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Message in a Jar A faint glimmer on the horizon swelled from a line of light into the burning disk of the sun: the dawn of another morning. Warihu was already awake, sitting on a log at the edge of the tiny island’s forest and watching as the sky turned first indigo, then velvet, then the warm hues of fire that lit the water with a billion brilliant sparks. He had long ago given up hope that any seafaring vessel was likely to come across him and Koraia on the island they now called home, for here, hoping only interrupted surviving. The shipwreck he still remembered foggily: Their small sailboat had been tossed and turned about so many times by the storm, and so much time had slipped by without notice, who could know where they were? They had no dependents to mourn their losses, only a few casual acquaintances who had never understood why a pair of Onu-Matoran would take to the waves, anyway. He took up a stick, looked over it indifferently, and drew circles in the sand between his feet: the Matoran letter for S, followed by O and then another S. He only let it sit a moment before scuffing the sand with his right foot, casting the stick from him, and standing to stretch. Then he saw the glint of glass on the border of water and sand. * * * “Koraia? — have we something to write a message on?” Koraia shifted on his bed of leaves underneath a leafy overhang. He showed about as much inclination to answer Warihu’s question as the trees surrounding the Onu-Matoran campsite. “Koraia!” Again Koraia shifted, but this time he offered a response muffled by drowsiness: “Nn — what?” “Do we have anything we can use to write a message?” Koraia opened his eyes and looked blankly at Warihu, who was digging through the pile of items salvaged from the shipwreck. The pile was small but disorganized: Neither Onu-Matoran had bothered to sort it in the week they had dwelled on this island. Warihu continued: “Tablets — anything.” “Oi — what? Why?” “Because a jar washed up on this shore. Here” — Warihu halted his search and hefted the jar for emphasis — “it has a lid; we could stick something inside...” “So? Throw it out.” Koraia appeared to think the same of the conversation, for he turned over to face away from Warihu. Warihu didn’t relent. “So, we can send a message. For help.” “To whom?” The question gave Warihu pause. Half a minute passed in silence before Koraia’s breathing again became slow and heavy. Warihu inhaled deeply to calm his nerves and resumed his search. “To whomever,” he responded. * * * The firewood, engulfed in flame, crackled and popped from heat. The faint halo it cast reached outward a couple meters in a rough circle. Warihu sat just within the light’s perimeter, his legs tucked against his body, his right hand holding a piece of bark whilst his left carved Matoran lettering onto its surface. Koraia sat on the opposite side of the fire, the center of his face illuminated by the amber light while shadows wrapped around the rest of his head and gathered above his brow like a second mask. His yellow eyes watched as Warihu worked. HELP — SHIPWRECKED ON ISLAND BETWEEN SOUTHERN CONTINENT AND XIA. “You think anyone’s going to come?” Koraia suddenly asked. Warihu paused. “Probably not.” A chance in finding one star out of a million, he added to himself. “Then why bother?” Warihu glanced to the sky. “Because there’s a chance it will.” Koraia acquiesced, but hesitantly, turning his gaze first to the night sky and then the flickering patterns of flame as if looking for a satisfactory answer. He must have found none, for his lip twisted slightly, and he remained silent. Warihu finished his message on the opposite side of the bark: PLEASE SEND ASSISTANCE. He stopped. His message was brief, but he could fit no more of worth onto the small piece of bark, and bark of bigger size wouldn’t fit within the glass jar. Koraia looked up just as Warihu closed the lid over the message. “I’m going to send it off,” said Warihu. Koraia nodded, though his focus seemed to be elsewhere. “You can come with me if you’d like to.” Another absentminded nod. Warihu, assuming his friend meant to remain by the fire, stood up to leave. Koraia stood up, too. * * * Warihu checked the jar’s lid twice before he began wading into the water. Koraia stood on the shore, not offering to help but also not returning to camp. Both Matoran were silent. When the water reached Warihu’s waist, he reared back and threw the jar. It somersaulted through the air and landed with a splash some meters out to sea. A second passed before its glassy glint was again visible, bobbing atop the water like some strange marine creature. Warihu watched it go. Then he turned and half walked back to shore, half let the waves carry him thither. “We’ll make sure the jar didn’t wash back in tomorrow,” said Warihu. Koraia nodded. Warihu waited for him to say something, but he seemed too tired to speak. Thus silenced, the pair trekked back to the periphery of the inland trees as, behind them, the tide drew nigh over the shore like a blanket tucked over the chin of the sleeping island. * * * * * I have nothing to say apart from the title of this story being blatantly uninspired because I was blatantly uninspired. Constructive criticism is welcome.
