Island of the Lost Tortoise

Time for a throwback to a few years back!

I was rummaging around on my computer as I do and I stumbled across. Reading through it, I generally liked how it turned out and thought I would share! Yay for sharing! Also, I found it downright intriguing.

Island of the Lost Tortoise

Chapter One

Mark coughed, and opened his eyes. He was lying on glittering white sand, the ocean slapped up on the beach just behind him. The sun glittered overhead; white puffy clouds dotted the blue sky. He was soaking wet. He got up, pushing damp hair out of his eyes and struggled to remember how he’d gotten to…wherever this was. He vaguely remembered thunder and lightning, roaring waves and the ground tilting further under his feet…

So he’d been on a sinking ship evidently. But why? He strained his mind, trying to think of what had happened before that. Nothing. He drew a blank; he couldn’t remember anything before that. It was as though someone had scooped out all of his memories of his life.

He reached into his pockets, looking for anything that might trigger a flashback. A cell phone, screen black and ruined by the water and his wallet. He flipped it open with trembling fingers. Some damp dollar bills, a driver’s license, which identified him as Mark Stephens, six foot, one inch, two hundred and three pounds and a student ID, which informed him he attended Freesmarch University. 

Even these traces of his old life did nothing for his memory. It remained stubbornly blank. He glanced around more closely at his surroundings. He had washed up in paradise. A glittering white sand beach wrapped around a broad bay of perfectly clear blue water. A short distance from the beach, a wall of tropical greenery extended inland. Colorful birds sat on the branches. Seagulls wheeled overhead, screaming. 

“Well,” he said, trying to stay optimistic, though panic – real panic – was already setting in. “There’s worse places to wash up.” He had no idea how to survive in the middle of nowhere, no equipment, or even anyone to talk too. The sun beat down on his head, causing him to head for the trees, looking for some shade.

He had gone maybe a dozen steps whenever his dead, waterlogged phone started to ring. He froze, staring at it wide-eyed. The number on the screen marked it as unlisted. He hit the call button and pushed the phone to his ear.

“Trust the turtles,” a scratchy voice faded in and out, as though the connection was bad. “Trust the turtles and find my tomb.” 

The phone went dead. He stared at it, bemused. Then, before his eyes it began to dissolve into fine black dust, quickly carried away by a strong wind. 

He opened his mouth and closed it again, completely flummoxed.

What’s that even supposed to mean? 

He kept walking away from the beach and towards the greenery, whenever he came upon the path, a series of wide stone steps leading upwards. They were broken and crumbled now, grass grew between the cracks, and a thick tree root had pushed two of them completely apart. But they were clearly manmade. He scrambled up them eagerly, and stepped into the cool, green shade…and what was apparently an old plaza of some sort. A small circular pool stood in the middle, filled to the brim with clear water. 

He gingerly touched it – icy cold. It felt good, and somehow left him feeling cleansed. He drank greedily, cupping the icy water in his hands until he felt he was about to burst. Fresh water. Clean fresh water – this was a good thing, but he still felt incredibly anxious about the situation. And he was still puzzling over the cryptic words the man had spoken over his now disintegrated phone.

He sat down at the edge of the clearing – he could see the beach from here, a distant bar of white and blue, while he weighed his options. The most logical course of action, he thought, would be to get someone to rescue him – which meant, he should try building a large bonfire. Someone would see the smoke. He hoped. 

Of course, he needed a way to build a fire in the first place; he didn’t have any matches or anything. He could try flint and steel – he vaguely recalled that was an alternative way to create a flame – but he didn’t have those either, really. 

After several minutes, he gave up. Everything he could think of required tools that he didn’t have. He turned around, thinking maybe to have another drink from the pool whenever he saw the turtle – or, maybe tortoise was a better word. It stood about as tall as his waist, its heavy green-gray shell ridged and pockmarked. 

It surveyed him with solemn eyes, before it turned around and started to head into the trees. Mark stared at it for a long moment. It stopped, turned around and stared at him again, as if saying ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Move!’

Trust the turtles. 

He moved into the brush, following behind the turtle. It moved surprisingly quickly, at least as fast as he walked. The stone path he noticed earlier continued into the forest. Monkeys chattered from the trees, bright tropical birds fluttered from branch to branch. Here and there, he saw colorful butterflies or other insects moving in the trees. 

The turtle kept walking, and presently they came to a large clearing. The trees vanished, replaced by knee high grass. The afternoon sun shone in the sky, insects buzzed. Directly ahead of him, stood some old ruins: crumbling bits of wall, some old stone buildings with ivy growing on the sides, a quiet secretive, sad sort of place. 

The turtle kept going, walking right up to the walls and then looking back expectantly. 

“You want me to go in,” he said. “God. I’m talking to a turtle. This is the lowest I think I’ve ever sunk.” The turtle didn’t respond, but it looked somehow stern. 

