Land 3: Lost Isle
It is a sad thing that the map is filled in.
We must take care not to idolize the so-called “age of adventure;” I am well aware of the injustices perpetrated on indigenous people in the name of progress, and we must be cogent that exploration and colonialism so often walk hand in hand.
Nevertheless, there is a certain appeal to reading tales of faraway jungles, lost temples, and ancient ruins. Who has not been captivated by the stories of archaeologists, trailblazers, and guides stumbling across cities eaten by the jungle, or walking through a ruined shrine, always wondering if a crumbling tiger statue hides a cunningly-hidden dart in its dark recesses?
With the Lost Isle, I hope that our guests might step into the sort of derring-do that captivated the adventurous in the 19th and early 20th centuries. They shall sail rivers through a forgotten delta, walk through a forgotten temple based on the Angkkor Wat, and be dazzled by beautiful and exotic creatures. I hope, too, not to fetishize or denigrate the cultures who thrived in these bejewled parts of the world; we shall have cultural museums and learning centers staffed by real peoples from these regions. We shall also have areas dedicated to instructing our visitors on the wonder of the natural world—exposing them to beautiful and fast-fading plants, animals, and insects.
We must not forget that these places of the world are vanishing fast before the ceaseless engine which calls itself “progress”, and we would do well to try and preserve them as best we can.
—Alder
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“We’re not going to the Hub?” Dyson asked, frowning slightly.
Cindi shook her head. “Not right now. Too crowded.”
The others looked at the Hub with an air of wistfulness. Alderland was laid out like a wheel, with each land its own spoke on the wheel—Nostalgia Lane was the southernmost one, leading to the Hub, and the other places branched off from there.
The Hub was the truest icon of Alderland. An old-fashioned boardwalk but with everything
better, the merry-go-round and boardwalk games and old-fashioned roller coaster seemed to call to everyone, and the massive Ferris Wheel which served as the park’s main marketing symbol was considered a must-ride.
Cindi was right, of course. The Hub
was crowded—every child who had no intention of getting badges had rushed there straightaway to hop onto the most iconic rides, and even those who did care about badges were filling a tremendous line for the Ferris Wheel. It seemed obvious that the Hub’s badge would be obtained from the park’s single most iconic attraction.
Smiling at the others, Cindi laughed. “We’ll come back, I swear,” she said. “In the meantime… there are plenty of other places to explore.”
Six lands branched out from the Hub—Nostalgia Lane to the south, the alluring Skytown to the north, and four more in the directions of northeast, northwest, southeast, and southwest. It was in this latter direction that the group headed, crossing a large wood-and-rope bridge to the distant yet slowly swelling sound of drums, flutes, and the squawks of jungle birds.
“I read somewhere that each land in Alderland is made so that sounds from the others can’t reach in,” Wynn said as she walked. “It’s done to preserve the atmosphere of each individual land.”
AJ patted her arm as he walked in recognition of her words. It wasn’t a dismissive gesture—he was too busy drinking in the sights to respond. They all were.
The Lost Isle was everything about old adventure serials and travel journals distilled into one. There were enormous, beautifully verdant plants growing everywhere from the world’s jungles—none of them fake, either. Tasha couldn’t help but brush her hands against the fronds as they passed, and Cindi smiled at her.
“Having fun?” she asked.
Tasha nodded. “I’ve always wanted to go to the jungle or rainforest,” she said, her voice soft with wonder. “Always…”
Despite being arguably the smallest of Alderland’s various lands, there was a lot packed into the Lost Isle. It was part jungle path and part African port, part thriving bazaar and part ruined city. The region’s flagship ride—the Forgotten Temple—towered ahead. It looked like a glorious testament to the grand sites of Cambodia and other regions of Southeast Asia—a stone dome covered in designs and etchings of fantastic figures. The façade was the entrance to one of the park’s premier roller coasters.
“We’re going straight there!” Diego said, pointing directly at it. “Right?”
Cindi grinned. “Well, I
did promise, after all.” Besides, Lenora had recommended it—could it have been a hint as to where to get the next badge?
The temple was on the far side of the Lost Isle, and as their group of six pushed through—AJ taking the lead, his bulk effortlessly parting the crowd around them—it was hard not to lose themselves in the electric energy of the happy crowd. All around them, the children hand-picked by Alder (and their guests) were marveling at fire dances from the South Pacific, gasping as a snake-charmer coaxed his slender fellow out of a wicker basket. A few studious-looking types looked on in interest as a Bangladeshi woman demonstrated hand-crafted jewelry, and others were lining up, salivating, at kebab stands or places to buy iced fruit.
