Prologue

 

Not so long ago a young boy was lying on his stomach, reading about knights and soldiers, when he noticed a tiny white egg on one of the pages.

 

From this egg an ant emerged, and the boy trained it to walk on two feet, use swords and carry a shield. The ant’s name was Moresby.

But tragedy struck! A fierce storm swept across the land. It picked up Moresby from his shelter and carried him far away.

Moresby is still trying to get home today and everywhere he travels his legend grows.

It is the legend of an ant who defends the rights of lesser insects, who vanquishes evil.

 

This is the tale of Moresby and…..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oceans of Fire

 

Moresby’s mouth was dry and his antennae drooped. Recently, his travels seemed to consist of one battle after another and he missed his friend Kim Long who he hadn’t seen since the mantis attacks.

He was thinking this as he climbed over the rough brickwork, and he came upon an ‘oh so sweet’ smell, sweeter even than sugar. He decided to take a risk and follow it inside the human’s house. He dropped from the windowsill onto the sink, where two small ants were eating from a spoon, filled with golden syrup.

He ran forward and threw his head down. The fluid was thick and with the energy of the sun. It was even more heavenly than honey. He ate his fill, then dozed in the sunlight on the silver handle, and listened to the small ants eating, and the drone of a large blowfly.

He knew it was safe in the house because the only vibrations were caused by the white box on the other side of the room. There were no humans at home.  Moresby decided to take one more drink before continuing on his way. He leaned forward, and was taking a long sip and listening to the smaller ants talking.

‘I bet I can jump over the syrup!’

‘It is dangerous Clive. You’ll get stuck!’

As Moresby stood, to tell them not to be stupid, the little ant called Clive, ran and jumped. And became stuck!

‘Help me,’ he called.

Moresby un-strapped his shield and leaned towards the ant. ‘You must reach out to my shield. If you don’t you will sink and die. Hurry!’

The shield touched Clive’s fingers, however, he was unable to move.

Moresby rubbed his face. This syrup was lethal. Once you were stuck in it you couldn’t move your arms or legs. It was like a glue; a killing glue.

How could he save the little ant? The blowfly’s drone grew suddenly loud. Moresby swung to face it. The blowfly, swooping towards the syrup, was going too fast, and Moresby had no time to duck. He had no time to raise his hands. He was hit on the side and thrown off his feet so that he too landed in the liquid. Four legs, one arm and one antenna stuck! He struggled, trying to pull himself out, but each time another part of his body hit the golden syrup it became stuck too.

His head, including his mouth and eyes were facing sideways so he could only see a blurred golden colour. He needed his two eyes to work together. One feeler waved uselessly in the air.

‘Help us,’ he called.

‘There is nothing we can do!’ It was the other small ant, standing beside the spoon. ‘All ants that fall in the syrup die. I told Clive not to. Goodbye!’ And he walked away.

‘No! Wait,’ called Moresby, but the ant had gone.

Moresby lay still and realised he was sinking slowly into the gooey liquid. He was glad he had breathing tubes on his thorax and abdomen, which would give him some time to get out of this situation. He wondered how the little ant beside him was faring.

Maybe the answer was to try and move one leg or arm slowly. If he could get hold of a sword or shield he could use it to push down into the syrup and hopefully, stand up. Moresby tried to move the end of any of his limbs, but wasn’t able to because they were all stuck so completely. He relaxed and built up his strength. He tried again, this time hoping to jerk a limb free, but again, he couldn’t. By trying to get free he had sunk further into the syrup. More of his breathing holes were closed. Was there anything he could do?

He was angry to die this way. Not in a gladiator pit, or in an ant lion pit. Not while in battle, but as a direct result of a stupid blowfly.

Moresby could feel the blowfly only millimeters away. It was sucking up the syrup, and then vomiting. They did this all the time. Moresby wished that the blowfly that knocked him in was more intelligent, then it might feel regret, and help him. The blowfly vomited again, accidentally flew into an object and then flew up to the ceiling.   Moresby had sensed this through his one antenna.

There was nothing he could do. Perhaps a human would rescue him. Despite his situation, Moresby smiled.

Like some strange stick, stuck in a pool of mud, Moresby lay there for hours. He didn’t move a muscle, in case it caused him to sink quicker but still, as the hours went by, he did sink so that another breathing hole was covered.

As the syrup pressed against, and around him, he could feel the slow covering as it crept up his face. He fought to keep his breathing regular and not to panic. He knew what would happen when it covered him completely. He felt a tiny movement near one of his legs. It was the other ant – Clive. At least he was alive too.

Suddenly, Moresby felt the vibrations of heavy human footsteps. The vibrations grew bigger until Moresby feared that the syrup would ripple over his few remaining air holes. The vibrations moved right to where he lay, and then Moresby heard a human voice.

‘Oh yuck! Ants in the golden syrup!’

Moresby sensed a giant hand reaching down towards him, and for a brief moment he wondered if he was going to be sprayed with poison or squished, but neither of these things happened.

Moresby felt the spoon he was stuck on, being picked up and dropped into a plastic cage. He was suddenly upside down, in a river of syrup that began pulling him down, off the spoon. Clive swept past in the flow and Moresby could do nothing to save him. The syrup level dropped and Moresby felt less pressure on his breathing holes. As he reached the lip of the spoon, the speed of flow was slower and the amount of syrup had dropped by a huge amount. Moresby hooked one foot over the lip and strained to keep his head up, as he waited for most of the syrup to be gone. He stood shakily in knee deep syrup, using a sword to push himself upright.

Moresby felt dizzy and he knew it was from lack of oxygen. He cleaned out his breathing holes, eyes and antennae, and felt his head clear. Then he dragged himself up along the spoon handle, and looked downwards. On a shiny surface, at the edge of a pool of syrup, lay his shield, and Clive who wasn’t moving. Moresby hurriedly wiped the rest of himself, and his weapons, clean. And he jumped.