He walked into the courtyard, stepping across a crumbling, faded mosaic depicting a turtle (of course). He wandered around the ruins, looking at the collapsed columns and broken statues and peered inside the nearest structure – sunlight fell in faded patches on a tile floor. Broken furniture was scattered around, along with a tipped over brazier and a few silver coins. 

Bits of broken machinery stood against the far wall, he had no idea what they were supposed to do. Finding a staircase, he began to climb it, whenever something moved out of the corner of his eye. He paused and headed over to the floor again, wondering if there was something he missed. The scene shimmered. 

The walls repaired themselves. The furniture righted and slid back to where it was. The broken machines began working, humming and spitting out little puffs of white smoke. But at the same time, the whole scene became shimmery and misty, somehow remote and distant, like he was watching a movie of some kind. 

A girl stood there, around eighteen or so – his age- in a plain white dress with gold hoops on her bare arms and her dark hair spilling down her back. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his life. She also looked unhappy, as an older man walked in, in a short tunic and pair of pants.

“My dear. You called?”

“Yes. I want to know how the current battles are going.”

“As well as can be expected. The news hasn’t changed since the last time you asked,” he offered a short, stiff bow. “I think that you need to relax, Princess. Perhaps find some way to amuse yourself and take your mind off your troubles.”

“My father is out in the middle of the greatest danger that that the Inario have ever faced,” she snapped. “I should be there with him, helping him save the Kingdom, not…not sitting here off on the edge.” The anger in her voice was obvious. 

“You are too young to face such dangers.”

“Do not speak to me of youth,” the princess snapped. “My father was my age when he assumed the mantle of the Kingdom.” She paced back and forth and let out a sigh.

“Halcon, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you – you’ve been nothing but loyal. All the same it’s frustrating to be trapped here, with scarcely any news while our very way of life sits on the brink of destruction.” Halcon offered a stiff bow.

“I am here to serve,” he said. “I know this must be difficult…but your father wanted you safe and secure.” At that moment, the door slammed open. Soldiers in dark uniforms, and holding spears that crackled with electric light burst into the room. The Princess flinched, and then held up one hand. A sphere of light emerged from nowhere, glowing with pale light. 

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

“The King of the Inario is now dead,” they rumbled. “You are now the Queen and must also die…”

They lunged, but as they did so, the scene shifted again. Mark blinked. The room still had that strange misty quality, but the daylight looked different. The room was empty. As he watched, the Princess walked into the room and sat down at the table, scribbling out something on a piece of paper, before sending it away via a message hawk that he hadn’t noticed earlier. 

“This is not right,” she said loudly. “I shouldn’t be here.” The image flickered, stuttered as though it was a recording and there was something wrong with the video player. Then he saw her again, pacing. 

“Halcon! Come here!” 

Halcon entered the room. “My dear. You called?” 

“Yes. I want to know the current battles are going.” 

Mark blinked. The scene replayed itself, exactly as it had just moments ago, down to the last gesture and the soldiers bursting in on the scene. 

“A recording?” he asked aloud, watching the soldiers declare that the King of the Inario was dead, that the Princess was now a Queen and must therefore die. The scene flickered, changed again. The soldiers were gone, the Princess was now walking into the place, Halcon trailing behind her.

“You will be safe here,” he said. “It’s for the best, Princess. Your father is a wise man…”

“I suppose,” she said. “But this is wrong. My father would never send me away like this.” The scene flickered. He saw her again writing her message and sending it off, saw again her demanding to know how the battles were going from Halcon and the soldiers bursting in. Over and over again. 

On impulse, he reached out and touched the Princess’s shoulder. The scene changed, she turned and faced him.

“Who are you? How did you get in here without the guards noticing?”

“I – what?” Mark asked, bewildered. “You can see me?” she frowned at him, as though he was a sudden difficult problem. 

“Of course I can see you, why wouldn’t I be able to?” 

“It’s just…” he fumbled for the right word. “I thought this was a memory.” Halcon stepped into the room. 

“My dear. You called?” 

“You may leave, Halcon,” she said after a long moment. “And you can take the stranger with you.” 

“As well as can be expected,” he said. “The news hasn’t changed since the last time you asked.” 

Now, she looked taken aback, Mark noticed and turned to face him again.

“What sorcery is this?” she demanded.

“Hey, I didn’t do it,” he said, holding his hands. “I just…I followed the turtle.” 

“Followed the turtle…” she muttered, as if aware suddenly how dreamlike the room was. The guards burst into the room.

“The King of the Inario is now dead!” they said, and lowered their spears. They charged. She stepped aside. They charged and passed through the wall. 

The scene faded. The pristine state of the building faded back to ruins. Mark was alone again, only now with the Princess, who looked around at the ruined environment in completely shock and some horror, and then rushed out of the room, leaving Mark by himself.