“Look at that poor shmuck,” Wynn said with a giggle, pointing. Among the many shops and displays lining the street was an entrance to a rotating gallery—
Featuring native art as well as nature photography and paintings inspired by landscapes!, the display said. The man out front was trying to get passers-by inside.
“An exhibit of
bug paintings?” Tasha said, the disgust in her tone almost palpable. “Ick. No thanks.” In response, Cindi couldn’t help but shake her head. Hardly any of the kids would be interested in looking at this stuff.
Still, the one painting out on display
did look quite nice. It was some sort of jeweled beetle…
She was so busy focused on it that she almost didn’t realize when she bumped into a young man. “Sorry,” she stammered out, and then started. He was tall, had long green hair done back in a messy ponytail, and wore a big trucker cap. He looked at her with an aloof air.
The memory of the very first badge she’d gotten teased at her like a gnat. “Are you… Nate?” she asked.
He raised one eyebrow in response and nodded almost imperceptibly. “And who are you?” His words were crisp and over-enunciated, and he didn’t look at her as he spoke, his eyes scanning the park, the crowd, the buildings, skating over them with swiftness as though he were a computer taking in new info.
“Um… C-Cindi,” she said.
“And how do you know my name?” He still didn’t look at her when he spoke.
“Someone told us about you,” Tasha offered, putting a comforting hand on Cindi’s shoulder. “In the, uh, topiary?”
Nate blinked once and looked at Cindi briefly, then nodded again—a rival acknowledged. “I see. I wondered how many people would ignore that aspect of the park. Most of them, it seems.”
“Y-yeah,” Cindi stammered. He was curiously standoffish, but not in an aggressive or intimidating way—there was just something about him that was difficult to approach. His precise diction, the way he spoke while apparently focused on something else, even the way he held himself—all of them sent one clear message:
I would like desperately to ignore you.
“Where are the others?” Wynn asked. Nate turned and looked at her.
“What?”
“The, uh—your group? The ones you brought in?”
“Why would I bring other people? They would get in my way.” The words weren’t hurtful or spiteful—in fact, he didn’t even seem to register the implicit insult towards Cindi herself, wandering with a full group of six. It were simply a fact stated: more people were more legs to get tangled, more eyes to get distracted, more bodies to take up space in ride queues.
“I guess a genius like you’s already got the badge for this area,” Diego said with perhaps more heat than he’d meant.
“Yes, I have.”
Diego blinked. Whoops.
“Is the—the Forgotten Temple any good?” Cindi said, desperate to avoid a scene.
He looked at her and actually smiled. “Yes. It’s a good roller coaster.”
She nodded. “I would think so! Alder clearly put so much effort into it. The whole Lost Isle looks
amazing—” and she gestured at the spectacle of the firedancer, the greenery beyond, all the atmosphere, “—and this is the capstone to a perfect place.”
“Oh, the Lost Isle is actually pretty bad.”
Again, the response wasn’t hurtful—he was simply stating it the way he might state that the sky was blue, or that Paris was in France.
“…huh?”
“Ugh, just look at this.” He cast a discerning eye at the surroundings. “Too much effort put into the trappings. I get that
Alder likes this stuff, but look at these people.” His gaze fixated on another group of kids in line for a treat stand. “Once the momentary spectacle wears off, they want
rides, not culture. But the only thing the whole area has is that coaster, and even then you have to take the big walk through the so-called ‘temple’ to get to it. What a bore. The whole park is like that, to be honest, but this land has it particularly bad.”
“I—I like the Lost Isle!” Cindi protested. “I think it was cool for Alder to try and recapture a sense of adventure—and to celebrate real cultures while he was at it.”
Nate shrugged, an
everyone’s-entitled-to-their-own-opinion-even-if-it’s-wrong gesture. “Let’s be honest—most people don’t care,” he said. His phone beeped and he pulled it out, grimacing at the time. “See you around.”
And he strode off.
“Well, that was a… guy,” Dyson said lamely, pushing his glasses up. He turned his gaze towards Cindi. “You okay?”
“Huh? Yeah,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve met way, way worse.” She rubbed her cheek, and then smiled. “Now come on! There’s a coaster to ride!”
Their spirits lifted, the six of them went for the Forgotten Temple. It was one of the most famous rides in the country; not for the coaster itself, but for its queue.
The queue was everything.
As they approached the Cambodian temple, the foliage grew denser and thicker, and they saw a line of people trailing out the temple entrance. They joined it and stood in line.
