by Bex Hogan
I doubt I want to know. ‘And what would that be?’
‘You know how to fight.’
With a smile I slide his pistols back over the table to him. ‘Best you don’t forget it.’
After that Raoul lets me help out on the ship. Whenever I’m with Lilah I try to coax out some memories from wherever she’s buried them, with no success.
But while my attempts fail, I can’t help but notice that as Lilah spends time with Raoul, a closeness is beginning to form. Though she has no memory of him, though she’s scared and far from home, Lilah is being drawn to Raoul again, whatever brought them together in the first place doing so once more. Love is a magic far more powerful than any I can ever hope to weave.
Watching them makes me ache for Bronn. Every day I search for a sign of the Maiden but the waters are practically deserted. We barely pass a fishing vessel, let alone traders. Fear is making everyone wary of venturing far from home.
On the fifth day, when the black silhouette of the Third Isle comes into view, Raoul joins me where I’m pitching the deck.
‘It’s time for you to leave,’ he says, throwing an arm round my shoulder.
I lean against my mop as I look up at him. ‘So what, are you going to throw me overboard?’
‘That depends. Can you swim?’
I laugh, and shake my head. ‘I’m going to miss you, Raoul.’
‘Somehow I doubt that.’ He pauses. ‘Before you leave, may I read for you?’
It takes me a moment to realise he means the rúns. The prospect of having my future read makes me feel more than a little uneasy and Raoul notices.
‘No fate is set,’ he says. ‘The stones don’t rule you. But sometimes guidance can be beneficial.’
I’m hardly in a position to turn that down and so I agree. We sit on the deck and Raoul takes the rún stones from their pouch. He scatters them before me and frowns.
‘What?’ My heart sinks. ‘Is it that bad?’
He doesn’t answer, just picks them up and throws them again. His frown only deepens.
‘What, am I going to die?’ I’m only half joking.
But when he looks up at me he’s not laughing. I see doubt in his eyes. And fear.
‘There’s another ancient prophecy, one we’ve all grown up hearing on the Third Isle. A storm is coming. A wild fury that will devour night and day, earth and sea, until all that remains is sorrow. Fear her, face her, destroy her. But no one ever knew who or what it referred to.’
A shiver passes through me. ‘What do the rúns say, Raoul?’
‘Fear her. Face her. Destroy her.’
Our eyes meet, and a fatal sense of destiny claims me. ‘What does that mean?’
Raoul shakes his head. ‘I don’t know.’ He hesitates before saying, ‘Are you the storm, Marianne?’ For the first time since I’ve met him he sounds truly afraid.
‘Raoul!’ The shout comes before I can answer, and we both turn to where his first mate is standing, pointing out to sea.
‘What is it?’ Raoul runs over to look. ‘It’s the King’s Fleet. It’s time you were gone.’
He’s grabbing my arm, and leading me towards the back of the Nightshade. ‘I’ve put some provisions in your boat, but it’s not much I’m afraid.’
I glance at the small dory. ‘There’s no way I can outrun the Fleet in that.’
Raoul reaches round his neck and removes a cord with a circular black pendant. Made of wood, there’s an intricate carving of a forest on the front, which I glimpse briefly before Raoul places it over my head.
‘This is a talisman I made. It will hide you from your enemy’s gaze.’
I must look stunned because he chuckles to himself. ‘How do you think I’ve managed to avoid detection for so long?’
‘I can’t take this.’ It’s too much.
‘Take it. Live. And come back to us when you find a way to help Lilah.’
Lilah. ‘I haven’t said goodbye.’
Raoul pushes me towards the dory. ‘There isn’t time. Unless you’re after a family reunion with your father-in-law.’
I’m really not, and so I climb down into the boat, untying the rope and throwing it back up to him.
As I take the oars and start to pull away, I call, ‘Why are you helping me?’
Raoul flashes that brilliant smile. ‘Because you’re the girl who didn’t shoot.’
And when my mouth drops open, he starts to laugh.
I can hear it long after the ship disappears from view.