Moresby dragged Clive clear of the syrup and wiped his air holes clean. The smaller ant grinned and stood unsteadily. ‘Thanks ant! You are one cool dude.’

Darkness suddenly enveloped them. They were in some kind of human storage container and even though there were food scraps and moisture, Moresby felt uneasy. Why were there no other insects here?

Almost in answer to his thought the blow fly that had knocked him into the syrup flew past and landed on one of the dishes.

Moresby waved his antennae and focused on the scents. There were many types of smells, but the two main ones were of chemicals and decay. The chemical smell covered most of the shiny surfaces, and the rotting food came from one side.   They were inside a huge cleaning machine for the human dishes.

‘Do you think we can try out that food?’ asked Clive.

‘We must get out of here immediately. Follow me!’

They ran to the wall and began to climb. They moved left and were soon on the door. Moresby felt a desperate need to get out of this container, and this house as soon as possible. Suddenly there was light, which Moresby both feared and wanted. If he moved into the light the human might see him, but at least it would get him out of this huge container.

More dirty dishes were placed into the plastic racks. Moresby couldn’t understand where he was or what the human was doing. There was food on the dishes all around him but his instincts warned him to move quickly. Perhaps the food contained poison!

The blowfly flew past and landed amongst the food, and began his happy vomiting ritual.

‘Perhaps we could rest a while and try that food!’ suggested Clive.

Moresby ran up the wall towards where the light came from.

‘You are a crazy dude! The human is up there!’

‘Keep up,’ barked Moresby. He knew the human might see them, but it was worth the risk to get out of this strange container.

The human suddenly shut the door so they were in darkness again.

Moresby withdrew his swords and shield and planted his feet firmly.

‘You have to learn to chill out!’ said Clive.

The metal surfaces all around them began to shudder. While the blowfly flew around in the darkness, bumping into different objects, Moresby took unsteady steps on the vibrating surface, and climbed higher. He guessed to have another ten or twenty centimeters to get to where there had been an opening. Clive gripped the wall with his six feet and followed Moresby.

The vibrations stopped and the machine clicked twice. For a moment there was silence so Moresby ran. They reached the place that had opened up to the room, but now it was tightly closed. Suddenly there was the sound of water. Moresby heard the blowfly. It’s buzzing was labored. It faltered, buzzed again, and stopped.

At first the water was cold and only small droplets reached them, but soon Moresby could feel the temperature rise. A fine hot spray landed beside them. The surface they were standing on was also getting hotter. The air thickened with moisture and the smell of chemicals. The spray of water became faster, harder, more dangerous! The surface on which they stood was now wet and Moresby sensed an ocean of steaming water below.

They had to get to a safe location, where it was dry and cooler… if there was one. They took small, careful steps. Hot water suddenly sprayed above them, and punched them off the metal.

They fell. Moresby stabbed at the metal surface with his swords, and reached out to grab Clive. The swords scraped uselessly on the metal. Moresby and Clive slid. Down towards the boiling ocean! Through the sprays and steam! Moresby pushed harder into his swords. Down they went. Splurt! They had landed upon a rubber door seal, just above the steaming waters. Moresby dug a sword into it. Clive hung beneath him and was silent.

Moresby’s shield, strapped to his back, protected them from some of the falling hot water but it began to heat up and burn. Moresby forced down the pain and used his free hand to grab out his dagger. Using his dagger and swords he climbed beneath the seal, which is where the main smell of rotten food came from. Clive still dangled below. Moresby edged along, digging his weapons into the old food, which was the only thing keeping them from slipping. His muscles screamed.

Was it possible the temperature was getting hotter? Moresby sensed the amount of water and steam had just increased. It was as if the water was on fire. He had to find a way out! He kept crawling, digging his swords and dagger into the clumps of rotten food. Moresby knew that some of the food might dislodge at any moment, and they would plummet to their deaths.   Still, he had to keep going. It was slow and difficult work and he kept being tugged and twisted by Clive who was suspended beneath him, centimeters above the swirling ocean of boiling water, chemicals and food scraps. Moresby didn’t know how much longer he could keep going.

Finally, he reached the end of the seal, where there lay a bulge of food scraps. The heat was starting to blur Moresby’s senses. He dug his knife into a potato peel and pried it up so he could crawl underneath. As he squeezed in, he hauled Clive up as well. He pushed his sword under a piece of rotten meat and squeezed his body in as far as he could go, right to the corner of the machine. Clive was right there beside him. They were well protected from the hot water, and strangely there was cool air to breathe. Moresby pushed his sword further and found a gap under the food, and past the seal. He pulled himself into the hole and crawled to a cold surface. Clive followed in silence. They were safe. Moresby slung off his shield and pressed his burning back against the cool outer door of the dishwasher. They stayed there for an hour. The machine kept vibrating and water kept spraying. The heat went but then the machine stopped vibrating and the heat increased.

Moresby and Clive talked about many things. Clive’s colony was on the outside wall of the house, and they often crawled inside for human food. The human used poison spray but not often.

Finally, the machine stopped, and the heat went. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Moresby.

‘Can we go back for some more food?’ asked Clive.

Moresby smiled. ‘Let’s get back to your colony.’

They followed a thin black wire that led down, out of the base of the machine and behind a kitchen cupboard. They had escaped from the container. After crawling under the sink they made their way up to the window sill. On the kitchen bench was a spoon with golden syrup on it, surrounded by small ants. Clive ran towards it and Moresby ran outside.

And the legend grew of Moresby, who dived into liquid gold to save an ant and carry him from the watery fires.