The Blackened Soul

by Candace Osmond

  With great difficulty, I found my bearings as the ship rocked back and forth. My eyes bulged as I stared out the window and witnessed the angry sky fill the view before disappearing with the sea. Grabbing hold of the furniture I’d secured earlier the day before, I found my way to the door but not without getting knocked down a few times. This storm was bad. Worse than Finn had anticipated. I was a fool to stay above decks.

  I finally reached the door and it flung open, nearly taking me with it. Lightning flashed again, and thunder cracked in the distance. Firming my grip on the rain-slick knob, I reached over to the hook by the door to grab my jacket and hastily slipped it on before braving the storm-ridden deck. It was a short distance to the first ladder hatch. I could make it.

  Through the brutal rain, I could spot the dark square on the deck floor and kept it in my squinted vision as I grabbed hold of the railing. The Queen heaved to its side and I held on for dear life while I waited for it to tip back. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of a dark figure rise from another hatch down across the deck and my eyes strained through the blanket of water on my face to see who it was.

  “Dianna!” Henry called and outstretched his arm toward me.

  My heart beat wildly at the sound of his voice and I let go of the railing to run to him. But he was much further than I thought. Thunder boomed again, closer this time. Lightening cracked just above our heads, deafening my ears and casting a flash of light over the slick deck. I saw Henry’s face for a split second and continued to make my way to him, but something caught my attention from above.

  The lightning must have struck the mizzenmast mast because it was on fire. A great moan filled the air as part of the giant crow’s nest slowly began to crack and lean over, unable to hang on to what was left. That’s when I realized… it was falling, and it was going to land right between us. Panic coursed through my veins and I ran harder but it wasn’t enough. The ship heaved to the side again, knocking me down, and I rolled back to where I had begun. The top of the burning mast fell and crashed to the deck with a deafening boom, taking with it everything in its path. Giant ashes exploded, and I turned away to shield my face. Grabbing hold of the ship’s edge, I pulled myself up and yelled over to Henry.

  “Get down below!”

  “Not without you!” he screamed back over the flames.

  I glanced at the hatch not too far from my right and pointed for him. “I’ll go down this way!”

  I willed him to descend the ladder on his side, but he didn’t budge. I could see the top half of his body from over the height of the fallen mast piece, as still as a statue, and I knew he wouldn’t move until I was safe down below. I crept along the side of the ship, holding onto the railing with all my might until I reached the mouth of the hatch. Turning, I shouted back to him.

  “Okay, I’m there! Now, get down–” The words were ripped from my mouth as the ship heaved once more and a massive wave spilled across the side, sucking me over the edge for the freezing sea to claim.

  I struggled against the ocean’s power, clambering to the surface for air. But there was no surface. The ocean surrounded me, and I became nothing more than a mere plaything in its waves. I tried to scream but my mouth filled with sea water and I felt the freezing sensation fill my insides.

  My chest protested as my lungs began to burn and I desperately clawed for my life as the water tossed me around. This was it. This was how I’d go. I always knew I belonged to the sea. I just didn’t think it’s where I’d die. I let out a silent prayer for the life inside of me before giving up and allowing the angry waters take me away.

  The sensation of sinking is kind of like floating backwards. You’re suspended but descending at the same time. I knew the storm raged on the surface, but down there, it was calm. Like an eerie lullaby. The last of my air squeezed from my lungs as the icy sea claimed its place, soaking into every pore. My eyes drifted shut and my mind filled with cloudy images of colors. I was dying. We were dying. Drowning. My only regret was not getting the chance to say goodbye to Henry. In that moment, I forgave him for everything that happened. I imagined his arms around me, pulling me close. His mouth on mine. It felt so real, I could almost…

  My eyes flew open, despite the burning of the salt water, to find my mouth covered by another. But it wasn’t Henry. It wasn’t even human. The creature that held me in its dark, scaly arms was unlike anything I’d ever seen. Eyes as large as clam shells, and completely black. Its wide, toothy mouth covered mine and blew bubbles inside.

