by A. K. Koonce
“It’s within the void between the stars,” I say quietly, finding a sense of belonging behind the wheel. The comfort the ship gives me is a calm I find nowhere else. There’s a sense of belonging here that I once had before Resurrection was even a thought in my mind.
I point to the darkness between two brilliant, shining stars, a place I’ve resided for hundreds of years. A place I’ll live for all the years to come until the sky falls in on the forsaken ground and grants me the peace I desperately seek.
The darkness settles around us, blocking the moonlight from this angle. Closer and closer we sail, my knuckles turning white from the strength I use to keep the helm in place. Its constant refusal to return home shakes the frame of the ship. Alexandra’s empty plate clatters against the bench she sits on before falling to the floor. Lucas holds tightly to a railing, but doesn’t appear alarmed; it’s just another trip home.
I steal a glance back at Alexandra who stands quickly, a look of fear in her eyes as the deck shakes beneath her feet. The floor itself seems unstable, threatening to break apart under the demands of the shifting universe. Unexpectedly, she closes the space between us, rushing on unstable legs to my side before holding tightly to the stair railing in front of the wheel.
Our eyes meet, her pale hair whipping around her face. The ship groans in protest against the collective wind that roars around us. She trusts me, and it scares the hell out of me. But her chest heaves, and for the first time tonight she looks like she might have made a mistake. Like the climb to the top of her tower and jump to the bottom was nothing compared to this moment. And she’s right. Leaping is simple. Standing with weighted dread is hard.
I reach out toward her, my hand leaving its hold on the spoke, risking our journey just to comfort her. The moonlight disappears from the sky and total blackness descends around us. The air stills in place, and pressure fills my lungs for a short span of time. I see her reach for my hand as well.
And then we’re gone. Nothing but the silence of the night left behind us in our wake.
CHAPTER THREE
Resurrection Island
When the unnaturally vibrant colors of the sand and trees come into our view, her face lights up, and I almost don’t regret bringing her here.
Resurrection Island has the same effect on everyone. It pulls you in like a living creature, sinking its claws into you, and devours you whole. And you love every second of it. It’s like an addiction without the threat of death – because death was your arrival.
But Alexandra’s different. She doesn’t look at the sea, and the sky, and the Island like an adventure or an escape, which it definitely is. She looks at it with innocence and curiosity. And maybe a little bit of … fear.
She should feel fear. She should have felt it the moment she laid eyes on me. The moment I touched her. The moment she stepped her bare foot to the ancient, enchanted—and possibly cursed—deck of the ship.
“And you don’t age here?” she asks inquisitively, her soft voice breaking the silence. The sound of waves brushing against the ship is the only other thing I hear.
My infatuation with her is breeding in me. It’s getting so out of hand that even I have started to notice. I notice because I’ve begun to hang on the dips of her accent and the way she emphasizes words normal people do not. I also can’t help but notice how smooth her skin looks under the natural morning sunlight.
This world has already begun healing her scrapes and bruises. She looks healthier and more alive, happy even, without the tower walls pressing in on her. Even with soot staining her clothes and face, she could bathe in dirt and still be beautiful.
Fuck, what is wrong with me? No one’s bathing in dirt. Calm down, Shakespeare.
I clear my throat and shift on my feet, realizing she asked me a question when she spoke in her alluring accent.
“No. Once you go through a …” I pause, reaching for words that won’t scare her away, “ceremony on the Island, your body stops aging. The Island isn’t made up of symbols of time like your world. The Island and the people work together like …” Again, let’s not startle the guest before they check in. “Photosynthesis.”
A crease forms between her brows, her eyes shifting away in confusion. Blue eyes look out to the drifting sea, reflecting an even deeper color in her irises.
Right. Time gap.
You’d think I’d be better at this, but she’s not my typical passenger. Usually Lucas explains the details and is rewarded with excited applause, while I’m here drowning her in confusion. I’m having a hard time coloring between the lines of truth and the cushioned facts I’ve been giving her. I have a hard time lying to people in general.
