Isle of Broken Years

by Jane Fletcher

  Horatio wiped his bowl clean with the last of his bread. “If there’s any left, I think I’ll have seconds.”

  He headed back to the kitchen. On past experience, he would probably get thirds as well, despite having a bowl double the size of anyone else to start with. If he drew a place in the Okeechobee Dawn would he count as two? Horatio was a good ten inches shorter than Torvold, but had to weigh more.

  Charles also finished his dinner. “Not bad. Could have done with more sweet potato.”

  “Oh yes. That reminds me. Sam wanted to put more in, but we’re out. We’re a bit low on other things as well.”

  “Okay, I’ll look at the roster.”

  “It’s my turn. I know.” Catalina sighed. “Not sure who else.”

  “Really? Let’s see. Ah, yes. Your name’s on top.” Now that she was aware of the problems with his eyesight, Catalina could see Charles moving his notebook up and down in an attempt to get it into focus. He looked up, blinking. “Except what you’re doing is far more important than digging up potatoes. You don’t have much time, and you’re the only one who can do it. I’m fourth on the roster, so I’ll go this time.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. As Horatio pointed out, we don’t want to get ourselves killed by the Minotaur. And now that we can take the flying platforms, it’s much safer. No need to trek through the jungle. I’ll tell Jorge and Piracola, who’ll be with me.” Charles patted her knee, then squirmed down from the bench. “See what you can find out. I’m counting on you. Babs is badgering me to vote with her, but I don’t think she’s going to be on the winning side. In which case, our lives hang on you getting the answers.” He smiled. “No pressure.”

  Now there was plenty of space on the bench, but Sam was no longer in the common room.

  “What’s cracking?” Madison rolled across the bench and lay on her stomach using her folded arms to hold her head and shoulders up.

  “Is that one of those questions I don’t have to answer?”

  Madison gave a yelp of laughter. “You got it, honey.”

  “I saw you and Sam talking earlier.” Catalina bit her tongue. That had come dangerously close to sounding like an accusation.

  “Yes. It’s this god-awful vote thing. It’s killing me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  Catalina waited to see if a longer answer might be forthcoming. “Because?”

  “Because it’s unfair.”

  “To you?”

  “No. To everyone else. Which puts so much pressure on me.”

  “I’m not following you.” Even by her normal standards, Madison was outdoing herself.

  “Because I’m the only one the date works for. It was 2017 when I arrived. If Liz is right about dates, and she’s usually right about everything—that woman is amazing—but it’s going to be, like, eight years after I left. My mom, my dad, my friends, they’ll be a bit older, but not so much. Jorge and Ricardo are next, date-wise. But for them it will be over thirty years they’ve been away. Their sisters will be ancient, in their fifties, probably grandmothers. After them it’s Liz. Well, she’s made her part clear. Then it’s Floyd, and he’s from 1954. He’ll have been away over seventy years.”

  “And this bothers you?”

  “Duh, yeah. I keep thinking, the only fair thing is for me to abstain, because, like, I’m the only one who’ll be going home.”

  * * *

  Catalina flipped to another page. The text discussed how low the temperature needed to be to make a small part of something it was impossible to divide travel through the middle of solid wire without rubbing against it. It made no sense.

  “You should take a break,” Floyd said.

  “I need to—”

  “You need to take a break. Go outside and get some fresh air.”

  Catalina leaned back and yawned. Maybe he was right. “What will you do?”

  “Go somewhere quiet, where people won’t hassle me, trying to change my views on fighting Minotaurs. The next two days can’t go quickly enough for me.”

  “What are your views?”

  “That being a hero isn’t as much fun as it sounds in books. I’ve done the throwing yourself against impossible odds bit. When we’re sure we’ve got a fighting chance, then I’m in. Otherwise, I’ll bide my time.”

  “You’re like Horatio then.”

  “I don’t want to bide my time quite that much. I’ll take a fifty-fifty shot.” Floyd pushed back from the table. “But for now, I’m going for a walk around the island before lunch.”

