The Wandering Isles

by C. L. Schneider

  “Let him go.” Ignoring my own advice, I struggled. My thrashings got me nowhere, earning nothing but blood as the net scraped deeper. I left off with a violent, breathless plea. “Enough! You’re hurting him!”

  “His wounds were suffered long ago. The fear is but an echo.”

  “An echo you caused,” I shot back. “He was over it.”

  “Was he?” Isuara challenged, “or did you wish him to be? Events such as your friend endured commonly leave permanent harm. Memories fade. Scabs form. Terror subsides to dark corners. Yet, what appears as healing, is often no more than a well-fitted mask. It can endure much. But, with the right stimulus, cracks form, letting the past bleed out fresh and new.”

  “You knew this would happen,” I said. “You exposed him to those memories, to that place. You preyed on his weakness because you could—because it amused you.”

  “You assess us too harshly. As my attendant explained, Kane’s condition is your doing, Troy. You were warned not to interfere, not to remove him prematurely. This is the result. Hale,” she tilted toward the male, “is merely cleaning up the spill. Availing himself of what is given.”

  “Jarryd isn’t giving anything. Look at him.” His body was shaking violently beneath the vines. Foam and blood ran from his open mouth. His eyes were rolling back in his head. “Goddammit, you’re killing him. Let him go!”

  “I take no orders from you,” Hale replied. “You who call out our transgressions to avoid accepting your own. Judging with emotion and not fact. Believing you know better than us. As did the Shinree who came before.” His sharp gaze tightened further. “They left knowing exactly what they are. As will you.”

  “Because one of you unmasked their fears? Played with their minds? Tortured them with what was and what could be?”

  “We offer a service,” he insisted. “Nothing more.”

  “A service you sought out,” Isuara reminded me.

  “Desired,” Hale added.

  “Believe me,” I said, “We didn’t desire this. But you did. It’s been a long time since anyone found this place, hasn’t it?”

  Hale shook his head with a low, mocking laugh. “More proof of your ignorance, Shinree. No one finds the Wandering Isles. The isles find you…if you are worthy.”

  “Because they need us,” I said. “Because you do. That’s why we’re here, why you’re still tolerating me. You can’t keep me fully inside the fantasies you create, you can’t control me like you do Jarryd. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to throw me away, either, because I’ve got what you need.”

  Neither replied. So I kept going.

  “You think I haven’t noticed the changes in you? You were dripping all over my fucking deck. Now, every time I see you, your bodies are more tangible. The ‘things’ holding your shape together are more alive. The shittier we feel, the healthier you get. As far as trades go, this one’s pretty goddamn lopsided.”

  “Distress clouds your perspective,” Isuara said.

  “Distress is not his issue” Hale argued. “The Shinree’s comprehension is limited by what he knows of the world, which is so very, very little.”

  “Maybe it is,” I said, “but, at least, I know enough to feel guilty when my magic feeds on someone.”

  “Do not compare your ways with ours,” he bristled. “We inflict no harm.”

  I looked at Jarryd. Hale’s vines were still down his throat, clinging to his face like a spider’s legs. His breathing, past the obstruction, was erratic. The convulsions had eased, but his glazed stare said he was elsewhere, seeing things I couldn’t.

  Maybe Hale didn’t grasp the ‘harm’ because he didn’t perceive life the same way. He didn’t understand the severity of what he was doing. But I did.

  Afraid Jarryd couldn’t last much longer, I fixed Isuara with a hard stare. I still didn’t have a plan. I didn’t even have a next move. I had intention and a building rage that wanted out. I gave it a target, letting the emotion bleed into my voice. “We’re leaving this place, Isaura. How bloody it gets is up to you.”

  Vines constricted, stiffening her posture. “Our time together is nearly done, Shinree. You will be returned to your ship soon. There is no more reason to resist or fight.”

  “Sure there is,” I said. “It makes me feel better. And ‘soon’ isn’t now.”

  I woke the obsidian. The stone wasn’t quite full, but it would have to do. I needed every wisp for whatever spell I was about to pull out of my ass. Even if it were replenished, the shard wouldn’t be enough. To cast anything with a hope of inflicting damage, I’d need to piggyback off the island’s magic again. It would be nice to know how I managed it before, I thought.

