Manga sped toward the waterfall, wielding the heavy sword as though it were but an athame, watching the canopy of vines weaving a net through the forest wither and drop at each touch. She was daily amazed at the invincible strength of nature, how these apparently thin and flimsy vines climbed to the top of the highest trees, clinging to the tightest niches to seeking the nourishing light. She had tried to find a niche in this world, but perhaps she was not yet ready.

Her webbed toes flicked at the leaves atop the trees as Manga soared. She followed the trail of the bats swarming toward the relative safety of the caves beneath the waterfall as dawn approached. Manga liked flying at night. The cool breeze found its way between the feathers and her wings carried her over the landlocked world, soaring above the trees the land bound mortals butchered for shelters. She lived a life the hapless mortals merely dreamed. Then why wasn’t she happy, content in her life? She wanted more, but wasn’t sure what it was she wanted.

The moon played hide and seek with the clouds, sunrise but a promise to the cerulean horizon, as Manga flew over the waterfall. She had but to pass through the flowing water to reach the doorway to her home. Watching the bats enter their cave next to the falls, alight on the stalactites, and groom each other before settling down to sleep, she envied them their community, their camaraderie. Being a warrior, she was both admired and feared by her peers, and by either happenstance or design, slept alone.

Caught for but a moment in her own reverie, she didn’t see the projectile coming across the water until the last moment. She caught but a glimpse of it as it flew over her head, catching in her wings, tangling them. Manga spiraled downwards, her sword extended, as she dropped toward the mortal pedaling a bicycle with ever increasing speed down the dirt path next to the falls.

“What the…” Max stammered, and dropped the plastic water bottle from which he had just taken a quick sip. White knuckles gripped the handlebars of his Schwinn bicycle as he tried to stem the imminent collision with the spiraling silver sword attached to what appeared to be a winged angel hurtling from the trees. The tour guide had not warned him this was a battle zone in the jungle, else he would have been watching for something, but not this. Max lived an organized life, scheduling his day from the measured beep of the alarm clock that prepared him for his day as an insurance claim adjuster.

Seeing no way past the spinning projectile, he turned the wheel, hoping the Schwinn’s sturdy frame would stay upright and find purchase along the creek bed beneath the falls. The durable cruiser found purchase across the rocks for a few feet, only to be sucked into a whirlpool he had not planned on finding in the deceptively shallow water. Max felt like he was not merely being pulled from the bike, but from his very skin, the water forcing him downwards, pounded him from every side, taking his breath along with the bike.

He flailed his arms and kicked, finding only water where his body needed air. As the breath left his pursed lips, a beautiful vision appeared among the stars, and his arm reached up of its own volition, breaking water to but touch the vision before he breathed his last. Realizing he had just lost his precious bike, and the cross-country race through the rainforest, this would be his last chance at attaining his vision of the extraordinary. Once each year, he took a vacation not only from his job, but his ordinary life, for those weeks living his childhood dream of being an explorer. For two weeks, he grew a moustache and saddled his dad’s vintage Schwin to travel along dirt paths in exotic venues, with only a beginning and ending point to map his course. For these two weeks, the sights and sounds he encountered became his alternate reality, to be relived in the coming year’s nightly dreams after he returned to his mundane routine.

The vision that flew toward him now, as he succumbed to breathless unconsciousness, made what he sensed was his last excursion the best alternate reality ever. The winged projectile unfolded itself into a woman, feathered wings outstretched, though bunched in one corner. The only adornments he was were the now sheathed sword across the back of a form-fitting vest. Her shadow blocked the rising sun and his last conscious view was of the iridescent fire in her large round eyes as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him from the water.

Max woke to the sound of running water, as if a faucet had been left on overhead. He was no longer lying in water, but sitting, propped against water carved rocks behind the waterfall. He blinked, then smiled at the rainbows announcing the rising dawn across the falling river. A breeze whispered overhead, and he shivered, realizing most of his clothing was gone, whether by design or the force of the maelstrom, but for his t-shirt and shorts. Another whispered breeze compelled his glance upwards, and he watched the vision float toward him to land silent, barefooted, in front of him. Max stood, only a bit unsteady on his bare feet, taking from her outstretched hands in one of his the proffered Schwinn handlebar, wrapped around one foot pedal clad in one of his black socks. The other must have gone the way of the hiking boots, and the rest of the bike

His other hand first unconsciously reached to his face, seeking his moustache, glad that it, at least, still remained. He then reached almost without volition for the glimmer of steel encased in the base of her wing, releasing the soft tangled feathers as he pulled a familiar bottle cap from their base.

“Had you not thrown that at me, you would likely not have lost your transport,” she said, taking the bottle cap and tossing it through the falling water, to follow the rest of his belongings.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you, I was just throwing the bottle cap over the falls like a coin for luck before taking a sip of water. I’m sorry I hurt you,” Max replied, again drawn to the glowing large eyes that stared at him like a cat, without blinking.

“But now that I’m dead, I hope to see more of you,” Max continued, amazed at how much of his past life he remembered.

“You’re not dead, I got you out of the water in time and brought you here. I tried to salvage your transportation, but it didn’t fare as well as your form,” she replied, now with what could only be an appraising glance, similar to the look of doubt he knew he often wore when investigating insurance claims.

“Well, I’m either dead or dreaming. I feel the sun warming my skin through the breeze, the press of stone against my bare feet, and I see a vision of such ethereal beauty with wings that can only be from a dream.”

“I’m as real as the stones, and the wind, and the sun; as real as you are. Your kind rarely has the vision to see us as we go about our lives, tending the trees, the land, trying to heal the damage caused by you landlocked mortals. Those of you who see us at all call us visions, faeries, anime, or the name I’ve chosen to keep, Manga.”

“Well, I’m Max. If you’re real,” Max whispered, reaching a finger to touch the silken short hair, the hand again without conscious completing his sentence by caressing first her cheek, then her jaw. With one step forward he was holding her in both arms, his lips finding hers in a kiss, one which she answered as he gripped her closer, her lithe body arousing long dormant feelings and desires.

“Well, if this is reality, then I’m done dreaming, and ready to live.” Max stepped back, taking both her hands in his, as their eyes finished the conversation started by their bodies.

Manga smiled, turning to face the dawn, and knew she had found what she sought in this world in the firm hand holding hers, a dreamer with vision. Manga the Warrior unfurled her wings and soared to greet the day in company of Max the Explorer.

© 2007 manga_kate

Word Count ~ 1432

Welcome your R&R to "Manga finds Max the Explorer"