The Jungles of Mystery Island

     Deep in the jungles of Mystery Island, the canopy blots the sun from the sky and casts a green light that filters to the vine-covered ground. Strange chirps and squeaks echo through the thick air, which tastes heavy to the tongue. Twigs snap, leaves rustle and Tarak the Kyrii is unable shake the unnerving feeling that he isn’t alone.

     Tarak is squatting on his haunches, surveying the jungle scene before him with an appraising eye. He has taken his rucksack off, but can feel the sweat it has left behind soaking the back of his shirt. Perspiration beads his forehead as he drinks deep from a canteen. Although the drink is refreshing, the cloying water held in the air clings to him like a second skin. He carefully screws the lid back into place. Before him, Tarak is able to see the tell-tale traces of another’s passage. A bent stem here. A crushed leaf there. Holes in the foliage, where no holes should be.

     He hoists his rucksack back over his shoulders, firmly clipping its straps into place. Cautiously he moves forward, following the trail left behind. As he continues creeping ahead, he finds himself heading ever downhill, into a cwm leading to a valley. Here, sudden upthrusts of stone mark the entrance to the valley, into which Tarak passes. Tarak is able to see where some moss has been scraped off the rock face by the movement of a passing… something. He carefully investigates the mark, running his hand over the gap where moss once grew. Somewhere between hip and shoulder height. Perhaps caused by the backpack of another like him. Perhaps by the hind of a creature of a not insignificant size. Tarak lifts his hand away and moves on. After a mile or so, he rounds a corner and squeezes between two trees whose trunks have started to intertwine.

     To his surprise, he sees the unmistakable signs of a camp in front of him. A sturdy, two-pole tent of a khaki green sits behind a circle of stone, clearly once serving as makeshift fire pit. The vines scattered over the tent betray, at least to Tarak’s instincts, that the inhabitant, or inhabitants, have not been here for a good few days, perhaps weeks. Tarak lifts the flap of the tent, checking its contents. Inside, there is a neatly rolled sleeping bag atop an unfurled mat, but no backpack. Carefully lifting the sleeping bag, he sees a book with leather bindings and a strap that keeps the covers tightly closed. Somewhat guiltily, he retrieves the book and releases the strap, letting it fall open.

     The pages spread before him are covered with intricate and detailed drawings, sketches and notes of flora. Tarak takes a closer look. They appear to all relate to the same plant. Turning the pages, he sees that it is much the same on the other sheets. Tarak frowned. Although he was familiar with much of the flora and fauna of Mystery Island, he did not recognize this plant. He studies the writing closer, which seems to be scrawled in a hasty hand.

     “The Aliska Peridotia will show itself as the day grows late.” reads one note. “The hidden valley lies due east of camp,” says another. Tarak’s frown deepened, the name Aliska Peridotia was unfamiliar to him as well. However, absent any other hints, there was only one thing for it - to head east towards this hidden valley.

     He tucks the book safely into his rucksack and retreats from the tent. He begins to move cautiously through the jungle once more, instinctive pathfinding leading him eastwards. The dense foliage parts slightly as he makes his way deeper into the valley, and he is reassured by the occasional sign of a path beaten by another. Before long, he reaches a rock face which stretches in both directions, as far as Tarak can see through the jungle. Where now? He approaches the rock, and moves slowly along. There it is. A gap, hidden behind a protrusion and just large enough for a small Neopet to squeeze through. He removes his rucksack again and, pulling it behind him, inches his way through the gap and out into another valley, towering walls of plant covered stone on either side. He continues forward, keeping his tread quiet.

     As he rounds another tree, this one gnarled and twisted as if reaching out in desperation, he spies a strip of white ahead. Moving closer, it resolves itself into a hat, perched upon the head of a crouching Mynci. The Mynci appears to be staring intently into a small clearing, where a rare opening in the canopy illuminates a patch of ground.

     “Dr. Forsyth, I presume?” he says.

     The Mynci turns, urgently putting a finger to his lips. “Shh!” he whispers, eyes fierce. His curly hair protrudes wildly from underneath his hat, although his tan-coloured shirt and trousers appear to be in near pristine condition. Tarak hunkers down beside Dr. Forsyth.

     “Yes, yes,” says the Mynci, with an air of impatience, “I am he, but please keep it down. Who are you?”

     “Tarak,” says Tarak in a low voice, matching the doctor’s volume.

     “Just Tarak?

     “One name is enough.”

     Dr. Forsyth nods solemnly, his focus returned to the clearing and unwavering.

     “I’ve been sent to find you on behalf of the Altadorian Institute,” explained Tarak, glancing sideways at the doctor, “The faculty were worried. You’ve been gone for two months longer than scheduled. They say you’ve missed most of the first semester.”

     Dr. Forsyth’s eyes widen in surprise. “Two months …? I had no idea. But this flower—it could be a significant discovery for science. The institute must wait.”

     A beat passes. Tarak follows the doctor’s gaze into the clearing, but sees nothing out of the ordinary. Dust and bugs sparkle and dance in the shaft of light. All else is still.

     “I’ve been tracking the Aliska Peridotia,” continues the Mynci, his voice an exemplar of controlled excitement, “It’s an extremely shy plant, rumoured to only bloom in rare conditions and only when there is complete silence. Well, as close to complete silence as can be found in the jungle. The flower has never before been recorded for science. We are presented with a perhaps unique opportunity. But we must wait.”

     Tarak settles in, and they wait together in baited silence, eyes locked onto the clearing. Minutes tick by like hours. Just when Tarak thinks that the sunlight might be starting to fade at night, the flower begins to unfurl.

     To Tarak’s mind, it is clear that the sight of the Aliska Peridotia blooming is nothing short of breathtaking. It opens like a radiant sunburst, petals glinting delicately in shades of gold. Pollen erupts in iridescent sparkles that dance with flames of orange. A slight breeze catches some specks, which float upwards in shimmering spirals before catching the wind and blowing away through the canopy. Tarak feels as though he has stumbled into a dream. It is the most beautiful sight he has ever seen, excepting perhaps the view from the peaks of the Terror Mountain range.

     Dr. Forsyth quietly opens another sketchbook, ready and waiting in his lap. He carefully, but rapidly, sketches the shape of the flower and makes copious notes on its appearance, structure and the dazzling display it puts on. Tarak can see the Mynci’s hands trembling, but only very slightly.

     Suddenly, a twig snaps in the distance, and just like that, the Aliska Peridotia retracts its petals, vanishing from sight as if it had never been there at all. A Tapira comes from the direction of the snap, and hops across the clearing, snuffling for bugs and oblivious to the two watchers hidden in the foliage. Tarak and Dr. Forsyth exchange glances. Tarak sees a gruff note of pleasure in the Mynci’s eyes.

     “Well,” says Dr Forsyth. “I think we can say with confidence that the Institute will forgive my tardiness now. That was exactly what I have been searching for - you came at just the right time.”

     They stand up together.

     “Alright, I am ready to return now, and face the music. Although I must confess that I have rather lost my way!”

     Tarak smiles, pleased that his tracking efforts have not been to no avail. He happily leads Dr. Forsyth with his precious sketchbook, out of the hidden valley and back to camp to begin the long journey home.

     After they leave, when all is still once more, the Aliksa Peridotia resumes its dazzling display to an empty audience.

     The End.