  Catalina followed him from the Barn but turned toward the Squat. The previous day’s cloud had blown away leaving a pure blue sky. The sun beat down on her with a physical weight, although a cool breeze was blowing from the sea. Where might Sam be?

  As she strolled past the docking station, Catalina looked up, but no legs were visible dangling over the edge of the deck. Why would anyone choose to sit in such a dangerous spot? Catalina was about to turn around when she spotted Sam. Instead of her normal perch, she was lying stretched on the grass a short way from the foot of the steps.

  Catalina took advantage of the chance to study Sam sleeping. Beautiful was not quite the right word, but was handsome any better? More to the point, would Sam mind being woken? And what would they talk about? Then Sam reached up and scratched her nose. She was resting, not sleeping, and possibly well aware that she was being watched.

  Catalina sat down beside her. “I didn’t want to wake you, if you were asleep.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “I realized when you moved.”

  “You looked like you were wondering about something.”

  What word to use to describe you. Thinking quickly, Catalina said. “You’re the only person who I don’t have a clue about when it comes to the vote.” Which was true enough, as well as being plausible.

  “Probably because I’m not sure myself.”

  “You aren’t?”

  Sam pulled herself into a sitting position. “I’ve seen the Minotaur once, and I don’t want to see it again. So part of me wants to tackle it, just to prove to myself I’m not frightened. But that’s a silly reason. For the rest, dumping people on tropical islands was standard for anyone causing a problem on the Golden Goose. But even the privateers wouldn’t do it, knowing the island was about to sink. And it’s not as if anyone here is causing problems. You don’t abandon shipmates. I guess my vote’s for stay, but I’m having trouble persuading myself it’s not because I’m scared.” Sam plucked a stalk of purple grass and tossed it into the air, to spiral away on the breeze. “How about you?”

  Catalina caught her lower lip in her teeth. “I’ve done the sums. If we discover a way to defeat the Minotaur, and can convince Floyd and Horatio, I’ll have the deciding vote. As Charles said to me, no pressure.”

  A shadow flitted over the lawn. Catalina looked up. A flying platform was coming in to dock.

  Sam shaded her eyes. “If that’s the men back from the farm, they finished early.”

  “Most likely just someone taking a ride.”

  “I haven’t seen any—” Sam broke off sharply.

  Jorge was barreling down the steps as if the hounds of hell were on his heels.

  Sam jumped up. “What is it? Where’s Charles and Piracola?”

  Jorge stumbled on the last flight of stairs and literally fell into Sam’s arms, gasping. “Hunters. The hunters…they came to the farm. I heard them. We all did. We ran, but…but Piracola was too far from the dock, and Charles. His eyes. I don’t think he could see where he was going. They…” Jorge’s face contorted in horror. His eyes were blankly focused on nothing. Catalina could see him shaking. “They didn’t make it. I waited as long as I dared. But…” He buried his face in his hands. “They didn’t stand a chance.”

  Jorge’s legs gave way. Without Sam’s support he would surely have fallen. She lowered him gently onto the bottom step.

  Catalina’s own legs felt wea
k. She braced her hand on the stair rail, while waves of shock rolled over her. Charles and Piracola, both dead. She would never see either again. Tears stung her eyes. The taste of bile filled her mouth. Jorge was moaning an incoherent prayer in Spanish, while Sam held his hands.

  Catalina pushed away from the stairs. She had to do something, tell the others, let people know. But it was unnecessary. Bad news has wings. Even as she turned around, castaways were appearing from doorways and around the sides of buildings, converging on the docking station. Had Jorge’s voice traveled so far?

  Torvold was the first to reach them. “What is up?”

  Jorge was chewing on his knuckle, his eyes fixed blindly on the ground. Sam answered for him. “The hunters. They caught the other two. It’s…it’s bad news.”

