The vibration halted when Malik spoke over it. His body sank further into the mattress as Nadeem gave an odd glare at him, as if he had seen an anomaly before him.
Malik took a deep breath, "You entertained my questions on Solythe, but I assume this is the real reason you brought me here."
"In truth, I do not understand it as well as others, only a faint blueprint. Regardless, there has been one thing I've come to understand from you," Nadeem said, adjusting his sleeveless tuxedo.
He looked at the ground. "The fact that you're here means that it's too late for us."
Malik sensed a distant pressure emitting from Nadeem, not a painful one, but a truthful one. He avoided looking away so as to make sure he heard every word.
Nadeem came closer and spoke lower, "It's one thing for passersby to come across this place, but someone as impactful as you has not only drawn attention from this island, this tribe, but the world in general."
Malik cracked his knuckles. "Land doesn't know me, why would the world know me? You're not making any sense."
"They don't know you, they know what you are. It knows what we all are. The Solythe we spoke of—the world doesn't take kindly to our knowledge of it. It steals it and uses it for its own," the bartender said.
"What do you mean they know what I am? I grew up isolated, not a soul took a second glance at me, and now all of a sudden all eyes are on me? Sure, I understand the tribes knowing me, but the world? I'm not buying any of it," Malik retorted.
Nadeem sighed, his eyebrows turning downward. "I don't expect any words I say about this to convince you, but soon enough, the experience will."
"What are you even talking about? Do you hear yourself?" Malik insisted.
His grey eyes gleamed when sunlight shone through the nearby transparent yet blurry window.
The bartender sighed and fixed his posture. With four fingers, he slicked back his hair and slowly walked to the bed beside Malik.
Quickly, he grabbed the disheveled blanket and fixed the bed with one clean flick of his wrist. Calmly, he sat down and leaned in toward Malik.
They stared at each other for an eternity.
"I see it in your eyes. That gaze is one I can never mistake, one I've seen far too many times, but you don't have that soulless look to it. You look like you actually have a spark compared to them," Nadeem said, sharp.
The tone of his voice altered and sounded compassionate, asserting, welcoming.
Malik felt his nerves ease. "To who?"
Nadeem held his hands together. "The monsters. The shadows. The storms. The observers. None of those terms fit together with you, yet they do at the same time. It's like you rejected them, yet know how to control it. That's why I believe the world desires you."
Malik listened as he responded in his thoughts.
I don't know how to. It just does.
But wait a minute, what is this feeling? It's like his words now seem genuine, but I'm calming down. I see no golden threads, so maybe I shouldn't be so worried, right? I don't feel the need to argue back anymore . . .
Nadeem commented, "They say you've been here for countless days, aimlessly walking around, and I know your friends are hurt, you and your people out there are hurt, and whatever boat you got here from is hoping to repair, but out here the odds are slim for you. Soon they will be slim for us."
Malik's face froze. He mumbled weakly, "How would you know I got here on a boat?"
"If you got here on anything else, I wouldn't be so kind. Just what do you hope to gain from this place in a world of garbage? Forgive my foul language."
Malik couldn't see any threads in the bartender's mouth, only pure white teeth. Regardless, he felt the need to say it.
It erupted from him, and it burned his tongue as he muttered,
"I want to stay here, as long as I can . . ."
Nadeem leaned back, his arms spread wide. "But why? Your friends? Your people? What do they think of this island? I'm no fortune teller, but I can tell you it's not lasting another cycle. All these occurrences keep adding up. Nothing good is coming," he said eloquently.
Asking, pointing at him, "What do you care more for? The land you walk, or the friends you walk with?"
His words trapped Malik in a corner. There were no bloody-tipped spears pointed at him, but only a finger that asked for the truth.
He looked around, scanning for an answer, yet the room was silent.
A small rustle called attention to him in his pocket.
He pulled out the bayonet, hoping for an answer, but it gave none, as he did.
For what reason did you ask for my attention then? Just to mock me?
