”

     Callum looked confused. To be honest, it had confused Nick to begin with as well. The literature of the Land of the Dead was sparse, as the amount of people who had entered and successfully returned was few. Most of them had become heavy drinkers, and left nothing but unreliable accounts of fiery lakes and demons that ripped sinners to shreds. It was all very biblical, but in Nick’s opinion rather unbelievable.

     “There’s an American author, can’t remember his name now. He talks about a world just beyond our own plane where souls are sort of stuck in waiting. There are several conduits to enter around the globe, but it is a very dangerous place to travel in. They said that there were portals spread,”

     Callum cut him off. “Look Nick, you seem like a nice fellow, but I don’t want us to get involved in any of this.” His tone was not one of anger, but of finality. “I’ve heard things. Some nights the chief will talk about the dark magics hiding in the forest out there. I’ve never seen any of it for me’self, but I swore that on the first night I crashed; I could hear whispers.”

     Nick thought back to his fight with the Madremonte, and didn’t blame Callum for wanting no part in it. Probably keep him alive longer.

     “There’s evil in the jungle out there, and I’m happy here. It’s safe.”

     “I understand,” said Nick, a little disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to get into the politics of the undead with Callum, but still understanding. “I won’t stay long, just until morning to get some rest. I could use some help navigating upriver, but then I’ll be gone.”

     Callum looked pain at the thought of Nick leaving already, but nodded. “Sure. There’s a hunting group heading out that way tomorrow. They’ll see you through the rapids. Might even help you boat up to the next village if you’re lucky.”

     “Thanks.” They fell silent again. The fire crackled between them, and birds sang in the distance. Their sweet songs drifted through the trees, and Nick began to feel very tired once more.

     “Just promise me you’ll be careful. You seem like a good man from what I can measure, and it’d be a shame to waste all that good luck you’ve had in needless danger.”

     I don’t even know if the Land of the Dead is real, thought Nick. “I’ve got to try. I owe that to him.” A heavy weight sunk into Nick’s heart, thinking back once more. I shouldn’t have let him tag along in the first place.

     “Well I can understand that,” Callum said, smiling, and bringing back a friendly tone. “You’ve got to do, what you’ve got to do.” He tossed the remainder of his drink on the fire, and purple flame shot up into the sky. “It’s getting late, let’s turn in. If you’re keen on leaving, then you’ve got a long journey ahead of you in the morning.” Callum took a bucket of dirt and extinguished the fire.

     Nick stood, and they walked back to Callum’s hut.