  Ricardo arrived, with Kali a few steps behind. He knelt at Jorge’s side and put his arm across his brother’s shoulder. Muttered words passed between them. Kali placed her hands on Ricardo’s back, either for comfort or balance.

  All the while, the crowd was gathering.

  Babs barged her way to the front. “Where’s Charles?” She pushed Jorge’s shoulder so he was looking up into her eyes. “Where’s Charles?”

  Jorge’s mouth worked, as if trying to form words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Forever passed before anyone moved.

  “No.” Babs stumbled back, shaking her head. “Oh God, no. He can’t be. He can’t. Fuck it. No.” She screamed.

  Catalina put her arms around Babs and hugged her while she sobbed.

  * * *

  Catalina did not return to the Barn that day. Once the shock wore off, she spent her time drifting aimlessly around the pathways of the inner island. First Alonzo, and now Charles and Piracola. Why did these last two deaths seem the more shocking? After all, she had known Alonzo far longer, and truthfully speaking, cared about him more. Was it that Alonzo’s death had been the closing act of the most turbulent, terrifying period of her life? Whereas the others had come at a time when she felt a measure of control returning? A time when there was hope life could get better?

  The sun dropped below the horizon, and the lights over the walkways began to shimmer blue. After the heat of the day, the air felt chill. Time to go to her room and try to sleep, although Catalina was not holding much hope of success.

  To her surprise, Catalina found she was at the opposite end of the island from the Squat. She had been unaware that her wandering route had taken her so far. She heard the sound of chanting, rising and falling, with a rhythm not so different from the Benedictine monks in the cathedrals of Spain. But here there was just a single voice, and the words were not Latin, or any other language she knew.

  Yaraha stood on the quay, facing the last pink bands of sunset. He was singing of Piracola, of that Catalina was sure. Was it private? Would he object to her listening? Yet she could not leave. Although she did not understand a word, the sorrow and loss in Yaraha’s voice touched her deeply.

  The last note faded. For a while, Yaraha stood motionless, then he turned to Catalina. “I thought it was you. I heard your footsteps.”

  “Was it all right, me staying to listen?”

  “You grieve for Piracola’s death?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Then it was all right. I sang for the stars and the sea to know of his passing. But I could not tell the land—our land.” The fading light did not hide the tears running down Yaraha’s face. “I’ve been a coward.”

  “How so?”

  “Hiding here. Refusing to face the world. Piracola wanted to return to our land. As did some of the others, when we first understood where we were. But I held out. I said it was too far, too unsafe. My father was a chief, and so my voice carried more weight. In the end there was just Piracola and me, and we no longer had any hope of paddling our way home.”

  “You felt responsible for them. Yes, it’s dangerous in Atlantis. Today is the proof of that. But a hopeless sea voyage would have been certain death.”

  “It wasn’t that. At first, I held back, deluding myself I might find a way to return to the time we had left. That I might see my family again. But then, when I learned the fate that would befall my people, I could not bring myself to return. I could not bring myself to look on a world where my people’s voices were no longer heard. Easier to stay here, with strangers and monsters, than to seek out what should be familiar, but is only the ghost of what has been lost. Had we voted yesterday, I would have chosen to hide here still, like a coward.”

  “I can understand that, I think. And I wouldn’t call it an act of cowardice.”

  “No. You do not honor the dead, by refusing to say their name. You do not heal a wound by denying it is there. You do not challenge a crime by closing your eyes. I am the last of the Timucua. I should go home. I need to go home.”

  He raised his eyes. The first stars glinted in the darkening sky. “And I only know this now. Now when I am the last, the very last. Piracola and I were never close. At first, he had his brothers, and by the time they died, I’d made friends with other castaways. Yet he was the last who knew my family, how my mother smiled, what my father’s voice sounded like. He knew the songs we sang as we worked. He had seen my son taking his first steps through our village. As long as he was here, there was someone I could talk to, though I never did. The chance is gone forever. It hurts more than I would have believed. Now only I remember.”

  “So you’re going to vote to fight the Minotaur and sink Atlantis?”

