by Bex Hogan
‘That’s right,’ one of the men says, noticing the direction of my gaze. ‘There’s as much blood in the ground here as there is rock.’ Then his voice changes. ‘Why did you come?’ Now he sounds desperate, as if my presence has caused him pain.
I open my mouth, without knowing what I might possibly say, but before any sound can spill from it, something moves behind me. Spinning round, expecting danger, I see the old man I’d given up for dead struggling to his feet. He stares at his hands for a moment before looking up at me.
‘You’re alive,’ I say, relieved to have been wrong about his fate. ‘Are you hurt?’ But he just continues to stare and a sense of foreboding passes through me, raising the hair on my arms.
And then the shouts start.
My head whips towards the harbour where the sound is coming from, my heart beginning to race. I turn briefly back but there’s no surprise on the others’ faces. They look sad, as if they expected nothing less.
Sensing I will get no answers from them, I race towards the settlement, pulling my knife free as I run. Once I’ve scaled the rock separating the cove from the harbour, I see men fleeing from the tavern, stumbling in their haste and looking all the more fearful for their delay. As I draw near, I grab the arm of one man, recoiling when I see his terror.
‘What is it?’ I ask, unsettled by the chaos.
He stares at me as if he doesn’t really see me. He just points frantically at the tavern, before spinning on his heel and running away as fast as he can.
I frown, wondering what could possibly have caused such a reaction, and resolve to find out for myself, but as I weave through those fleeing, more screams reach my ears. More distant screams. Coming from the direction my friends went. And as I hear other sounds too – the clink of steel, the crack of pistols firing – I abandon my thoughts of the tavern.
Sprinting towards the town, my only thoughts now are of Olwyn and Rayvn. Though I know they’re skilled fighters, they’ve also never left the relative safety of the mountains and, having encouraged them to leave, I feel responsible for them.
As my fear increases the nearer I get to the main settlement, I realise it’s more than that. I’ve grown to love them. They’re my family. The thought of anything happening to them is too much to bear.
The road I’m on leads straight from the harbour to the settlement, a snaking incline flanked by crimson trees, their trunks twisted, their long feathery branches sighing mournfully as they sweep the ground. Those running from the harbour like myself are soon met by a wall of other people coming towards us – fleeing the settlement. It’s mayhem, the reek of fear unavoidable. The two opposing crowds meet each other and more shouting commences; it’s mere moments before the first punches are thrown. I try to overhear what people are afraid of, but only get snatches that make no sense. The best I can decipher is that there’s been some sort of invasion. I run faster.
Dodging through the crowds, I finally reach the settlement and grind to a halt – partly because I have no idea where I’m going, but also to take in the sight before me. There are people everywhere and they can easily be divided into two categories. Those who look confused and those who look afraid. Pistols are being fired, but no one is falling to the ground and I can’t understand what’s happening.
Someone grabs my arm, and I spin to defend myself, but it’s only Olwyn. I pull her into an embrace.
‘I was coming to find you,’ she says and I hear her relief that she’s managed it so quickly.
‘What’s happening?’ I ask her, alarmed by how pale she looks.
‘It’s Astrid’s father,’ she says. Though she’s clearly scared, I can see a glint in her eye. She’s also excited. ‘He’s alive.’
‘So?’ I’m still struggling to understand.
‘He wasn’t. Astrid was mourning for him. But now he’s back. They all are.’
‘Who are?’
‘The dead, Marianne.’ And her eyes dance with wonder. ‘The dead have risen.’
It’s not possible. I know it’s not. And yet I believe Olwyn completely, as if it’s the only conclusion anyone could possibly reach. My eyes scan the scene again and this time it makes sense. People are seeing ghosts and in their fear are shooting them, trying to return them to their graves. When they fail, it only makes them more afraid. The dead, on the other hand, simply seem bewildered, uncertain why they are here, confused by the response.
Olwyn is tugging at my sleeve. ‘Come on, we have to get back to the others.’
