The Mysterious Isle
By Tom King
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The island, Makanya, was veiled by a wispy mist as Peter approached in his small, drab rowing–boat. The tips of sleeping giants peeked out atop the silvery clouds, chiding him on his sluggish advance. Crisp golden shorelines curved out to meet him, and then swerved back, as if they were expecting someone else.
As the little vessel drifted nearer and nearer, Peter watched the unearthly beings that were sprouting out of the water all around him. It seemed to him that nature itself had been speeded up, and that these creatures were continuing to take shape, to grow stronger as his craft wafted closer.
He cursed his bizarre imagination as his boat bumped hard against what seemed to be something below the surface. Standing up, he moved slowly towards the bow, taking care not to trip over the innumerable things scattered on the floor. To his surprise he found that the boat had grounded on one of the golden beaches. Stepping onto the gravelly sand, his foot sounded like teeth crunching breakfast cereal.
A day later, Peter had set up camp deep in the heart of the Makanya jungle. Towering around his frail white tent were trees the size of skyscrapers, reaching up towards the heavens in a victorious salute. He intended to explore the silent forest for any signs of the mystical Papoltapec civilization. This ancient tribe was renowned for its carvings, especially from the gold found in the region. Although several examples of these carvings had been dug up, there had never been any sign that the people had actually been there.
Peter had spent most of his days since his arrival setting up camp and reading up on the Papoltapec people. He had chosen to start his journey through the jungle tomorrow, rising early before the sun became too hot.
As Peter lay in his sleeping bag, he listened to the sounds of the night all around him. The squawks of the parrots, the chattering of the monkeys, and the loud, intrusive buzz of the insects made him feel as though he had been left to live with the animals on this island. ‘Will it be heaven or hell?’, he thought, finally dropping off to sleep.
The next day was gorgeous, the sunlight streaming through the walls of the tent and buoying his spirits immensely. After eating breakfast, Peter packed up his rucksack, took down his tent and set off on his journey through the dark forest. He planned to head north, towards the other side of the dark island.
The shadowy canopy blocked out the sunlight as Peter stumbled along the uneven path, speckling the ground with faded glimpses of the shimmering, illuminating glow. Peter paused to have a drink. The cool, refreshing water boosted his morale, leaving him feeling invigorated and rejuvenated. He continued his walk with a new vigour.
About six hours of walking later (although he had been careful to stop for drinks), Peter was feeling increasingly tired. He came to a stop in a dusky clearing, surrounded by several of the lofty trees. He wearily set up his tent and collapsed in his cosy sleeping-bag. But in his haste to get to sleep, he had failed to remember to close the flap of his tent…
Half an hour later, Peter woke with a start. Rubbing his eyes sleepily, he sat up in his sleeping-bag. He suddenly felt as if he was being watched. The hairs on the back of his spine prickled, as he spotted a large snake through the open entrance of the tent! The snake, it appeared, had not noticed the strange apparition in front of it. Its tongue flicked out, tasting the air around it for signs of movement. Its cunning head moved around like water slithering down a plughole, always watching, and always doubting its surroundings.
Peter watched, not even moving his head for fear of alerting the snake. The snake appeared to be hunting. It continued to sniff the air, all the while moving around, gliding along the ground on its thick belly. Peter was thinking too. Very cautiously, always keeping his eyes on the snake, he crawled over to his rucksack. He quickly glanced inside it, then, slowly, he reached into it with his right hand and pulled out an ancient revolver, his only weapon.
The snake stopped moving. It had evidently detected his tent. Then, almost imperceptibly, it started to move towards him. Peter decided that it was time to act. He got out of his tent as fast as he could, keeping his eyes trained on the snake, while at the same time making as little noise as possible. He cocked the revolver, and took aim.
The jungle shook to the crash of Peter’s first shot, and an enormous flock of birds took to the air in fright. The bullet kicked up the dirt by the snake’s head, but no damage had been done. The snake whipped round to face Peter, its evil head raised in the well-known striking position. Peter took aim once more…. And this time the shot struck the snake’s side squarely, its blood spurting out like milk from a leaking carton. The snake writhed and twisted, its grotesque body movements like some kind of demonic dance. Peter retched at the revolting spectacle, as the snake finally crashed onto the leaf-covered ground of the forest.
Peter dragged the bloody carcass into the dense foliage of the forest before going back to his tent. This time, he made sure that the flap was shut!
The next day, Peter arose to another lovely, sun drenched day. He immediately packed up his things and continued his search through the dark jungle of Makanya.
Two hours later Peter came across the largest tree he had ever seen. It stood upright and strong, like a young man in the prime of life, even though thousands of years old. Peter’s eyes suddenly fell upon a series of markings on its bark. It seemed as though they were directions or words that were trying to lead him somewhere. The words were these:
"Agis o ohmanci e ecov iav rev a asson edadic."
Peter had no idea what these words meant, so he decided to keep to the path in the hope of finding more clues later on.
At midday, the sun was blazing hot, and the mosquitoes were buzzing around him as if he were some kind of insect magnet. He felt discouraged, for after seeing the sign on the tree he had had some rekindled hope of finding the ancient remains. He was sure that he had followed the right path, for he had looked neither right nor left.
He traipsed on, through the thick green foliage, occasionally stopping for a drink of water. These stops were becoming less and less frequent now, due to a dwindling amount of supplies. Peter was desperate to find some sign of the old civilization before it was too late.
Suddenly, his roaming eye spotted a white slab of rock that contrasted with the undergrowth of the forest. He had decided a while back that anything out of the ordinary would be worth a look, so he quickly strode towards the rock. Unable to see anything that would be of use, he rested a while against it, disappointed to have drawn blanks again.
The next second, he heard a great rumbling sound behind him…
Peter woke up. Looking around him, his astonished eyes took in colossal statues, vast temples, and what appeared to be an ornate altar, all made of brightest gold! He felt his jaw drop to the floor. He had really found the remains of the ancient Papoltapec civilization! This was the first sign of their existence, and what a sign!
Peter spent the rest of the day examining each and every piece of wonderful sculpture that there was. This took him a long time, as there was so much to see. To him, this hidden jungle kingdom was a paradise, a heaven on earth, where all the hopes that he had carried with him had come true. He marvelled at the incredible statues, wondering how the ancient people had constructed them without the help of today’s advanced technology.
A year later to the day, Peter was standing in the British Museum. He had just donated several of the larger sculptures to the Museum. He had not told anyone about the way in which he had found the city, for he knew that no-one would believe him. And so it ended, with the Papoltapec secret untold, and with Peter a happy man.
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