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The Trapper Some call me mad. Well, not really some. Many. Many call me mad. Actually, now that I think about it, it would probably be more accurate to say that everyone calls me mad, for indeed, each and every being who resides in Ko-Koro has no doubt questioned my sanity at one point or another. I dare say that even the Turaga, in his infinite wisdom, has had his doubts as to whether I’m in full control of my mental faculties. My name is Korako, and I am the one and only lobster trapper on the island of Mata Nui. It’s this occupation, you see, that has led my fellows to call me mad. Just because I get up before dawn each day and trek for kio and kio through the Drifts to the only stretch of beach in Ko-Wahi; just because I take my boat out to check my traps regardless of whether the sea is as still as the surface of a mirror (pro tip: it never is) or as wild as a stampeding Kane-Ra (pro tip: it always is); just because I hunt Rahi that could crack my arm in two with a snap of their claws – just because of that, they think I’ve lost my mind. Can you imagine? Yeah, I know. But I don’t mind. They don’t seem to mind, either, when I bring in a big catch and they get something other than Mountain Mahi for dinner. Anyway, I was on my way to work one morning when I saw something unusual… And then I kept going, brought in a decent catch, headed back home, and made a decent profit selling my lobsters in the market. The end. Hah! You thought I was gonna tell you some great story, didn’t you? Hah, ha… No? That wasn’t funny? Hm. Okay, then. Well, you’re in luck, ‘cause I actually do have a story for you. Monday. Worst day of all. Oh, no, it’s not that I don’t like my job, ‘cause I love it. There’s nothing I’d rather be doing with my life. It’s just that sometimes, when you wake up hours before sunrise on the first day of the week, when the air outside chills you to the bone even with your natural resistance to cold, you wonder whether this is such a great idea after all. Those were the thoughts running through my head on this particular Monday morning. I slung my bag over my shoulder, still half-asleep, and slowly plodded out of the village and toward the Drifts. My feet instinctively followed the familiar path through the endless expanse of snow, which was good, since I definitely wasn’t conscious enough to find my way on my own. Eventually I realized that I was standing on a boulder overlooking the short, rocky stretch of beach where I launched my boat each morning. And this morning, I thought as I hopped off the boulder, would be no different. A few quick strides took me to my boat, hidden behind a few of the larger rocks adjacent to the boulder. Not that anyone would be dumb enough to try to steal it, but you never could be too careful. I was dragging the vessel toward the beach when I saw something odd on the horizon. At first I couldn’t quite discern what had caught my attention, but a few adjustments to my mask’s eyepiece brought into focus a single blue light, blinking steadily in the distance and seemingly growing larger by the moment. Before long I could make out the source of the light – it was coming from a large metallic cylinder, bobbing up and down with the waves. At this point, most would have wondered just what in karzahni the cylinder was, because surely no one on the island had ever seen anything like it. Personally, though, I was just thinking: Spirit, I hope that thing doesn’t mess up my traps. A few minutes later the cylinder was clearly visible even without my eyepiece. It was quite large, even more so than I had first assumed. Two, maybe three Matoran could have fit inside. The blinking light was located at the apex of a dome over one end of the cylinder, and four other steady lights glowed dimly at equal intervals around the base of the dome. Just as I began to wonder what could possibly be inside, the canister collided with the rocky shore. The lights flashed brilliantly, blinding me for a few moments. The sight that greeted me when my vision cleared was even stranger than the canister itself. A large being – easily twice my height, lay face down on the ground, groping around for what apparently was his arm. The appendage, for some reason, was located a few feet away. Weirder still, when he finally managed to get ahold of it, he just shoved it into his shoulder and started waving it around like this sort of thing happened every day. (Pro tip: It didn’t). The being rose to his feet then, and I got the feeling just by the way he stood that he possessed extraordinary power. Instinctively, I did what I always do when I meet a Muaka or some other Rahi in the Drifts – I stood perfectly still, scarcely breathing, praying to the Spirit that this being wouldn’t notice me. This being seemed a bit smarter than the average Muaka, though. He looked straight at me, mask glowing faintly, his eyes seeming to pierce my soul. Still, I didn’t move. This seemed to amuse the being. Smirking faintly, he examined his hand, and then he raised it toward me, palm out. For a brief moment I saw a bolt of ice flash through the air. When my body heat finally melted the block of ice around me, the being was gone.
