When the canoe of the dead began again to make headway toward the far shore, Cariña and the fisherman swam off in the opposite direction. The fish eagles whistled at them, urging them shoreward. At the top of the swells they could just see the central mountain of the isle, which gave them hope, though the distance was great. They swam for their very lives, steady and strong, for as long as they could, and when their arms leadened with fatigue, and their legs could scarcely kick another kick, the shore was yet so far away that they would surely drown. The fisherman looked at his beloved then, and she at him, the two of them treading water, and they each thought of the love they still felt for the other, in spite of all their trespasses, and the fisherman took his beloved’s hand in his.
“Are you ready to die?” he asked. They were face to face, rising and falling on the swells.
“No,” Cariña said. “I want to go home.”
“To the isle, then?” said the fisherman.
“No,” said his beloved. “To the land of the living.”
The fisherman nodded. “Then we must live,” said he, and they swam on.
Now on the shore Cariña raised herself to her knees and coughed up seawater. The fisherman, too, rose and coughed, and they both sat, with the waves lapping at their feet.
“Thank the gods for your knife,” Cariña said.
“And for your hollow reeds,” the fisherman said. “We were not meant to die out there, for the gods gave us what we needed.”
They had beached themselves not far from where the twin pinnacles of rock marked the opening to the inlet, and now they heard, on the wind, the cries of thousands of crows.
“Where did all those crows come from?” said the fisherman.
“They were many, out there on the water,” said Cariña. “We were lucky not to be seen.”
Slowly, slowly, they stood. “We cannot be seen now,” the fisherman said. “We must find a place to hide.” Their one advantage was that King Crow thought them drowned.
“Where?” said Cariña. The shoreline offered them little protection, and the cliffs were too sheer to climb.
“The tide is changing,” said the fisherman. “We’ll have to steal our way to the forest. We can ride the incoming tide through the mouth of the inlet.”
To go back into the water, to go toward King Crow, thought Cariña, was more than she could bear. But there was no other place to go.
“You saved us out there,” said the fisherman, “leaping overboard. You were quick of thought, and quick to act. I am in your debt.”
Cariña considered this, and then she said, “No, for you brought me back to life. If I saved your life out there, then we are merely even.”
What a woman Cariña is, the fisherman thought, even if she does not remember our shared past, for she has been my best companion in one life, and now another. He put his arms round her, and held her close, and though he could feel his rage at how she had wronged him with the crow like a dark heat beneath his breastbone, he chose to ignore it. He could do that, at least for now.
“Come,” he said. “We’re not safe here.”
“Lead on,” she said, and they walked hand in hand toward the twin pinnacles of rock.
§
The pelican and the cormorant, having slipped deeper into the forest, sat beneath the carcass of a great cedar tree that lay on its side. The rotting wood was a deep orange color, and they were nestled beneath an overhang at one end. From time to time they heard crows overhead, flying in ever greater circles, searching the island for their quarries.
“What do we do when the canoe arrives?” said the pelican.
The cormorant looked at her over the tops of his spectacles. “We’ve fled. Surely we are persona non grata by now.”
“I’ve never missed the arrival of the canoe. Not once.”
“The dead will find their way without us. It is the crow’s problem now.”
“And the Kiamah. He will expect me to arrive with his basket of treats this evening. I took him no conaria yesterday, I was so distraught, and now I should bring him a double dose, lest he awake.”
“That is a more pressing problem,” said the cormorant. “Let me give it some thought.”
The cormorant thought for a long time, rooting around in his feathers for feather mites as he did so. When at last he spoke again he said, “It will be disadvantageous when the Kiamah awakes.”
“Yes?” said the pelican. “That much I knew.”
“I’ve given this a lot of thought,” said the cormorant.
“Go on,” said the pelican.
“My thought is this,” said the cormorant. “I have no solution to the problem.”
The pelican sighed and shook her head. The cormorant might be a scholar, but there were times when he was all foam and no ale.
“Perhaps I should simply return to the pyre and go about my business,” said the pelican. “As if nothing has happened.”
“I fear for your life if you do so,” said the cormorant. “The crow is mad. He may well set his flock upon you, and you will be pecked to death.”
“The crows cannot kill me,” said the pelican. “Can they?”
“Perhaps not,” said the cormorant, “but the crow surely can.”
They heard crows approaching, their raucous cries rasping through the forest air. They drew farther back beneath the overhang of the cedar tree and became still as stones. The crows flew from treetop to treetop, from branch to branch, their search slower and lower this time. It took them some time to work their way past, but at last they were gone.
“Sooner or later they will find us,” said the cormorant. He peered out from beneath the overhang, searching the canopy above. A flash of color caught his attention, but when he turned his head to look, it was gone.
“Did you see that?” he whispered.