A loud radio placed on a reconstructed jeep blared big band music and transported listeners to the turn of the century. Between the songs were funny bits and radio programs, as well as a broadcast telling of the “rediscovery” of an ancient ruin—the very one they were in line for.
“Mind the legends,” the old-timey broadcaster joked in all his early 1900s bombast. “According to some spooked locals, these ruins might be cursed—well, it didn’t seem so cursed when the discoverer walked out with pockets full of gold!”
Before long, they were into the temple itself. The walls were rough stone, etched with carvings and painted with strange symbols—but there were also maps, satchel bags, and other modern trinkets strewn about. The temple, it seemed, had become part of an archaeological site.
The story was told without any need for a screen or voiceover. As the temple got deeper and darker, small rumbles echoed through the stone—like earthquakes, or the anger of a jungle god. The archaeology equipment was scattered, abandoned in a haphazard retreat. Occasionally, walkie-talkies—just out of reach of queue walkers—blurted out panic from the always unseen archaeologists.
“It’s bigger than we thought,” came one distraught voice. “There’s an undertemple—you mustn’t go—you mustn’t!”
In the deepest part of the temple, where the walk was lit only by flickering red-and-orange lights made to look like torches, central passage had apparently been blocked by a collapse—but the queue meandered into a dark and blue-lit cave with jagged-looking stalactites and the distant sound of dripping water. The cave took riders to a low platform where coaster attendants—dressed like ancient spirits—shepherded riders into their coasters with wicked smiles. “The great spirit will judge you,” they said. “Get ready to venture into the undertemple.”
They filed in two-by-two. Diego and Tasha took the front two seats, Diego almost looking ready to pop with excitement. AJ and Wynn sat behind them, hands clasped tight (it was the stout AJ, Cindi noted with amusement, who seemed the more afraid). Cindi herself sat down alongside Dyson.
Rather than rocket off, the coaster went slow, crawling through a tunnel covered bas-reliefs and idols. The chief one—the vengeful god—turned and spoke to riders, telling them to brave the undertemple if they wished to get out alive.
The coaster broke into an enormous underground chamber. The track dipped and wound past pillars and statues, some of which turned to screech at riders. At one point it seemed to cross an old rickety bridge suspended precariously over lava. In sections of total darkness, they would be surprised by sudden jolts or drops, and the squeaking of bats of the hissing of snakes would play from speakers mounted near their ears. At the end of the ride, they seemed to finally come to a halt—only for the walls to bulge around them and the ominous sound of a collapsing passage to meet their ears. The vengeful god’s voice boomed that this was their final trial, and the coaster sprang
backwards to shoot along a long curve and a short but sudden drop before finally coming to a stop. As they left, light broke through the open-aired passage that left them out, and distant chatter from down the tunnel told them that the surveyors in the ride’s story had barely escaped as well. “I suppose,” concluded one pompous-voiced professor, “that we mustn’t assume we know a land better than its inhabitants.”
The entire ride had been a treat, and Diego had almost leapt for joy when exiting—“Lemme go again! C’mon, one more time! Pleeeeease!” as a laughing Tasha gave half-hearted apologies to the ride attendants. AJ looked spooked but had a big smile on his face, and Wynn was patting his arm, grinning widely.
But as Cindi had left, she noted that Dyson had was following after her shakily. He looked slightly queasy.
“Are you okay?” she asked with concern as the nearest ride attendant looked on with a frown. She remembered how ill health had cost Cameron a chance to join them in the park.
Dyson waved off her concerns, and color slowly returned to his face. “Fine!” he protested. “That last drop just took me by surprise.” He looked impishly at his big brother. “So you
still scared of roller coasters, or what?”
“Shut up,” AJ replied without malice, and they walked off laughing. As Cindi turned, however, she saw the attendant’s eyes still following Dyson with an air of concern.
There was one thing that they absolutely weren’t discussing—as fun as the ride was, it hadn’t won them a badge.
It wasn’t Alder’s favorite attraction in the Lost Isle.
The unspoken implication followed them out of the ride. The Lost Temple had been a blast—probably something they would remember forever—but now they were lost. If the biggest-name attraction in this section of the park (indeed, one of the park’s most famous attractions
period) wasn’t Alder’s favorite… then what
was?
Think, Cindi told herself.
Think. Think. The last two badges were found in atypical places. Alder’s favorite might be unusual…
But then she rounded the corner and all thought went out the window as her breath hitched.