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A canister washed ashore Bringing heroes to the fore Now darkness must they endure For now and forevermore Creatures bound, encased in stone Seek the heroes flesh and bone Heroes no longer alone Unseat the queens from their throne Powerless, the heroes fall United they conquer all The sons heed their father’s call Light shines, making shadows small In the past memories lie Once unknown now rise high Yet darkness draws ever nigh City lost, take to the sky. Fallen now to savage lust Their dreams have now become dust Yet, overcome broken trust They vanquish all the unjust Journey now to places far Receiving gifts from a star Deep within the islands scar Lurks a power from afar Now plunge into depths below To a world that warlords know To the world’s heart must they go And a life must they bestow Seek the mask, where it lies For answers take to the skies Victory comes with surprise God fallen, let darkness rise
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Time had stopped.He was frozen above the ground, unmoving. The metal staff pulsed with red terror in his grasp.The Turahk stood before him in a crimson haze, ghastly Kraata exposed and writhing. The Rahkshi’s claws gripped the cracked ground, as if instilling fear in the stone itself.All at once time began to flow again. Jaller was thrown to the earth and skidded along the floor. His view began to fade as his friend kneeled at his side.“I’m supposed to make the sacrifice.” Jaller blinked awake. The cold metal was pressing in on him. His fevered breath reverberated around his head in the dark confines of the canister. Seawater rushed against the tube’s surface; a curtain of rain billowed against the metal. Lightning sizzled and flared, thunder pounded, the noise easily audible through the canister walls. The Ta-Matoran concentrated on breathing calmly. He’d make it through this one way or another. He hoped that the others, his close friends and companions, would survive the ordeal as well. If not, Jaller would have them on his conscience forever. But as the Captain of the Guard, he was accustomed to that responsibility. He flashed back to Mata Nui again. The day the Pahrak attacked Ga-Koro... the village had almost been destroyed by the onslaught of the Krana-driven creatures. If it hadn’t been for – His reverie was interrupted by a blinding flash of red light and a groaning sound like a doomed ship’s last breath. Electricity blazed along the metal, and as it coursed through his body, Jaller screamed in pain. The canister shook, screeching in reaction to the blast. As suddenly as it had struck, the red lightning had ended. Jaller lay barely conscious in the seabound canister, unaware of what was going on. And it was only a short time later that six metal tubes slid up against the jagged edge of a weary land- canisters ashore at last. Jaller opened his eyes again. This time the cold metal really was pressing in- or was he pressing out? A sheet of rain pattered against the Toa canister. The thunder grumbled again, though farther off this time.Jaller looked down. He refused to believe it. He felt the power of… himself. The lid of the canister hissed and slid forward an inch. It was unsealed, just waiting to be opened.With a yell, Jaller pushed against the metal disk, launching it across the rocks with a clang. Four canisters followed suit, one having been opened before his. A white-clad hand reached down and clasped a red one, pulling his brother up. - - - - - The Toa Inika stood upon the rocks of Voya Nui. The storm raged around them, as it had for as long as they could remember.But they were unafraid. They would stand together in the lightning. (Ambage Fortnightly Flash-Fiction Contest: A Canister Ashore) Eh. Not great, but I felt like actually writing something this time. Now if only I'd finished it properly... XD