“I can’t really explain it. The Island absorbs our grief and our pain and cycles it into something else. Something full of life in the nature of the Island. And in return, it gives some of us … abilities.” Her eyes narrow on me. I shift on my feet and swallow hard like a boy whose mother knows he’s lying right to her face. I continue, “It gives the Saviors a limited amount of flight abilities, a connection to the ships, diminishes the aging process, and it gives the Survivors … everlasting life.”
That’s fact. A little vague, but fact.
She nods, her lips slightly parted. “When does the process begin?”
I watch her lips, her emphasis on process echoing through my mind. A faint shade of pink touches her high cheek bones under my attention. My stomach dips as the start of a smile tugs at my lips, and I turn my gaze ahead of us. Heavy waves lap up the sides of the ship like an old friend welcoming a comrade as we anchor into port.
She’s already thinking about starting the process? There are repercussions and things she hasn’t seen yet, especially the politics of the Island I’m not allowed to explain to her. And she’s ready to receive it all. Both the fantastic and the terrible.
“My pain is still here, Remy.”
My heart sinks, dropping to the ocean floor at her whispered confession. Releasing a long sigh I say, “It doesn’t start until the ceremony is complete.”
I keep my hands firmly on the spokes of the wheel even as the crew members anchor the ship.
A larger ship coasts in next to ours; the oldest ship Resurrection Island has. A young boy still in the stages of adolescence stands at the helm. Johnny was the Island’s first Savior and my own mentor for decades. His blonde hair shines under the sun as colorful as the Island itself, like he was bred from it and thrown out into the world to bring food home to his creator. He raises his hand in the air giving me a quick wave before he introduces his own group of seven Survivors to the Island.
Lucas speaks with the two Survivors we rescued earlier in our trip, two young girls, maybe twenty years old, who have lived a drugged, confused, and darkly abused life that I never want to revisit again. They stand at the front of the ship. Shadows reach out to them from the swaying palm trees just off the shore. Time stopped just as their hearts did, and Lucas and I picked up the pieces, offering them a chance at a real life. A pain-free existence.
Alexandra and I watch the three of them from the opposite end of the deck. My mind drifts between how much trouble I’ll be in once I step foot off this ship and thoughts of what it might be like if Alexandra stays. I wouldn’t have to worry about her pain, not for a while anyway. I wouldn’t be so bitter about her poor choice in men unless I was one of those poor choices, I suppose. My brows raise, surprising myself with the thought.
Her emotions are so scattered since we met it’s hard to say what she thinks of me. How can I even be thinking about this right now? We don’t even know each other. She almost died. We just soared through the sky like a fucking magic dragon. A magic dragon might actually make more sense to her in comparison to what we are.
Shit, I need to sort out my mind. Life on this ship is making me crazy.
Out of the corner of my eye I look at her quickly, but she has my complete attention when I trail her gaze and realize she’s staring at Lucas. She’s not just looking …
is she checking him out? Is she attracted to him? Most women are. I guess it’s not astounding to believe. Women seem to like his puppy-dog appeal. Alexandra’s eyes narrow as she tilts her head, her gaze drifting down his body.
My jaw tics in annoyance. I take a breath to try to release the irrational irritation. The breath doesn’t help. The annoyance is still there, and she’s still watching him.
“See something you like, love?” I ask as calmly as possible.
A crease forms between her brows in confusion. She looks from me to Lucas, then back to me. Her eyes travel the length of me just as they had him. I’m not uncomfortable under the heaviness of her gaze. A little-pissed off that I’m being compared, but not uncomfortable.
“Why are his breeches so tight?” she asks, her voice harsh and concerned. My irritation dissipates as I sputter a laugh at her candor. “Does he have nothing of value under his trousers?” Her lip curls a bit, and her eyebrows pull together in concern. “Do you think it’s painful?” She’s still assessing his tight, black skinny jeans.