I let her take my hand and lead me through the street, ducking and weaving to avoid the chaos.
‘Moyra?’
Something about the voice cuts through me, and though it’s not my name being called, I know it’s directed at me. I turn to see who’s spoken, my hand slipping away from Olwyn’s. The woman is staring at me like I’m the ghost and I step towards her, suddenly oblivious to what’s happening round me, drawn to the unnerving familiarity about her.
Standing directly in front of me, searching my face, the woman cries out, her hand flying to her mouth. ‘Oh! You look so like her,’ she says, and I’m stunned to hear the dead speak.
‘Like who? Moyra?’ I think I already know the answer.
‘Yes. But you have a look about him too, mind. You’re their young lass?’ And the woman’s face is full of love and sorrow.
Tears spring all too quickly to my eyes. ‘You knew my parents?’
The woman nods. ‘Oh yes.’ And then she smiles. ‘I loved your father his whole life.’
I realise why she looks so familiar. I’ve seen that nose in the looking glass. The angle of her brow is the same as my own. ‘You’re his mother?’
‘I am.’
‘My grandmother.’
A radiant smile spreads across her face, matching mine.
Olwyn has doubled back to see what’s delayed me and is staring at us in confusion. ‘Marianne?’
My grandmother tilts her head. ‘Marianne.’ She echoes my name.
No. I want her to know the truth. Want her to know the name my parents chose for me. ‘They called me Mairin. That’s my real name.’
My grandmother smiles at me. ‘I’m Baia. It’s so wonderful to meet you.’
Olwyn looks more than a little unnerved that I’m talking to a dead woman, and reaches for me. ‘We have to go.’
There’s no doubt it’s dangerous out here on the streets, but if Olwyn thinks I’m going to walk away from the closest family member I’ve ever met, she’s sorely mistaken.
‘Come with us?’
Olwyn doesn’t look best pleased that I’ve invited a ghost to join us, but I don’t care and feel a great sense of relief when my grandmother nods.
‘We must hurry,’ Olwyn says again, and this time I go with her, checking Baia is following behind.
Despite the madness devouring the island, I find myself impressed with Olwyn’s sense of direction as she leads us swiftly through the narrow, cobbled streets to a small cottage, where we bang on the door.
Mordecai opens it, and his already pale face grows whiter when he sees we’ve brought company. He ushers us in before slamming the door shut, barricading it with a heavy table.
The small room is fit to burst with people, all of whom look equally spooked. On one side all my friends are hovering, Jax’s arms round the woman I presume is Astrid. Her eyes are locked without blinking on the man she recently buried, who now sits in a chair on the opposite side of the room.
‘What’s going on?’ I say, hoping someone has some answers.
But everyone looks equally blank – apart from my grandmother.
‘Don’t you know?’ she says to me. ‘You did this.’
I stare at her, my face beginning to burn as I realise everyone’s looking at me. ‘No I didn’t.’
It’s Astrid whose eyes widen as she understands what Baia is implying and she pulls away from Jax, her attention now directed solely at me. ‘They said you were staying with the ship. Did you come on land before t
his started? Did you go to the sands?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I went to the cove beside the harbour. There was someone in trouble.’ My voice is too defensive, but it’s strange to meet someone for the first time and have to convince them you aren’t responsible for the reappearance of their recently deceased father.
Astrid glances at Baia who nods, as if confirming Astrid’s unspoken theory.
‘What is it?’ Mordecai says.
‘You don’t know the legend?’ Astrid looks from Mordecai to Jax, but they both seem none the wiser. ‘How a child of the bloodline could call forth the island’s spirits through the blood in the ground?’
I remember sinking into the sand, channelling my anger, my regret for the dead I have failed, into it. I shake my head. ‘No. Please no.’
Rayvn narrows her eyes. ‘Is that even possible?’
Astrid gestures to the outside. ‘Do you have another explanation?’
Sickness rises inside me. The old man from the beach. He didn’t recover; he was dead. I brought him back. It was me. It was all me.