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My entry for the FFFC #5. Made it better(IMO) than my last one, and shorter. The Darkness Darkness... The being shifted around in his seemingly endless sleep. He saw, heard, and felt nothing but darkness, and shadows. Shadows... He could not wake up. No matter how hard he tried. He knew nothing of who he is, where he is, or what he is supposed to be. Whispers... He had these dreams as well. Dreams of what he thought. Darkness, shadows, and enemies. The last one was the one that frightened him the most. The enemies whispered to him, about their many triumphs and victories. Of their power and dominance. Of shadows. Triumph... He wished he triumphed as well. But to himself, he was weak, helpless, useless, and powerless. As if he would never triumph, and defeat the enemy. The enemy. He was lurking in the darkness. Everywhere the darkness could reach. Makuta... A new word. He never heard it before. Could it be a sign of help? Or a sign of darkness? I am Makuta... The enemy was talking now. Somehow, wherever he was, he heard the enemy. Or he thought he did. It could of been more thoughts, thoughts of complete darkness. Like hallucinations, almost. Evil... More thoughts. How can he be rid of these? He knew that the answers could not be found in his dark slumber. He would have to wake up soon, but he showed no sign of physical consciousness, no sign of waking. The darkness will devour all... All? Even him? He is already dead in shadows, in darkness and eternal sleep. Already devoured, already dead. Wait. He was not dead, but he thought he was pretty much lifeless, in this small, dark world of his and the enemy's. No, just him, all alone. The enemy was just reaching out to him, from his evil, dark world. He thought all was lost, including himself. Lost in the void of darkness and shadows, lost in the world. Light will triumph... This is new. This is not the enemy. The enemy is full of darkness, shadows, and evil, with no space for light. Could it be? His thoughts turning lighter, rid of evil? Who will bring the light? Light will not fail, and the darkness will be banished... He guessed it now. He will be the one to banished the darkness, and bring light and peace to the world. He still had a problem. He was still locked in his never ending sleep of darkness, soon to be light. And if he was a bringer of the light, he could not understand why the world was still dark, with him in it. He tried opening his eyes, but it was still dark after seeming to open them. Or he never opened them at all. He was going to give up hope,if not for the thought of hope, and light. He will wake up! Suddenly he felt a bump. And his thoughts faded away... A large, cylinder object washed up on a seemingly peaceful shore, located on an island. The cylinder hissed, and a hidden seam running along the side revealed, and it opened. Large unknown objects spilled out of it and scattered. Then, unexpectedly, they seemed to assemble themselves to each other, and a shape was slowly formed. It was tall, black. and grey. Then the eyes opened. They were a strong green color. His thoughts filled up again, and he slowly stood up. He picked up something laying on the ground. A mask, and he put it on his face. Onua... That was it. His name. He is whole again, and ready to fight the darkness of Makuta. ---------------------------- -569 words. My own little tribute to the Toa Mata.