Cheren was there, browsing his phone, while Bianca hovered nearby. Cindi wanted to melt away before he could see her—
move, move, there’s still time—but then Bianca turned her face, registered them, and waved, wearing a big smile.
“Tasha! Hey!” she yelled. “And Cindi too!”
Cheren looked up from his phone and Cindi got the sense that he was barely constraining himself from rolling his eyes. Pocketing his phone, he meandered over to them a few steps behind Bianca.
“Hi Cindi! How’s it going!” Bianca said with another big smile. Her cheeriness seemed a little too forced—as if she didn’t want a repeat of the tense encounter outside the park gates.
Cindi mumbled a noncommittal response, but Bianca was too busy frowning to notice. “Wait… where’s Cam?”
“Asthma attack,” Tasha said, crossing her arms. “He had to leave.”
“Awww… that’s too bad. Right Cheren?”
Cheren nodded perfunctorily.
As Diego, Dyson, and the other newcomers introduced themselves, Wynn frowned and came close to Cindi. “Hey, you’re looking a little upset. These friends of yours?”
“I…” How could she explain that they
were, they
had been, but Cheren couldn’t accept… “I just… want to leave.”
Wynn’s frowned deepened and she eyed Cheren flintily.
“What about you?” Cheren said, his voice unemotive, turning his attention to Cindi for the first time.
Don’t say the name, don’t say the name, I hate
that name…
“How many badges do you have, Sid?”
The name, that stupid name, stung her like a wasp, and she shrunk back. Tasha, who had been scowling at him, balled her fists. She took a step towards Cheren as if to chew him out—
But Wynn beat her to it.
“Who do you think you are?” she said, getting clear up in Cheren’s face. He blinked, obviously nonplussed, and took an involuntary step back.
“And who’re you?” he said after a moment, nonplussed and trying to hide it. “I’ll have you know I’ve known Sid longer than you have—”
“Then you should know to treat her better and
don’t call her that!” Wynn was yelling, now, and passersby were looking at her. A nearby attendant was clearly following the situation.
“L-let’s just go,” Cindi said. “Forget it, Wynn, we should just leave.”
“I want this jerk to apologize first!”
“Hey,” Bianca said, her face taught and her voice resigned, “c’mon, let’s just all cool down.” She laid a calming hand on Wynn’s shoulder.
Wynn shrugged her off—hard. Too hard. Bianca stumbled back with a wail and landed smack on her tailbone, bringing tears to her eyes. As Cheren gasped in shock, the attendant zipped over until he was right next to Wynn.
“No roughhousing in the park,” he said, his voice unsympathetic. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
There was a cacophony of protests from the others, AJ and Dyson most of all—“He started it!” “It was an accident!” “Please!”—and even Bianca, after getting up and dusting herself off, asked the man to please let Wynn stay. “I don’t think she meant to knock me down,” she said. “I’m not mad, really!”
“Rules are rules.” The man wouldn’t budge and a resigned Wynn allowed herself to be escorted out.
Before she left, she waved goodbye. “AJ, Dyson, I’ll see you two in a few days. And Cindi… it was nice meeting you. You’re a really nice girl!”
Her smile turned to a scowl as she fixated her gaze on Cheren, and then the attendant led her away to leave the park. Cheren watched her leave with the hint of what might have been a smirk.
Bianca was almost tearful. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I—I didn’t want her to leave, really, I just wanted everyone to calm down…”
“Not your fault,” Diego said in a bitter voice, zeroing his eyes on Cheren. Tasha, AJ, and even Dyson were similarly glowering.
Cheren scoffed. “C’mon, Bianca. We’ve already got a badge, now let’s explore the rest of the park and leave these guys to it.” He stalked away and, after a resigned and apologetic look from Bianca, she followed.
“What a prick,” AJ said, only the second time Cindi had heard him speak. His voice was low and smooth, the kind of voice you heard on the evening news.
“Forget him,” Tasha snarled. “Cindi, don’t let him get to you, okay?”
She nodded, still feeling bad. If she’d just been more confident…!
Her misery must have shown on her face, because Tasha rallied the others. “She might need a minute. Is there anywhere quiet around here?”
“In
Alderland?” Diego asked, skeptical. Then, a few seconds later, a grin split his face. “Actually, I think I know just the place.”
The man outside the gallery looked positively harried. He did look like an artist—coiffed and poofy hair, a close-hugging green sweater, and a scarf and tight pants in matching shades of red.
“Welcome!” he said, sounding ecstatic as they walked up to him. “Come and look at my paintings!”
They were too polite to say they were just there to get some alone time, so they allowed him to shuffle them inside.