The last time I rowed from the Third Isle to the Fourth, I had to commandeer a sailing vessel to make it there alive.
But I’m not the same person as I was then. And I don’t have a choice – there simply are no other ships. I’m going to have to get there the hard way.
This dory is not designed for the open sea, nor do I have a compass, and so I know it’s going to be a tough journey. Thanks to the meagre supplies Raoul was able to give me at least I won’t starve, and the sun isn’t as hot as the last time I took this route, so I definitely have better odds.
The days are filled with the endless rhythm of pull, release, backwards, forwards. Sleep is a luxury I can’t afford or I’ll drift, so I only allow myself short naps during the day, making full use of the stars at night to guide me. My hands are bleeding, rubbed raw from the friction of the oars, the muscles in my arms and back screaming for relief, but I force my mind not to dwell on it. Distraction from pain is the only way I’m reaching the Fourth Isle, and so I focus on what lies ahead, all the while doing my best not to think about what’s behind me.
I wish I’d had more time with Raoul, learned more about his people, although I wasn’t disappointed that his uncomfortable reading of the rúns was cut short. I don’t want to spend too long wondering why the words of an ancient and dark prophecy would attach themselves to me. I’d rather speculate as to how he knew I didn’t kill the man at my Initiation. It’s possible that news from the trial travelled fast enough to reach his ears, but somehow I don’t think that’s the source of his knowledge. I’ll ask him one day, if I live that long. But, in a way, setting off on my own is for the best. While I certainly would have liked to revisit the Third Isle, the Fourth Isle was always my intended destination.
I once met a woman there who saw straight to the truth of me, who knew secrets she shouldn’t. Though it’s entirely possible the savagery of Adler killed her, I suspect Old Tatty would survive the end of the world. It’s more going to be a case of finding her.
It rains on the fifth day after I leave the Nightshade, and while at first the water is welcome as it replenishes my diminishing supply, I’m soon soaked, and by nightfall am frozen to my core. My already slow progress grows ever more laboured. When I feel close to giving up, however, I think of Torin and of Sharpe, and how every minute I journey further away from them is another until I can return with help, and that keeps me going.
Worse is to come, though. Just as my journey is nearing its end, the tantalising shadow of land visible on the horizon lowering my defences, I get some company. Not soldiers this time, or indeed any kind of person. The threat now is from beneath me. A young giant serpentshark decides I look interesting and circles my boat aggressively. Even though he’s far from fully grown, his sleek body is twice the length of my boat. He starts banging the hull with his long snake-like head and all I can do is hope he’ll get bored and move away. Even if he intends me no harm, one swipe from his strong tail could capsize me and though I’ve been working hard to overcome my fear of the water, I have no desire to find myself in the ocean’s grasp. But perhaps he smells the blood on my hands and the sweat on my skin, because he soon identifies me as food.
He charges towards my boat, slithering through the water like a giant eel. My little dory will fold like paper against even a young serpentshark’s jaws so I know I have to act fast. Wielding an oar in one hand, I attack first, smashing it down into the open mouth of the approaching shark, which fortunately hasn’t yet dislocated
, otherwise he could devour me and my boat in one mouthful. His teeth viciously clamp down on the oar, devouring chunks with every bite, but as he does so I’m able to draw him towards me, close enough that I can plunge the knife in my other hand deep into his skin, gliding it between the silver armour-like scales.
Instantly he recoils from me, his blood staining the ocean.
Despite how quickly the water turns red, I know I’ve not delivered a fatal blow, and I wait for him to rally for a second attack. But whether he wasn’t expecting such a fight or just isn’t that hungry, he decides I’m not worth the effort and to my great relief he swims away.
Not wanting to hang about to see if he changes his mind, I grab my remaining oar and use it as a paddle, alternating sides as needed, my journey even harder than it was before. But, to be honest, I’m feeling lucky I still have two hands after having them so close to the serpentshark’s razor-sharp fangs.