  Faced with Jarryd’s possible, imminent demise, I had no time for my trial and error strategy—and no room for doubt.

  As I welcomed the filmy, black aura inside me, the notion of freedom surfaced in my mind. The desire was barely a conscious thought, not even close to fleshed out—when a storm of power surged, like dark lightning, down my arm and into the sword. The weapon, swaddled in the tight net of vines, blurred and trembled in my grip. A faint glow bled off the fine edge. Watching it, my wonder became tinged with concern. What is this?

  What the hell did I create?

  Only a few tendrils of magic remained inside me. The rest was now located in the weapon lashed to my hand. More was answering my call, as I wanted. Only, it wasn’t the islanders’ magic. There was nothing foreign about the fresh, new auras swirling in and around me. The pulses were numerous and erratic, as if the stones had gone unused for some time.

  But I had no others on me. And I was no longer erudite.

  I can’t channel without physical contact. Where are they?

  Attempting to track the source, I narrowed my awareness and entwined the rushing streams. Their combined pulse grew instantly fierce and easier to find.

  The mass of power was… Down.

  They must be right below me, I thought, buried in the dirt beneath my boots. Spinel, citrine, hematite, agate—and two I hadn’t felt in a long time—bloodstone and tanzanite.

  The list went on as more stones roused at my presence. In magical terms, the collection was valuable. I couldn’t imagine any Shinree abandoning it willingly, but I was grateful they did. I had options and backup now. I could hold some magic in reserve and keep my first use of the stones simple and focused. The odds of success were better that way.

  One spell. One concentrated wish.

  With a single-minded focus, pure and committed, all it takes is one.

  A solitary abstract thought, a desire so powerful and absolute, it becomes tangible. I’ve done it before, I thought, as an erudite; and here, with the help of the islands’ magic. It’ll help me again. I know it will.

  Isuara was watching me. A faint inquisitive expression drew itself on her misty face. She knew what I was doing, yet she wasn’t stopping me. Were the stones bait? Was she wanting me to give her a reason to retaliate? But why trap us in the precise location of a weapon I could potentially use against her?

  My questions were important, but Jarryd was more so. And I had the feeling he wasn’t the only one running out of time. The glow on the blade was expanding at an alarming rate. Vibrations arced along the weapon’s length in sparkling waves. Power was amassing. Is it a conduit? I wondered. An amplifier?

  As if in answer to my thought, the surge zipped, cycling from blade-tip to pommel, then up my hand and arm, and back again—round and round, stronger with each pass. The prickly sensation it caused was growing increasingly uncomfortable. If the grip wasn’t fastened to my hand, I would have let go.

  A deep, thrumming filled the air, reverberating in my bones.

  The magic wanted out of me and the sword. And I wanted one thing.

  It was now or never.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The rainbow of auras separated from my body with an unusual whomp of pressure. A single, concentrated burst of pain followed, pushing a puzzled cry from my throat. It was a
deep, internal eruption, like the fracturing of something within. I had no chance to contemplate it. In the time it took to draw breath, a sharp vibrational resonance rippled across the sword, and the vines ensnaring it shattered. The pulse swept back over me, blasting my cage apart, bit by bit, exploding the casings into dust and splattering their contents. Red, viscous liquid fell in sticky clumps, clinging to the powder, coloring my skin and clothes.

  With a grumble of disgust, I wiped my face and flung the fluid to the ground. I stretched, relieved to move again. “Much better. Anyone else feeling a bit cooped up?” Grinning, spinning the sword in my grip, I glanced between the two islanders.

  Isuara signaled to Hale. He withdrew from Jarryd’s throat with a disappointed hiss. Tendrils retracted, significantly faster than they entered, leaving Jarryd gagging and gasping. A gush of blood bubbled out to wet his trembling chin as he fought to catch his breath.

  I trained menacing eyes on Hale, and the vines on his torso grew agitated. Several shoots separated from the network. Darkening and thickening, becoming more like branches, they reinforced his chest like a suit of armor. Red-tipped thorns grew and extended from the branches, sharp as any spear.