  “Yes. I will return to the world, to do whatever a man can, to make it a better place. Then that will be the legacy of my people, the Timucua.”

  * * *

  Catalina tried to concentrate on the texts, but it was impossible. A sense of urgency had prompted her to come back after dinner. She might as well have not bothered. She had been staring at the same page for five minutes without reading a word. Her mind would not stay on task. She flipped the notebook shut. No point wasting any more time.

  Tomorrow morning, straight after breakfast, would be the vote, and she still had no idea which way she would cast hers. She could join Madison in abstaining, although she would need to think of an excuse. Of course, given the current mood among the castaways, her vote would most likely count for nothing. Babs was now demanding to send the whole island to the bottom of the ocean, although she might have changed her mind again by morning. Floyd had also adopted a more militant viewpoint.

  Catalina stood in the doorway. The sky was black velvet, sprinkled with stars. A crescent moon hung low in the sky. The purple grass appeared translucent in its silver light, and nearby flowers released a sharp, citrus scent on the night air. She should go home and try to sleep, although Catalina suspected she would have no greater success at this than with reading.

  Close to the Squat, she spotted Sam, resting her elbows on a waist high ornamental wall and staring at the sky. They had hardly spoken since the deaths, mainly due to Catalina burying herself in her work.

  “Are the stars telling you much?”

  Sam looked round at the sound of her voice. “That it’s mid March.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because Perseus is directly overhead, and Orion is coming up there, and Aquarius is right over there.”

  “You know the constellations.” Why should this surprise her?

  “Of course. You’d be lost at sea without them. Don’t you?”

  “I know the names, and I’ve seen pictures in books, but the stars look so different when they’re in the sky, all jumbled together. I know Cassiopeia looks like a W, but I can make out dozens of Ws up there.”

  Sam laughed softly. “It’s over there.”

  “Right.” Catalina tried to pick out the correct stars. “Are you hoping to get advice from them?”

  “The stars can tell you where you’re going. Not what you’ll find when you get there.”

  “You don’t believe in astrology?”

  “No. Do you?”
r />   “I went to see an old fortune-teller, back in Spain.”

  “Did she tell you anything interesting, trustworthy?”

  “It was interesting. I’m not so sure how much trust I’d put in it.”

  “Wise. I’ve known sailors who put a lot of faith in the stars. From what I could see, they might as well have flipped a coin.”

  “You mean I’m not going to marry a grandee whose name starts with L and have six children?”

  “Was that what the fortune-teller told you?”

  “Yes.”

  Sam shrugged. “You might do it, I suppose.”

  “Do you think they’ll still have grandees in 2025?”

  “You’d have to ask Madison.”

  Catalina settled against the wall beside Sam. “How do you think the vote will go tomorrow?”

  “We’ll vote to leave. Losing Charles and Piracola has driven home how dangerous life is in Atlantis. Even Kali is less keen on bringing up her baby here. It was another coin toss before, but now I think the vote is settled.”

  Catalina nodded. The one point nobody was saying aloud, but had to have passed though everyone’s head, was the two fewer people wanting a place on the Okeechobee Dawn.

  “So if you weren’t consulting the stars for advice, why were you out here?”

  “They’re familiar, and beautiful, and I was wondering which one the aliens came from.”

  “The Greeks thought it was somewhere in Ursa Minor, but I don’t know which constellation that is.”

  “It’s to the north.”

  “Where?”

  “Behind you.”

  Sam put both hands on Catalina’s shoulders to turn her around. She pointed with one hand, but her other arm stayed around Catalina’s back, holding her steady. Catalina felt her body respond to their closeness. Her stomach did its elevator flip.

  She was nestled in the crook of Sam’s arm, leaning into Sam’s side, with Sam’s face scant inches away from her own. She could hear Sam talking about stars, but could not concentrate on a word of it. Ursa Minor was irrelevant. Catalina rested her head on Sam’s shoulder, and then turned so she could slip her arm around Sam’s waist.