The shark doesn’t reappear, and it isn’t too long before I finally reach the Fourth Isle. I beach the battered dory, and a quick inspection shows how close the hull was to breaching after the serpentshark’s attack. Leaving it where it is, without bothering to hide it, I grit my teeth and press on, though I desperately want to rest. No one will care about a little wrecked boat on the sand, but seeing me would be a different matter.
Up ahead a flock of gulls are screaming on the sands, others circling above. I think nothing of it until a rotten smell carries on the wind and I cover my nose with my arm to stop from gagging. As I make my way up the beach I see the cause: dead fish carried in on the tide and left to decompose in the sun. I frown at the sight. It’s not unusual to see the odd lone carcass dropped by a passing bird, or unwanted by a scavenger. But this must be a whole shoal, and I cannot think of a reason for them all to have died at the same time.
Keen to escape both the smell and the noise, I hurry further on to the island.
When I first arrived on these shores all that time ago, my overwhelming impression was of beauty, endless meadows of colour and life. Now it is ash. A barren and dead land. I swallow back my pain as I take the path inland, accompanied by ghosts. I want to confront them, need to confront them, and so, despite my exhaustion, I head for the place I once called home.
The ground isn’t too dissimilar to the Third Isle now, but while the forests and plants there thrive on the black earth, here it repels life. The smell of smoke lingers on the air, a constant thickness clawing at my throat.
But it’s only when I approach the cottage that the devastation truly hits me. The babbling stream is dried up, the house nothing more than a burnt-out shell. I clamp my hand over my mouth to hold back the sob that’s quick to rise as I force myself to keep walking to where the grave is.
The mound of earth I raised is practically the only thing the fire didn’t destroy. Tired and alone, I drop to my knees and lie down on top of the grave. Though I’ll never forgive myself for what happened to Joren, Clara and Tomas, I can’t help but wonder if it’s a good thing they never witnessed this sight. It would have broken their hearts as it breaks mine.
I don’t know how long I lie there, but soon the earth is wet with tears I hadn’t realised were falling. Pressed against the ground, I listen for any trace of magic, something deep and salvageable, but hear nothing. The hum of the mountain on the First had given me hope, but the magic seems to be truly gone here.
I clench my fists, crushing the dusty ash between my fingers, and I whisper into the earth.
‘I’ll find a way to fix this,’ I say, knowing that my family can’t hear me, yet longing for them to. ‘I promise you. Somehow I’ll bring your island back.’
I roll over and look up at the sky, drained of all emotion. My grief has caught me off guard; I thought I’d said goodbye to these people a long time ago. I hadn’t realised how much I missed them, hadn’t understood that grief never really leaves, only fades. I’ve been so determined to look forward, desperate to atone for Adler’s sins, that I’ve not allowed myself to feel the losses along the way. But if you forget your people, then what’s the point?
When I’m ready to say goodbye, I stand up, dusting off the ash as best I can from my clothes. There really is nothing left to stay here for and so I head towards the settlement.
I pass no one. People either died on this island or fled. And yet despite this, I sense I’m not alone. Someone knew I’d come and is waiting for me. Though the settlement had hardly been bursting with life the last time I was here, now it’s little more than embers. It’s hard to tell where the main street once was, but I make my way through the wreckage, my heart as heavy as my legs, searching for anywhere that someone might find shelter.
I needn’t have bothered.
Old Tatty is sitting in the dirt, huddled in rags, her frame little more than paper-skin on bones, and when I see her she starts to laugh.
‘My magic girl,’ she says, spreading her arms wide. ‘You’ve come at last.’
‘Hello again,’ I say, settling myself down on the ground opposite her. ‘So you survived then?’
She waves her hand dismissively. ‘As if you doubted it.’
The old woman may be alive, but I doubt it will be for long, judging by the frailty of her body, if not her mind. I reach into my bag and offer her some bread. She looks at it like it’s a personal insult.
‘Keep it,’ she says. ‘Your need is greater.’
I’m not sure I agree with that, but I’m not going to force it on her, though I don’t put it away either. She may yet change her mind.
‘You know why I’m here?’ It seems reasonable to imagine she does, given she was waiting to greet me.