  It was an interesting, but recognizable, show of force. Yet, Hale wasted no time following Isuara’s lead as she backed up a few paces. It wasn’t much of a retreat, but the movement spoke of an unwarranted surprise. Isuara allowed me to cast. Why pretend otherwise? Did I truly pose so little a threat? Or was her dedication to the trade not as robust as she claimed?

  Whatever obligation Isuara had to maintain the Isles, it was certainly far less personal than my commitment to saving Jarryd. Taking revenge on his behalf was a power unto itself. Now, I was free, and it was my only goal.

  But I had to be careful. Magnified emotions, coupled with a surplus of magic, was a disastrous combination. One I employed a short time ago with the fake Crown of Stones. And that went so well, I thought, inundated with visions of Kabri in ruins, her citizens drained and crushed beneath the rubble.

  It didn’t matter if the recollections were false. They were mine now.

  “Is something wrong, Shinree?” Hale’s thorns gleamed with his snide tone. “Have you escaped only to realize you lack the power to hurt us?”

  “Fool,” Isuara scorned. “Do you not feel the change in him? He has found something.” Eagerness leapt into her voice. “Long-buried and forgotten, no more.”

  Hale’s voice shot up in outrage. “You speak of the Shinree stones. He has no right to those.”

  “And you do?” I said. “A Shinree would never leave behind this much power. Did you kill them? Are their bodies buried alongside the stones?”

  “Murder. Burial. Those are your practices,” Hale assured me, “not ours.”

  “Right. You leave your corpses to rot above ground. Like those bones I saw near the beach. Is that what happens to the hapless travelers you reel in? Or is it you, Hale? Are those skeletons all that’s left of your physical bodies? Bleached and dusty. Stretched out on the cracked ground. Neglected and forgotten. Do you visit yourself and mourn what you once were? Do you remember what it was like to live, to care about—”

  “You’re stalling,” he cut in. “Why?” An abrupt crush of weight descended, as Hale reached inside my mind for the answer. “Of course. You want to attack, but you’re afraid you won’t stop. Afraid you can’t stop.”

  The pressure multiplied, as he dove deeper. The ground beneath me wobbled. It spun, tilting and warping. Dizzy, I bent over to keep from falling. “Get…out…” I gasped.

  “It’s a constant worry,” he said, dismissing my demand. “Whatever good you do, whatever sacrifices you make, it doesn’t matter. One day, it will all be undone with a single mistake. A lapse in judgement. A moment of weakness. It’s all but inevitable.”

  “Get the fuck out of my head!” I lunged. Hale’s intrusion impeding my balance, I missed, slipped, and ended up in the dirt. I went for magic next, but the auras inside me felt far away, lost inside a steadily thickening haze.

  “The Shinree wishes to kill us,” he told Isuara. “Should we let him try?”

  “The decision is his,” she replied. “As will be the repercussions.”

  “I’ll live,” I panted, climbing to my feet. “I always do. And if you think calling me out, reminding me who I am, will make a difference—fuck you. I know what kind of man I am, what kind of magic user. I’m the kind who will burn the world down to save his friend.”

  Hale turned to Isuara. He pushed a dismissive grunt from his misty lips. “I agree with the others. Troy does not deserve the trade. We should leave him with his demons.”

  “Exchange has been offered,” Isuara said. “It cannot be withdrawn.”

  “There are exceptions,” Hale reminded her. “And alternatives.”

  “Yes, alternatives,” she mused, “like the one employed, just now, without my consent? I could have told you such a deception was a waste of resources.”

  “So that’s why you put us in the same nightmare,” I said, their argument making sense. “Your rules don’t include murder. You can’t break the bargain. But if you pit us against each other, if you set us up to kill each other—you’re off the hook.” I glanced at them both. Neither answered. “Is this how you deal with all your difficult customers? Set them on a collision course and hope neither survives?”

  “Not all among us are confident of your worth,” Isaura explained. “Your unusual level of awareness complicates and corrupts the process. We are not accustomed to such hostile, personal dealings. It is—”

  “Undesirable,” Hale broke in.