‘I didn’t know!’ The words come out like a gasp. ‘How could I have known? What kind of island is this?’
Astrid looks at me through her dark lashes, wild curls of hair not unlike my own framing half her face, the other half of her head shaved close to the skin. ‘A cursed one. One where your magic is connected to its very roots. Long ago, there was an uprising on the Twelfth Isle. The people were starving, and the fault lay entirely with the King, who only cared about smoking billo-weed day and night. The King demanded the people from all islands fight for the crown against the rebels. But the Ninth refused their help. After much bloodshed, the rebellion failed, but once he had revelled in his victory, the King turned his wrath on the Ninth. Outraged by their betrayal, he used what little magic he possessed to tie the spirits of our ancestors to his descendants. Those that died on this land could never know peace, always waiting should the royalty summon them, bound to obey them for ever. But the dead have slept for centuries, the legend passing from generation to generation our sole reminder of the blood curse. Until today.’
‘I’m sorry.’ What else can I possibly say?
‘There must be some other way to stop this.’ Olwyn remains ever practical.
My grandmother comes to rest her hands on my shoulders. ‘There is. You simply need to leave these shores and we will return to the place you summoned us from.’
‘Then we must hurry,’ Mordecai says. ‘Before this island tears itself apart.’
‘Wait.’ Though I’m sorry I’ve disturbed the dead and terrified the living, I’m not ready to bid farewell to my grandmother just yet.
Ignoring the others, I face Baia once more and see understanding in her eyes. She knows I have questions only she can answer.
‘You have magic in you,’ she says, and she sounds proud. ‘Do not be afraid, Mairin. Of yourself, or of it. Learn instead to embrace who you are.’
‘Did my mother have magic?’ I’m thinking of what Mama suggested, that perhaps my mother had sought out Esther for the very reasons I had.
‘Oh yes.’ Her smile fades. ‘Do you know nothing of your parents?’
‘Only that they were murdered.’
If the dead can feel pain, then I’ve just stuck a blade through my grandmother. It’s clear she hadn’t known their fate before she died and it takes her a moment to gather herself. ‘I wish we had more time,’ she says. ‘There is much to speak of. But your friends are right. Our presence here is only causing harm.’
Mordecai looks grateful and motions to move, but my grandmother holds up her hand.
‘But this you must hear – all of you.’ Though she’s speaking to the room, her eyes lock firmly upon my own. ‘Your father was a Guardian of the Royal Bloodline. That’s how they met. He devoted his life to protecting Moyra and, though it was forbidden, they fell in love. But they were being hunted and they fled here, afraid. They wouldn’t tell me what troubled them, but nothing had ever scared your father before. Moyra wanted to learn how to protect herself and so they were seeking the Mage on the Eighth. Clearly they were too late. I don’t know what evil pursued them, but be warned: it may still be looking for you. Be careful, my child.’
It’s a lot of information to absorb. My father was a Guardian? I had always wondered about him, but I’d never considered this possibility, though I don’t know why. It makes more sense than anything else. It would seem I inherited my fighting skills from my father, my magic from my mother. I’ve never missed them more than right now.
‘They were fleeing Adler,’ I say, my voice flat. ‘He’s no longer a threat to me.’
But my grandmother doesn’t look convinced. ‘I perceive the danger to you most acutely. Trust no one.’
Mordecai touches my arm. ‘We have to get you out of here. Please.’
I glance over at Astrid, who’s moved to kneel beside her father, savouring these stolen minutes together. Her grief is an open wound and I can’t keep her in distress any longer.
‘One last thing,’ I say to Baia. ‘Can I …’ I struggle to put my question into words, but she knows what’s in my heart.
‘Can you raise the dead on other islands?’ she guesses.
We both know I’m thinking of my parents. I would do almost anything to have the chance to meet them, to speak with them.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says with a shake of her head. ‘Only those who’ve bled into this rock are yours to raise. But while I shall always be here for you, do not call me lightly. It was a cruel act of the King to bind us to the living. Souls should be allowed to rest with the earth.’