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Coming in at 794 words, my second entry (here's my first) to this contest actually made it under 800 for once! For some reason, I felt that I could write something else for this contest, and I've been wanting to write a short story with a reason to be Steampunkish for Bionicle. I think I might use this same island in a Lesovikk's Hiatus entry (which you should also enter because it's no fun being in a contest with five entries so far). So, I'll just let you read now. Please leave reviews though! If you do, I'll review yours! New Beginnings By: Click We've been here a long time. I remember when our little island home far South of anything had been safe, protected by at least a Toa of the Green, that is, until he took off. Botharix said he was going to the North of the island to check for perimeter leaks that Rahi got through into our village, but when he failed to reappear for the next week, we went to check on him. Turns out the coward had taken an old rowboat and split. Not that we blame him. We're not exactly living in paradise here. You see, our island has a particular problem. When the first settlers came here with a steady flow of supplies from the Southern Continent, we had no idea we just walked into a Makuta playground. Half of our number was quickly killed by Rahi unlike anything we had ever seen. Our Turaga was killed by some kind of giant burrowing snake-like creature lined with tiny sharp legs and lots of needle-like teeth. Then, our last Toa gave his energies to create a new line of protectors, but even those were killed off (except for the aforementioned Botharix) by everything from a stout, round creature covered in fur-like metal spikes to tiny creatures the size of a Madu Fruit that are just as explosive. Those of us that are left could only watch behind our wall as our supplies dwindled away with our numbers. Without those supplies, and with the constant sieges by creatures I can't even describe, many of us were forced to use the island's bountiful supply of protobrass and other materials to build ourselves defense machines, appliances, and the occasional replacement limb. Our woefully inadequate knowledge of building left us starting from the beginning, clockwork. None of this fancy electronic stuff that many of our luckier brethren got to live with. And that would be the lovely situation I woke up to this morning, with my mechanical hand whirring and pumping as I sat up and gazed around. From the smell, I could tell some of the large fire-breathing Brakas had found another way in, as well as some food to feed their internal furnaces. Rations would be cut short again I guess. There goes my dream of having some nice Bula Berry juice for breakfast. With this in mind, I began my usual chores for the day: clean up last night's mess, make my threadbare bed, shoo away the acid-coated avian Rahi, sweep up ashes in the backyard, the usual stuff. The storm last night definitely made my job a lot harder, but the rain was refreshing. I gathered up my downfall collection bucket and began to filter it. It was about that time that I suddenly looked up to hear shouting. Not that shouting was unusual in this Karzahni, but this almost sounded...joyful. Something I hadn't heard in a long time. I nearly dropped the precious water in my haste to see what was in Mata Nui's name was going on. I was followed by about half the village, including our Turaga, limping on his clockwork peg-leg and cane. A Matoran of Air was shouting and pointing, something about the beach. As I got closer, I could tell he was saying something about a Canister. Could it be Botharix coming back to us? Or some new threat? Either way, a stir swept through the crowd in a wave of optimistic whispers. As one, everyone pushed forwards to see for themselves something that would inevitably change everything about how we lived on this island. I ran forwards after the Matoran to avoid being trampled, and we soon came across a large metal cylinder with rounded ends laying in the surf. Yellow lights on its extremities pulsed slowly on and off. A good portion of the crowd took off to do their best to open it like a Naming Day present with knocks, rocking, and yanking on what they judged was the lip of the top. Our Turaga slowly limped forwards, and the crowd respectfully divided for him. He rapped his cane on the nearest light, and the lid twisted open with a hiss of steam. We all peered in over each other's shoulders and heads to see two orange eyes peering out of the blackness. They came closer, and the early light shined off a silver Mask of Rahi Control and blue armor. The Toa of Water stretched outwards, and we all stepped back, many fearful of the same betrayal exhibited by Botharix, but all of us in awe of the new Toa. "Who...who are you?" asked the Toa tentatively. I think that all of us could feel her honesty. This was the start of something new. A new life for all of us. ----- Hope you enjoyed, please review if you did! I'd gladly take the time to review yours if you even just leave a quick comment. Thanks!