The gallery’s interior was cool—cool air, cool colors, and soft, ambient sounds of the jungle piped in through hidden speakers. The artist began introducing his paintings.
They were actually pretty good. Jeweled beetles reposed on verdant leaves, and butterflies fluttered through shafts of sunlight. A colorful spider spun a wed with dew hanging off of it like pearls.
The sheer beauty made Cindi gasp. “These are… wonderful,” she said, the bad feeling in her chest starting to go away.
“Thank you,” said the artist. “I feel like bugs aren’t appreciated enough. They get a bad rap, and some people think they’re just creepy… but bugs don’t need to force themselves into people’s preconceptions of beauty. They’re lovely on their own terms, and if people could just see that, they’d adore them!”
Cindi nodded, fascinated by the paintings. There were crimson ladybirds and cocoons hanging from branches; ants speckling the jungle floor, and water striders leaving trails on placid ponds. She wandered from painting to painting, awestruck, and stopped before one noteworthy one. It was a large moth, white in color, with enormous, orange wings.
“This one is really majestic,” she said.
The artist chuckled. “Alder shares your opinion, you know. This was the picture that got him to allow me to be the featured artist for this time of the year.”
“Alder knows your paintings?”
“Of course! Every artist who has ever been in the gallery—from a native sculptor to a landscape photographer—was chosen by him personally, to fit the theme of the Lost Isle and showcase the wonders of either foreign cultures or the natural world. That said…” The artist turned his chin down the hall. “That one is my favorite.”
The picture he motioned at was of a leaf mantis, all vivid green. Sunlight rained on it, filling the canvas with a tapestry of yellow, and the entire thing blended together, making the insect look almost like a tropical angel.
“It’s pretty,” Cindi agreed. Then she thought. “Alder… personally picks everyone who comes in here?”
“That’s right.”
She nodded. It made sense. Alder would enjoy a good ride, of course, especially one as atmospheric as the Lost Temple. But elevating his attendees’s knowledge of cultural traditions, of vulnerable animals and shrinking habitats… that seemed a note which would come from far deeper in the old man’s heart.
Wordlessly, she pulled out her case and opened it. The artist’s chuckle grew and he reached into his pocket for a badge. The item was long and thin, three wavy green fronds—like fern leaves, or an insect wing. Cindi suspected the ambiguous appearance was deliberate.
“Here you are,” he said, fixing the badge in place over the Lost Isle in her map.
“Thank you,” she said.
He grinned. “Thank
you. It’s rare that young people really appreciate my work. Good luck!”
They bid goodbye and left.
“You doing okay?” Tasha asked.
Cindi thought it over. Wynn was kicked out on her behalf. Cheren was still out there. The park was vast, and there were five more badges to go—some of them almost certainly trickier to find than the ones she’d found.
But she stared down at the three she’d gotten so far, the fire from a nearby tiki torch flickering off of them, and couldn’t help but smile. Not only was she doing well, she thought, but each time, she’d… learned something.
Perhaps that was the point.
“Yeah,” she said, shutting the case. “I am.” Turning to face the rest of her friends, she laughed. “Let’s go!”
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This is the longest SfY chapter yet, and was probably the most difficult to write for a number of reasons. No new teammates this time around, so that's a thing!
Wynn was lost to a Basculin in the Battle Company. She had low HP but I know she could KO the Basculin and that she outsped... but it used Aqua Jet. Ouch. Burgh was seriously barely even a roadblock, between Dyson and Diego I'm not even sure any of his pokemon got to even move
.
DEE'S DISNEY RESEARCH:
Lost Isle is based off of a number of Disney attractions, most obviously Adventureland in both Disneyland and the Magic Kingdom, and all of its various permutations, like the Lost River Delta in Tokyo DisneySea. Anaheim's Adventureland (which is more jungle-based than Orlando's) was the chief inspiration, with some of the cultural aspects grabbed from the Animal Kingdom resort in Orlando.
The Lost Temple was based off of a combination of the Indiana Jones Adventure ride in Disneyland (particularly the atmospheric queue, which is considered probably superior to the actual ride itself) and the Expedition Everest coaster in Animal Kingdom, which similarly tells a story and contains a segment with the coaster going backwards.
Burgh's gallery was originally going to be a tiki-room style thing with animatronic bugs instead of birds, but I decided I wanted to showcase more of how Alder appreciates cultures and the environment, and also incorporate Burgh's canon status as an artist somehow. It's based off of a number of galleries in various Disney parks, most of which are located in Main Street USA or similar areas, not anything adventure themed.