"You're hesitant. That proves they are of the same value, or you aren't sure, aren't they?" Nadeem interrogated.
Malik had no restraints on him, yet all that he could move was his mouth, a mouth that spilled his thoughts outward.
"I don't want to talk about this," he said, low.
"Do you hope to rot here, Malik?" the bartender raised a single eyebrow.
Malik finally looked away. "Everyone rots."
"You'd be okay rotting, hiding from this ugly world and the people you know? If you lost them, would you hope this place would comfort you?" Nadeem scrutinized.
Malik grimaced, his eyebrows furrowed deeply.
"I said enough."
Then he gripped the bayonet's handle tensely.
Nadeem spoke slowly, "You treat this place as a home you've lived in your whole life."
"It's a place I've dreamed of my whole life, albeit not how I expected," Malik took careful consideration into his words.
Malik laughed lightly. "You know, Nadeem, you know how to talk to people. You know the exact phrases to please people and to condemn them. You speak like a friend of mine, only your tongue isn't golden."
"I am a conversationalist, not a condemner," he responded sternly.
For a moment, the bartender examined his body language, the grip of his hands, the fierceness of his gaze, and the sound of his voice.
What is he thinking about? Why am I even talking like this? It's like he's reading my mind before I even think!
Is there somebody else speaking for me?
Malik gave a distant glance at the bayonet, but it didn't speak.
Suddenly, Nadeem struck another inquiry, "Then where is your real home, the home you've always lived in? You don't have to answer if you wish not to."
Malik was at a loss for words.
He knew the answer to this question, but he didn't want to even look at the bartender anymore.
Is this what Nian Wei felt? First he gives people a drink, then he comforts them, all for a truth of themselves they'll spill.
He knows I haven't accepted it, so he took an extra route. He's trying to gain something from this!
Nadeem kept staring at him.
I feel helpless right now, but I can move if I wanted to! F**k!
Suddenly—
"My home never wanted me."
Malik nearly vomited after saying those words.
Immediately, he stood up, stored the blade in his pocket, and faced his back to Nadeem as he went to leave.
"Why are you running from an answer you already gave?" Nadeem asked.
"I'm going because your questions mean nothing, my answers mean nothing," Malik responded, balling his fists around the doorknob.
"If it meant nothing, you wouldn't have answered. But what made your home? Was it your friends, or the land itself?" the bartender brought up.
Malik made a half turn. He gave a quick look at Nadeem's expression.
The bartender's teeth were bright enough to be considered a mirror, and he realized he had stared right at them.
Nadeem saw his cold stare, one that encompassed a great deal of love and hate.
"You're watching me make my home. In the end, our words are just words. It is what happens next that will define the truth," Malik declared.
Nadeem sighed. "I never meant to discomfort you—"
Slam!
. . .
The wooden door stood shut.
Nadeem stood up and paced around the three-bedded room, unsure what to do next.
He saw the messy third bed and decided to quickly fix it.
After that, he opened the door, went down the stairs, and saw that the townsfolk were still drinking, still chattering, but Malik was nowhere to be seen.
Nadeem sighed, whispering to himself through the loud bar, "Sometimes, I've heard residents call me a 'serving pastor,' since they admit their secrets to me. But I could never be like the priest who taught me how to speak."
"I get the feeling that they would meet one day. That is, if they're both alive at the end of it all."
"I wonder what change they'll lead, for better or worse."
Reaching the long table near the wall of drinks, he stood still.
Shaking his head, "But I wonder, why did he have an outburst? He was completely calm before that."
"If he was truly angry with me, I saw it in his face that he has the resolve to stab me. But if it wasn't me, who was he angry at?"
. . .
Hours past the afternoon, Malik silently navigated the forest.
He refused to think for himself, as even his own mind had betrayed him.
He didn't pay attention to the nearby leaves, nor the tall trees, nor the beautiful sky above.
Swiftly, a white blur passed above him. It cried as it went away.
Despite this, Malik didn't look up.