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“Only a Toa so mighty can ride, anyone else, woe betide.” The Matoran paused, hammer in mid-swing. “Ooh, I like that! I should write that down! Only a Toa so mighty can ride…” Pulling his hammer back again, he resumed pounding the piece into place. The canister was beginning to take shape now—or at least he thought it was. It was difficult to see with such little light. “How many will this be—four? How foolish, to lose track of that!” The Matoran got up, putting as little weight as possible on his badly-twisted leg. He hobbled down the edge of the water, passing three large silver canisters as he went. “Yes, this will be four. Get it together! Lose track again and I might make a seventh.” A shudder rocked the small villager. As he limped back to the half-complete canister, he heard scuttling movement in the darkness. He froze. For all he knew, that sound could be anything—the Manas come to devour him, Karzahni come to drag him back to the forge, or something beyond his imagination. When a small lizard-like Rahi scampered up to him, he sighed with relief. “You scared me. You’re not here to hurt me…are you?” The Rahi cocked its head. “Hahaha! No, I suppose not. Forgive me, I’ve grown jumpy after all these years.” He sat down carefully, his damaged leg jutting out at an odd angle. Picking up his tools, he resumed work on the fourth canister for a few seconds before turning back to the Rahi. “I can’t say I recognize you…then again, I can’t say I recognize much of anything. Why, I probably wouldn’t even recognize my own reflection! Not that I’d have any use for a mirror down here, mind you.” Wondering why this giant was babbling at him, the Rahi inched closer, though it was sure to stay well out of reach. “What was I saying? Oh, yes, I’m afraid I don’t know what species you are. Or maybe your species doesn’t have a name? Don’t feel bad—I don’t have a name either. Well, perhaps I used to have one, but not anymore.” Turning around, the lizard headed for one of the completed canisters. Upon seeing this, the Matoran dropped his tools and shouted out, “No!” The Rahi stopped dead in its tracks. “I don’t mean to raise my voice, but it’s dangerous! Don’t you know what that is?” Tentatively, the Rahi faced the Matoran once more. It almost seemed attentive. Proudly, the Matoran proclaimed, “It’s a Toa Canister, of course! And after all, only a Toa so mighty can ride, anyone else, woe betide!” He chuckled and resumed his work. Curious, the lizard edged a bit closer. “Yes, we built plenty of them, my brothers and sisters and I. That, I can remember clear as day. Everything else—nope! It’s all gone.” As he reached for a plate of metal, he noticed that the Rahi now sat about a bio away. He thought he might scare the creature again if he made any sudden movements, so he pretended not to notice. “But they didn’t even tell the Toa about the canisters—not except for Tahu and Kopaka, of course. That hurt a bit, knowing they wouldn’t know all the work we put into them. Not that I need acknowledgement, of course, I just think it’s a shame to see something so wonderful be used without respect. Oh, there I go speaking ill of the Toa again. If Kopaka ever wakes up he’ll freeze me for sure.” The Rahi was now close enough to run over several of the tools laid out. The Matoran slowly reached for a firestaff he could use to weld the pieces together. “Then again, even if they do wake up, they’ll never find me here. Nobody will find me here. That’s why I’m building these canisters—it helps pass the time, and there is so much time to pass. There’s more to it than that, though. Doing this helps me remember a bit about my old life. Not much, but every little bit is like a hidden treasure I never knew was there, and it’s such a wonderful surprise!” As he was welding, the Matoran felt the Rahi poking at his leg. He looked down and regarded the creature with a friendly smile. “…Can you keep a secret?” There was a pause in the conversation. After a time, however, the Rahi leapt up onto the Matoran and climbed all the way to his shoulder. “Okay…once, I thought about using a canister to leave this place.” He waited for a response. The lizard’s tongue flicked out of its mouth briefly. “I know, it was a ridiculous idea. Look at me! It’s obvious I’m no Toa, and only a Toa so mighty can ride, anyone else, woe betide. The last thing I need is woe.” Its work done, the Matoran moved to set down the firestaff. Before he could react, the Rahi rushed down his arm, onto the cave floor, and off into the darkness. He stared after it for a moment, and then returned to his work once again. “Who was I talking to? Can’t they see I’m busy? This is an important service for the Toa! Only a Toa so mighty can ride…”