  I panicked at first and struggled against its hold. The creature’s tail, a rubbery sheer, floated around us, like a cocoon. My bottom lip brushed along its razor-sharp teeth and flooded my mouth with the taste of blood. The sea creature firmed its grip around my body and blew harder into my mouth, filling my dying lungs with air. Forcing the bubbles down. That’s when I realized it was helping me to breathe.

  It was saving my life.

  But, before I could react, the blood in my mouth washed away with the sour tang of some other substance. A poison, perhaps. No doubt from the puncture its pointy teeth made on my lip. Within seconds my body went numb like morphine had been pumped through my veins, as milky clouds filled my vision.

  And then there was darkness.

  ***

  The sound of seagulls squawked in the distance and the repetitive hum of the tide washed in and out. A dry moan escaped my lips as I attempted to roll over. Half of my face had been buried in the cold sand.

  Sand?

  I coughed out granules and wiped them from my face. My eyes had crusted shut with the dried sea water and dirt that coated most of my body, so I wiped at them, too. I was weak and tired. But… alive.

  “Henry?” I called out with a wince. My left shoulder protested when I tried to push myself up and, with a quick assessment, determined it was dislocated. The gross sensation that spread through my body when I tried to move it was enough to confirm. So, on the ground, I stayed.

  My weary eyes strained to search around me for a sign of the others. For Henry. But there was nothing. My good arm raised up, so a hand could shield my sore eyes from the sun as I frantically searched the sea before me. No sight of The Queen. No sight of anything but a thin line that divided the sea and skies. I craned my neck and found that I had been washed ashore on a small beach. But, according to Finn, there were no known bits of land in our path to England which told me this location was unknown. A deserted island.

  And I was stranded on it.

  Suddenly, my mind flashed with the image of the sea creature that had saved me. Was it a dream? Did I imagine the mouth of a mermaid around mine, inflating my lungs and swimming to safety? Or was it all a hallucination and, by some miracle, the sea saw fit to spit me out on this island?

  My hand immediately went to the baby and felt for any movement. I had no pain, which was a good sign. I clawed at my tattered clothes, moving the layers to check for blood. None. Thank goodness. No signs of a miscarriage. I could only pray that the baby was safe and alive inside of me. It had to be. Relief flooded my body and I lay back on the sand.

  But the sun, surprisingly hot for late Fall, beamed down and warmed my skin a little too much for comfort. I had to get up and find shelter. My dry tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and I added water to the list of things I had to find immediately. With my good arm, I pushed against the sand and managed to get to my shaky knees. One foot at a time, I pulled myself up, hardly able to stay on my feet. My other arm was useless, and I admitted what had to be done if I wanted any chance of surviving.

  I had to pop it back in place.

  The very thought of it turned my stomach. I remembered then, years ago, I’d been on the volleyball team at school. It was a brutal match, and we needed one more point to win. I dove for the ball, arms outstretched, and whipped it back over the net. We won. But that move caused my shoulder to pop out of its socket. The pain was excruciating. But nothing compared to the blinding agony that came when my coach helped pop it back in pla
ce.

  And I had to do it on my own this time.

  Shivering from the chill soaked into my bones, I whipped my head around, searching for a place to carry out the nefarious task. There was a high possibility I could pass out afterward. Especially if I did it wrong. I assessed that the island was surrounded by sand that turned into thick grass as it moved toward the center where a small forest of trees could be found.

  A few yards away, I spotted a large rock nestled in the grass. Perfect. Slowly, I made my way over to it, holding my arm close to my body. Keeping it as straight as possible, I placed a hand on the rock and cautiously began to turn. Back and forth. Repeating this slowly. Carefully. Each time I could feel the top of my arm creeping back into place and the sensation sickened me. But the pain lessened.

  Finally, the socket accepted the bone and I had a shoulder again. I screamed from the pain and my empty stomach heaved. I fell to the ground where sea water wretched from my guts. My mind spun, threatening to go under, but I shook the fog from my brain and leaned against the large stone.