He walked aimlessly, feeling the ground soothe his feet with every step.
Ultimately, his wandering led him to a black wall.
It was an empty one, an exterior so blank, it reminded him of the blank wall he and the bartender spoke of.
He rubbed his eyes and stared at it again. Oddly enough, it released the tension in his body. To him, it was beautiful in a sense.
Gliding his hand across it as he followed it, the wall turned a corner and soon led to the entrance.
The entrance was empty and only had a curved arch leading into what appeared to be a quiet, yet civilized town.
What stood out was what was on top of the wall, a loose sign hanging on one string attached to the wall with a knot.
It read: "Selicha"
Then Malik mumbled, "Forgiveness . . . Will I be forgiven?"
He slowly entered, spotting tall houses. Malik remembered seeing these kinds of houses before.
"Apartment complexes in a place like this?" He tilted his head.
They were clean to a point where the walls were shiny, as if they were cleaned every hour and laminated on top of that.
Noticing nearby residents, Malik saw people walk in groups alongside each other in all-black clothing. They appeared to be in the funeral attire of mourners, yet their spirits were unburdened, as if they celebrated the corpse.
They raised their eyebrows simultaneously at him, but only gave a respectful wave.
In the middle of the town stood a large wooden tub filled with water. Wrapped around it, a silky cloth glimmered in the warm afternoon sunlight.
Curiously, Malik walked toward it. He was captured by its striking nature in the midst of the tribe.
In that moment, the people walking by halted. They turned and stood still, staring deeply into Malik.
He rubbed the silky cloth, and it massaged his fingertips.
Then he turned and faced the people. They were silent, but didn't seem to threaten him. Instead, they looked to be encapsulated by his appearance.
They came closer, and more and more exited the apartments, all staring at him. Dozens of them crowded, allured by Malik's presence.
To him, it felt surreal, seeing different faces from all realms wearing the same outfit. However, Malik leaned closer as he saw one that stood out.
It was a white-haired woman. She wore a beautiful beige-colored gown over a white veil. She had bandages over her eyes, and her face held an angelic beauty.
The people ignored her and walked past her, as if she were a stone in the middle of the town.
Malik was distracted by her beauty. It was an allure he couldn't quite discern. For some reason, it warmed his heart. He felt the need to hug the woman, despite never meeting her.
There's so much going on . . . I'm feeling it again.
I'm overwhelmed.
One of the townsfolk approached Malik closely, as the rest stayed behind him.
"You, sir, we've heard of the incident at the courthouse. They call you a madman, but we deem you a saved man," a man with thick-framed glasses said. He was well-dressed, with a dark suit and white undershirt.
"Excuse me?" Malik asked, confused.
"Marah does not accept your actions, but we do. We see that you have the ability to move on and grow into something far greater. We renew ourselves, and we see that you are somebody who desires renewal," he spoke as if reading a script.
His movements and posture were robotic, and so was everybody else's.
The man brought his hand out. "We welcome you, because you are a child of forgiveness, as any crime can be forgiven. Together, we shall erase your stains."
In unison, the townsfolk all nodded in agreement.
Malik shook his head. "I want an explanation for this, what is all this—"
. . .
Splash!
The man pushed Malik back, and he fell into the tub, the back of his knees grazing the silky cloth.
He sloshed in the water for a moment, but the second he tried to leave, the people from the town surrounded him and held him down in the water as he nearly drowned.
What the hell is this? Who are these people?
Let me go!
Malik tried to grab his bayonet, but he was being firmly held to make sure his entire body was submerged.
The oxygen left his body with each time he resisted.
Soon enough, people began to scream, even the ones holding him.
They let him go and backed off, wiping their hands with their black suits.
Malik coughed profusely as he stood up.
He looked around and saw that the white-haired woman disappeared.
Shouting, "What is wrong with you people?"
They didn't respond. All they did was stare at his ankles.
What are they staring at?
Malik looked down and saw an abyss consuming his feet.
The water . . . it's black.