  Isuara silenced her companion with a swish of trailing vines. “Withdraw from Troy’s mind. Leave us.”

  His concave eyes widened. “Intimate contact was not agreed upon.”

  “Do you suggest I would provide more than was appropriate?” She let the question hang a breath before issuing her command. “Do as I say. Go. Prepare. Damage may be forthcoming.”

  “He is only Shinree,” Hale protested. “They cannot—”

  “He can. If you fail to recognize the danger, you are not fit to attend me.”

  Hale fell quiet. The heaviness lifted from my head, and his wrappings began to slither off, sluggishly at first, then faster. Thorns slid inside as the branches shrunk and unwound. As Hale’s “body” was released from captivity, his masculine shape lost cohesion, falling apart in a whoosh of spreading mist. The vaporous particles floated into the cloud wall. The area darkened and sunk inward, as if pulling Hale deep into its depths.

  When he was gone, Isaura rotated to face me. “Are you recovered?”

  My vertigo was gone. The landscape was still and straight. Magic was at my fingertips again. I left it there—for now—and nodded.

  “Good. Then before you attempt to add me to your tally, Shinree, there is something we must discuss.”

  “You want to talk? Then he goes free.” I tipped my head at Jarryd. “Send him back to the ship, and I’ll put the blade away. Deny me, and I’ll start hacking away at whatever is in reach.” I scanned the red lattice blanketing the ground. “I don’t fully grasp your relationship with the vines, but I have to believe your people would prefer I not destroy them…or you.”

  “Kane will be of little use to us in this state,” she said. “He may leave.”

  “What about his condition? Is it permanent? Will he be all right?”

  “That is up to him. Take this one,” she commanded, her trailing vines waving in Jarryd’s direction. “Complete the trade.”

  The fog stirred with whispers and dark streaks of dissent. I expected a challenge, but the web of stems confining Jarryd retreated and slid back to the ground. Limbs wobbly, covered in bloody lacerations, and barely conscious; Jarryd was free, but he was in no condition to stand.

  I moved to prop him up, then recoiled, as misty swirls jutted out and beat me to it. Gentle, but impossibly strong, the vaporous fingers supported Jarryd, keeping him on his feet.<
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  The change in sensation jolted him to awareness. Seeing what embraced him now, Jarryd’s eyes widened. He tried to speak, but the damage from Hale’s vines left him wincing. He swallowed and tried again. “What is this?” he croaked. “Ian…?”

  “You’re free to go,” I said. “They’re taking you back to the ship.”

  “What about you? You’re not coming?”

  “I’ll be right behind you. But if I’m not,” I caught Jarryd’s glassy eyes and held them. “I need you to go. Get the hell out of these waters and don’t come back.”

  “You know I won’t do that.”

  “You have to. I don’t want you falling back into their hands. Neither do you.”

  Jarryd stilled. My implication was plain.

  So was his anger.

  I looked at Isuara. “Do it.”

  The clouds around Jarryd expanded and rose over his body. I lost sight of his grim jaw, his tight brow, then the top of his head. His fury, biting through the link, disappeared next, as I closed our connection. I still didn’t like isolating him, but if something happened to me, Jarryd didn’t need to feel it.

  Like with Hale, the cloud wall enveloped the “cocoon” encasing Jarryd. The entire towering mass lifted from the ground, then, and withdrew. It peeled back over the landscape at a rapid pace, exposing the flat, dry ground and blazing sun underneath.

  As promised, I sheathed the sword. I went to where Jarryd stood a moment before. The air was still damp. Droplets beaded red on my skin. The islanders were the fog, but it was also their mode of transportation. If we’d been welcomed at their shores, I would have peppered Isuara with questions about their magic. Instead, my interest was easily redirected by a warm gust of salt air at my back, and the sudden crash of surf.

  “Wait…” I turned. We were no more than twenty feet from the edge of a high, rocky cliff. Far below, the sea glistened and swelled. Waves bounced between the circle of barren islands. This wasn’t where we were. Jarryd and I were crossing an empty field when the fog rolled in. Did it move us, somehow, without us knowing? Unless… The landscape itself shifted.