The smile on my face couldn’t get any bigger. Every one of my teeth must be on display right now. The happiness building in my chest feels strange and out of place in my body. Of all the things I thought a beautiful British princess might say, that was not one of them.
She takes another look at me, at my thick jacket that helps shield the wind and my dark long-sleeve Henley, similar to the rest of the crew’s shirts. Her head tilts down to my jeans. They’re black cargo pants that are tucked into my boots. I don’t shift under her eyes when her gaze lingers on the handgun at my hip before traveling to my groin and then darting to the floor.
“I think it’s the era he grew up in. I wore waistcoats for decades after I came here. You eventually grow out of your comfort zone and find there are more practical clothes. Maybe he’ll grow out of it, maybe he genuinely likes how constricted his …” I pause, realizing I really don’t want to talk about my friend's restricted regions. “I’m sure he’ll grow out of it. Probably not soon enough, though.”
She smiles at my words. Her lips tense, not wanting to give into the happy gesture, mirroring my own feelings.
“Sorry. I’m not usually so inappropriate,” she says, watching a few men climb down to the dock below, their tired shoulders slouched low. “I am afraid,” she says bluntly. “Terrified, really. Is that natural? Is there something wrong with me?”
I turn toward her, her honesty gaining my full attention. “Not at all.”
There’s nothing wrong with her. I felt the same way all those years ago. I was brought here in an identical situation. Like all the Saviors of Resurrection Island, I’m not dead, unlike the community that makes up this land. A beautiful, vibrant world playing host to the dead. They act like they cheated death. In a way they did, but in a way they didn’t.
“It’s a normal feeling. It means you’re alive. Nerves are our body’s way of telling us something's not right. The Island hums with unnaturalness despite what your eyes would lead you to believe.” I pause knowing I should shut the hell up before I break code. “It’s a paradise that shouldn’t exist. Our Survivors consider themselves fortunate that it does.”
She considers my words, but doesn’t react to them. I’m sure I’m messing this up. Lucas could easily erase her fear and sell the Island to her like he does everyone else.
Lucas and the two Survivors move to exit the ship, preparing to tour the Island for the first time. He pauses and looks toward us. I take a step closer to Alexandra, lifting my hand to place it against her back, but then lowering it immediately. How did I become so unsure of my every move around her?
“You should, uh …” I pause, not wanting to leave yet. I don’t want to have my return meeting with Felicity. But with every minute that ticks by, the Survivors’ pain builds in me, pressing down on my organs. I’m fine now, nothing I can’t handle, but another hour or two and I won’t be standing.
“You should go with Lucas. He’ll introduce you around, get you clean clothes, and give you a tour,” I say, wishing for some reason I could go with her.
I never give tours. I put as much distance between myself and the new Survivors as possible. Usually because I can’t bring myself to stand by and watch them deteriorate after just a few years. But also because I don’t want their closeness, their companionship. Lucas is my friend, mostly out of convenience, but partly because we click. Like brothers separated by two hundred years.
“You’re leaving me?” she asks, her voice a little high as she turns to stand in front of me, blocking my path.
She’s so small, yet so unyielding. I tower over her, but I couldn’t bring myself to push her out of the way if I wanted to. She’s almost like a cat; you want to be near the soft, calm creature so some of the calm wears off and into you.
A touch of guilt stings my heart, and I have to look away from her toward the beckoning island.
“I have business to finish. I have someone I have to report to, responsibilities,” I say sternly, trying for unsympathetic, but coming off more placid than I intended.
“Oh.”
Her head turns slightly, settling on Lucas out of the corner of her eye. He’s still waiting for her, hands tucked casually in his pockets. Alexandra swallows visibly, biting her lip. She’s nervous and admittedly afraid, and I’m pushing her away.
I should push her away. I should let her make her own decisions and let her experience the Island with an open mind, without my foreboding opinions clouding her judgment.