  “Okay, Dianna, think,” I told myself. What did I need to do first? Shelter? No, water. Then shelter. I still had hours of daylight left. A bonus. My shoulder throbbed so I slugged off my red jacket and ripped the long, white shirt sleeve from where it attached to my blouse and then fashioned it into a tight sling. The relief was palpable.

  After a moment to catch my breath, I fished around in the many large pockets of my jacket and thanked the heavens I thought to grab it on my way out of my quarters. In the end, my spoils were a knife, pocket telescope, and a palm compass. Not the best tools to be stranded on an island with, but I’d make do.

  Now I had to find fresh water.

  I threw my jacket back on, carefully draping it over my injured shoulder. Close to an hour must have passed as I wandered around the perimeter of the forest. A sort of eerie silence echoed from the trees and I dared not enter. But I did walk a few yards inland, across the grass, until I found a small pond of fresh water that collected from a run-off that seemed to come from the forest somewhere. It couldn’t be more perfect.

  Using my knife, I loosened the lens of the telescope until it popped out. I gathered up a few dried leaves, thin twigs, and some witch’s beard that grew on the trees. I had everything I needed to start a fire. It took longer than I’d hoped, but after many attempts, the sun reflected through the glass lens and caught fire to a leaf.

  “Yes!” I shouted but quickly settled. I had to keep the little flame alive. Carefully, I added leaf after leaf until the flame grew bigger and then began to add the twigs. After about ten minutes, I had fashioned a small fire. I picked up a few stones to surround and protect it before adding some larger branches. Grinning wide, I stood and stared down at my accomplishment. “Eat your heart out, Bear Grylls.”

  It was time to dismantle my palm compass. The ancient relic sat in a tiny brass bowl. Perfect for boiling water. It wouldn’t be much, but it was better than nothing. And it was definitely better than getting a parasite from drinking the pond water as is.

  I loosened the tiny screws that held the compass together and pocketed the pieces. I walked over to the pond and scooped up some of the water and then placed it on a flat rock closest to the fire. Within minutes it bubbled and, using my thick jacket sleeve to protect my fingers, expertly removed it to cool.

  While I waited, I wandered around the edge of the forest again, careful not to stray too far from the shore in case a passing ship spotted my fire. Remembering what I learned from my very brief time in Girl Guides, I gathered up as many thick, wide boughs as I could carry with one arm and brought them back to my little camp. Next, I had to find three fallen branches big enough to fashion a lean-to, but small enough for me to carry with my shoulder out of commission.

  It took forever, but I finally had a tiny shelter from the sun, a fire to boil water and keep me warm at night, and a straight view of the beach where I could signal for help. I sat on my bed of boughs and drank the little saucer of water. It tasted like metal and had bits of sand in it but, my God, it was glorious. Immediately, I scooped up another and placed it by the fire. While I waited for that one to boil, I gathered up a pile of branches to feed the flames during the night. I was all set. I couldn’t help but grin at the thought of my crew finding me and seeing the surprise on their faces that I could manage as much as I had.

  But then my thoughts morphed into something dark. What if they didn’t make it? Did the storm destroy The Queen and take my crew down with it? I would have no way of knowing. I could very well be stranded on this island for the rest of my life.

  Waiting for a rescue that may never happen.

  Chapter Five

  The first night was rough. The sun went down and took with it what little warmth was in the air. I snuggled as close to the fire as I could without setting myself ablaze, but it wasn’t enough. The cool wind tore through the air, tousling the trees and chilling my weary bones. My body shivered all night.

  Finally, as the early sun began to peek through the clouds, I gave into the exhaustion and crashed. I’d no idea how much time had passed when I finally awoke. The sun was high in the sky, so I could only guess it was around noon. After a few rounds of boiled water, I decided to explore my surroundings.

  I scaled the length of the beach, careful to keep the smoke of my fire within eyesight so I wouldn’t get lost. Sadly, I found nothing. No people. No ship debris. No sign of hope. Angry and defeated, I screamed to the skies and yelled at the vast ocean before me.