I nod, even as tears prick my eyes. I don’t want to lose her so quickly after having found her.
Though everyone’s itching to go, I don’t move, looking up at my grandmother through misty eyes, thinking of Old Tatty’s prophecy, which never truly leaves me. ‘Does it hurt?’
Baia’s eyes are full of sorrow. ‘To die? Yes. To be dead? Not at all.’
The tears spill now as I say, ‘Goodbye.’ The moment the word escapes my lips, Mordecai seizes his opportunity and unblocks the door. Astrid bids a tearful farewell to her father and together our group of the living run back into the hectic town.
We sprint hard towards the harbour, and as my feet pound along the track I curse myself for not listening to my own internal warning to stay off this island. And yet I can’t regret meeting my grandmother – even if she is dead. To have learned about my father is a gift I wouldn’t trade for anything.
But as we reach the harbour my heart sinks. In their desperation to flee the island people are trying to take any boats they can – including ours.
‘No, no, no,’ Mordecai shouts when he sees a group of men boarding his beloved sloop.
Roaring with aggression, we cut through the frantic crowds, our determination far outweighing theirs. Though the men have successfully untied Mordecai’s ship and are starting to pull away from the port by the time we get there, the boat hasn’t gone far enough to stop us all from leaping aboard.
The second my feet leave the land, the change is noticeable. I can almost hear the island breathing a sigh of relief.
Rayvn and Olwyn are able to knock several of our unwanted passengers into the water with their spears, while the rest of us resort to our fists. It’s not far for the thieves to swim once we’ve sent them overboard, and only when we’re alone do we all relax.
Jax is the first to laugh – a noise filled with nervous tension. ‘Astrid, meet Marianne. Our rightful Queen and apparently the bringer of nightmares.’
Despite having every reason not to like me one bit, Astrid comes and gives me a warm embrace. ‘It’s so good to finally meet you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, feeling more than a little awkward. ‘For your loss.’
Her eyes swim with tears. ‘Thank you. You know the pain of losing a father.’
I squeeze her hand, but say nothing. I never knew my real father to grieve for him,
and I took the life of the cruel man who raised me. I can only ever mourn for what might have been.
As we settle down to our journey, I notice once more how Rayvn sticks closely to Mordecai’s side, asking him endless questions about sailing, the mechanics of the ship, the sails. Her thirst for knowledge makes me smile. She’s like a bird who’s been kept in a cage her whole life and has finally been shown the open sky. Her wings are stretching for the first time and she’s realising how far they reach.
Olwyn comes to sit beside me with a mangwyan fruit sliced for us to share.
‘Hungry?’
I’m not, but I take a piece anyway, because I want her company.
‘Rayvn likes the sea,’ I say, nodding in her direction.
Olwyn smiles, but there’s sadness there. ‘There’ll be no return to the mountains for her.’
I chew the sweet flesh without tasting it. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because I’ve known her all my life,’ Olwyn says. ‘And I’ve never seen her so …’ She searches for the right word. ‘… alive.’
‘How about you?’ I ask. ‘Do you feel alive?’
Olwyn takes her time before answering. ‘I’m glad to have the opportunity to leave the mountains, to see the islands. But I feel like a child taking her first steps. Like I could fall at any moment. There’s so much I don’t know, and an overwhelming amount to learn. It feels like I can’t quite get the air into my lungs quickly enough to breathe properly, that I might blow away like dust on the wind.’
I watch her closely, the way she stares out to sea, letting the breeze cool her skin, and for a moment she seems so fragile. But I know her better than that. Olwyn is the calm to Rayvn’s storm. Where Rayvn burns with fire, Olwyn runs deeper than the ocean. Her wisdom is her strength, her steadiness an anchor. The more she doubts herself, the more I trust her.
‘Today I watched the dead walk,’ she says, turning away from the water now. ‘I don’t know the rules any more.’
I lean my head on to her shoulder. ‘Neither do I.’