She turns away from me fully. Her eyes are on the ground as she descends the staircase to the deck below. I want to stop her and tell her I’ll see her again; I’ll see her around. But I don’t. I close my eyes and let her go.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Grievance Grave
The dim room and the herbal smoke wafting through it is enough to make my head spin. Polished concrete walls tower high into a steepled ceiling adorned with a sparkling substance. It’s as if Felicity stole a slice of the moon to have it crushed into a fine powder to complete the spiritual atmosphere of this temple. Knowing her, she probably did.
The room shimmers under the unnaturally bright candlelight littering the tables here and there, emitting a glow around the edges of the intricate chamber. A lone, high-backed chair rests in the center of the far wall with a single palm-sized crystal carved into the headrest. White smoke burns from an unseen source, clouding the air.
I take short breaths in an attempt to keep my mind clear. My hands are clasped behind my back, my face a mask of tranquility, while my heart pounds away within my chest. The pain has increased and chisels its way into my ribs and soul searching for a release.
As I stand in the center of the room, two guards in polished black armor flank me while I wait in silence for Felicity’s grand entrance. My impatience soars with every stab of pain drowning me from the inside out, but I remain physically composed.
A heavy oak door opens and closes, echoing softly around me. Felicity walks fluidly from the door on the left side of the ornate throne-like chair. Her long blonde hair and pale skin appear to almost evaporate within the smoke. A sheer white dress clings to her perfect body, but my eyes do not drift from her serene face; they do not appreciate what the imitation deity displays to me. Her full lips tilt upward once she settles delicately into her seat.
I don’t advance closer to her or return her smile. I raise my head higher in a respectful gesture. She is my Priestess and nothing more, despite her provocative offers to “make my life infinitely better than it already is.” Shit, good fucking luck filling that menial order.
“Remy, my Savior, I’ve been waiting for you.” Her voice is as weightless as the smoke around us.
She crosses her legs as her slender fingers brush circles against the granite arm of her chair. She watches me as I watch her. I wait for further instructions that never come.
“We returned with two Survivors this morning,” I say. “Lucas is guiding them through the
Island as we speak.” My stomach turns knowing I can’t keep Alexandra from her. She already knows of the two Survivors and of Alexandra, but she’s waiting for my confirmation. Her long immortal life demands entertainment, and I am today's performing act. “I understand this is a lower stock than you anticipated, but I will increase my numbers tomorrow, Priestess.” I know my number of Survivors isn’t what she’s waiting to hear about.
Her mysterious lavender eyes shine down on me like an eager spotlight illuminating my body. Her gaze trails lazily over me, and uneasiness crawls down my spine.
“Tell me about the other woman.”
I take a few more short breaths, my eyes blinking slowly now. The smoke settles my nerves with each breath.
“Her name is Alexandra.” I pause, knowing she knows of her. She knows the level of pain she carries, what she looks like, but not who she really is. And I don’t want her to know. “She is of British descent, late 1700’s, eighteen years of age. She’s been locked in a British oceanic tower nearly all her life.”
“A perfect candidate then? Her agony is very high,” she says with animated excitement, like a starving creature ready to feast. “Tell me, why did you bring me a live woman? Why not just absorb her pain and deposit it as normal? What went wrong, Remy?” Her words are harsh, her sharp jaw ticking under the smooth skin.
Thunder shakes over the Island at her words, rumbling through the room. It isn’t raining, and I don’t hear the typhoon siren yet, so that’s a good sign.
“She jumped from her tower.”
“Ah, suicide. How fitting,” she coos, her eyes flashing with interest.
“Based on the recon work I’ve done with this victim, her future did not portray this destiny. Something was wrong. She shouldn’t have died,” I say. Guilt swarms my chest, but the euphoric smoke doesn’t let the feeling stay.
“So you saved her?” she asks slowly, her perfect features pulling together in utter confusion.