  “Why?” I called out. “What do you want from me? Why even let me come back?” I kicked at the sand like a disgruntled child. “You should have just let me die!”

  Just then, I heard the distinct sound of branches crunching underfoot and whipped around to see who was there. Strangely, I found no one. My eyes scanned the tall grass and the bushel of trees in the distance, hoping to catch a glimmer of movement. Still, I found nothing. Could it have been an animal?

  Or was it possible that the island wasn’t as deserted as I thought?

  “W-who’s there?”

  No one answered, and a chill crept down my spine.

  For the remainder of the day, I watched my back. I combed the long, rounded beach, searching for anything of use. All the while, my senses were in overdrive, listening for any sounds of life. No one surfaced, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. If someone did occupy the island with me, were they scared? Or were they dangerous?

  Regardless, I’d probably starve to death before I ever found out. My stomach growled in protest from the lack of food. Two days was a long time without sustenance when you’re pregnant. Especially after expelling so much energy. The beach gave me nothing but a twisted bundle of fishing twine, broken sea glass, and driftwood. So, I scoured the edge of the forest and lucked out with a handful of crowberries that had yet to fade away with the turning season. I hauled up a couple of roots to nibble on, but they were raw and hard on my stomach. It wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. I needed real food.

  I spent hours untangling the mess of fishing line I found, hoping to fashion it into some sort of net. If I could catch a few fish, I’d be set. But, even with a real net, the chances were slim. Still, I tried. I walked out to the ocean until the water reached my waist and I stood with my makeshift net submerged below the surface. Waiting. Hoping.

  My knees began to shake, and my legs went numb from the freezing November water. When I finally gave up, it was all I could do to get back to my camp. When I finally plunked down on my bed of tree boughs, I assessed my shoulder. It ached but it seemed to be healing alright and I removed the makeshift sling. I tossed another log on the fire and sidled up to thaw my frozen bones, crying to myself.

  “I’m so sorry,” I spoke to the baby inside. My hands lovingly held the tiny bump that was my belly and tears flowed down my cheeks. “You never even got a chance to live.”

  I gathered up the boughs to form a nest-like bed and curled into a ba
ll. It was too cold to sleep, especially with wet clothes. I spent hours shivering and praying that Henry and my crew were okay. The very thought of him ceasing to exist was incomprehensible. The Queen had to have made it. It just had to. I repeated those words over and over until my mind began to wander with exhaustion. Eventually, my body gave in and crashed once more.

  The next morning was bitter frosty. I peeled my stiff body from my crunchy bed, clothes still damp, and immediately tossed two logs on the glowing embers and stoked it with a thin stick. I knew I should have removed my clothes and let them dry, but I also knew I’d freeze to death if I did. That’s when I noticed something different about my camp. Something new. There in the sand sitting next to me was a thick, folded quilt and a bucket. My heart beat like mad and I craned my neck to search around. There were no signs of a visitor. Not even footprints in the sand. I scooted over and peered into the bucket.

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered in delight.

  Not only did someone leave me a warm, heavy blanket, they also left behind a bucket of water with two trout swimming around inside. I felt both excited and terrified because I had food and something to keep me warm. But it also confirmed my fear that I wasn’t alone.

  “Uh, thank you!” I called out to no one.

  Or someone.

  I eagerly dipped a hand in the bucket and grabbed hold of a fish. It wiggled in my grasp, but I quickly knocked its head against a rock and grabbed my knife, expertly slitting the poor creature’s belly open. I’d gutted hundreds of fish in culinary school, as well as at the restaurant, so my hands moved with a memory of their own, removing the guts and cleaning the fish to the best of my ability. I grabbed a thin branch and skewered my breakfast before holding it over the open fire to cook. My mouth watered from the smell. I devoured the trout and then did the same with the second. After I’d filled my belly, I wrapped the heavy quilt around my shoulders and succumbed to the way my body begged to sleep.