‘You want to know about the magic.’
I nod, strangely relieved. ‘I need to know how important it is. Whether I should follow its pull, or forget it for ever.’
‘It all depends why you’re asking. Do you ask for yourself, or for others?’
I frown. ‘Does it make a difference?’
Old Tatty grabs a handful of black dust and throws it at me. ‘Of course it does. Don’t you understand yet what you’re dabbling in?’
I refrain from spitting the dirt from my mouth, but wipe my lips. ‘Is magic the only way to truly restore peace to the Isles? That’s why I’m asking, why I’m here.’ But even as I say it, I know I’m lying. It’s not the only reason I’m here. I’m asking for myself too. Seeking permission to give in to temptation and answer its call.
Old Tatty surveys me. ‘Who are you?’
I frown with confusion but before I can reply she continues impatiently.
‘Are you the Viper? A princess? Eastern, Western? Do you know who you are?’ She sees the hesitation on my face and pounces on it. ‘You need to know. You must know. If you don’t possess that strength, you will never master magic.’
She’s hit on several nerves and I can feel myself getting defensive. Even before I knew the truth of my heritage, I wasn’t entirely sure who I was, and I’ve just fought on, not allowing myself time to dwell on where my place really lies. ‘I don’t see why it matters.’
I’m prepared for the shower of dirt she throws at me this time, but not for her venom. ‘Foolish girl. Don’t you know why the Mages died out? They didn’t need a king to eliminate them. They destroyed themselves. What is magic if not power? And nothing corrodes more certainly than power. To truly understand magic you must be willing to risk everything, sacrifice all, be prepared to give yourself up to the power – without losing yourself to the power.’ She gives a sad shake of her head. ‘They all lose themselves in the end. If you don’t have the strength, you’ll lose yourself too.’
I stare at the old woman and wonder when she became lost.
Her words make sense. I’ve always been afraid of my desire for magic, of the overwhelming urge to abandon myself to it. I’ve glimpsed its power and tasted its sweetness. I long for it – I always have – and that terrifies me. Because I know there’s darkness in me. I know it would be easy to lose myself to it fo
r ever.
‘Can the Isles ever be at peace without magic?’ I ask my original question again.
Old Tatty reaches for my hand now, running her bony fingers along my palm in a manner that I think is intended to be reassuring, but is decidedly not. ‘No. Without magic there can never be true peace.’
I sigh, feeling the weight of inevitability settle over me. ‘But how? How does someone even bring back the magic?’
She gives me a knowing look. ‘Someone? Or you?’ Then she scoffs. ‘Only a Mage has the ability to restore the magic here, to let the islands flourish once more. As for how? I lack such knowledge. Everyone does.’
Exasperated, I say, ‘And what of the West? There’s magic there, but still unrest.’
Old Tatty pulls away from me now and spits in the dirt, stirring the two together into a mucky paste. ‘Without magic there can’t be peace. But the existence of magic alone doesn’t ensure it. Have you not listened to all I’ve said?’
‘So I need to learn magic, but not be corrupted by it?’
Now she smiles, and it stretches wider and wider until she starts to cackle. ‘You’ve got it, Viper girl. Do you begin to understand? Do you begin to fathom what it is you’re asking?’
It’s an impossible task. No wonder she’s gone mad. To have the solution but know it’s unattainable is enough to drive anyone to insanity. And yet … what can I do? I’ve vowed to protect these lands, these people. I have to try. For Bronn. For Torin. I have to try.
Old Tatty shakes her head like she can read my mind.
‘You know I have to do it,’ I say. ‘You knew it before I came. So help me. If there’s anything you can tell me, please. Help me.’
Her finger continues to swirl patterns in the pasty earth. ‘Magic comes from nature. It is either given or taken. It is rarely given – to command nature you must earn its respect. If it is taken? Then you are nothing more than a thief. A powerful thief, but a thief nonetheless.’
She pauses in her pattern making and frowns. I realise now that the motion was not random; she was casting some spell and it’s told her something. Something that worries her.