“Did I see what?” the pelican said. Her head turned in all directions, as did the cormorant’s, their long necks stretched out and twined round each other’s. Seeing nothing, they untwined their necks and pulled back beneath the cedar tree.
“There’s something out there,” said the cormorant. They felt then the barest breath of air moving, the beating of wings, and a pair of shapely feet descended in front of them, with a bracelet round the ankle of one, and then the hem of a sarong.
“Dewi!” shouted the pelican.
“Shush,” said the cormorant.
“Hello,” said the goddess, who stood on terra firma in front of them now. “We’d best keep our voices down,” said she. “There’s a butchery of crows about, and they mean us no good.”
“They were just here, searching,” said the cormorant.
“And they’ll be back,” said the goddess. “Have you seen the fisherman and Cariña?”
“Not since last night,” said the pelican.
“They must be hiding somewhere,” said the goddess. She put her palms together, and touched her forehead with her fingertips in a moment of silent prayer. “At least I’ve found you.”
She beckoned them to follow her, and together they flitted through the shadows, listening for the caws of crows, working their way deeper into the forest, until they came to Dewi’s nest in the hollow of an ancient cedar. She parted the curtain of moss that hid the entrance, and inside, they found the frigate bird.
“Well met, good friend,” said Dewi, her smile broad at the sight of her sometime lover.
“Indeed,” said the frigate bird, whose throat pouch swelled red in answer to the goddess’s smile. “I feared for your lives with that rabble of crows about.”
“They are many,” said the goddess, “but we have evaded them thus far by flying where they are not.”
The frigate bird lifted a duffel at his side, full of large pointy shapes that clanked. “I have brought some things we may need from the material world.”
“Excellent,” said the goddess. “But ’twill do no us good if we do not gather everyone together. Have you seen the fisherman and Cariña?”
“
No,” said the frigate bird, “but I have news.” He told them of seeing the fisherman and his beloved leave in the middle of the night. When the multitude of crows arrived, he had himself left for the material world, to fetch what weaponry he could. He had met the fish eagles upon his return as he approached the Isle of the Dead, and heard their report of the stowaways, and the crow’s discovery of them.
“The crow thinks they are drowned,” said the frigate bird, “but the fish eagles saw them swim for the isle. They think they survived.”
“We must find them,” said the goddess. She rose, as if to go immediately, but the frigate bird rose as well, and put a restraining wing on her arm. They heard, just then, the squawking and krucking of crows in the distance.
“It’s too dangerous,” he said. “Wait for the cover of darkness.”
§
The fisherman and Cariña lay hidden beneath a blanket of moss, deep in the forest, while above them mobs of crows flew hither and yon, searching for the last of the demigods. The incoming tide had brought them into the inlet, where they’d made their way to shore and into the woods without being seen. But they had seen thousands upon thousands of crows down the beach, and they had heard the crow speechifying to them in his creaky, screechy voice, and so they knew that King Crow was on the rise. They knew their lives were forfeit if they were found. They wanted to find their friends, but they had no idea where to look.
They lay with Cariña’s body spooned against the fisherman’s, each of them lost in their separate thoughts. Thoughts they left unspoken, for their hearts were bruised, and they dared not risk further injury. It had been one thing for Cariña to ask for the fisherman’s forgiveness with death so close at hand, and for the fisherman to give it. Now, in the silence of hiding, other feelings roiled within them. Had they dared to speak, they would have learned that each of them doubted love, for love had betrayed them. Love had led the fisherman to the Isle of the Dead only to find his beloved’s body alive, but her memories gone. And love had led the woman away from the man who loved her, had led her to the crow, who loved only himself.
Yet the fisherman still desired Cariña. Perhaps she would have him now, and in their lovemaking they would find their way back to love. He pressed himself against her, remembering her ardor the last time they had made love. He moved his hand to her breast and ground his tiller into her backside. But she moved away from him, pulling his hand from her breast, and it was only then that the fisherman realized that the lovemaking he was remembering was that of the pelican, shapeshifted into Cariña’s form.
I have been spurned by the crow, thought Cariña, and now in my turn I am spurning the fisherman.
She has made of me a cuckold, thought the fisherman, and forgiveness eludes me.
The only way he will ever forgive me, thought the woman, is to slay the crow, and that he cannot do.
Perhaps we can go on as friends, thought the fisherman, and perhaps as friends we might still give each other the comfort of our bodies.
Curse men and their need for revenge, thought the woman, and curse my own fate for marooning me here, where the one man who might be loved is the one man I cannot love.
Love’s fire has burned down to mere coals, thought the fisherman, and yet rage lies hot within me.
I must find my way back to the land of the living, thought the woman, and get on with my life.
I must find my way back to the land of the living, thought the fisherman, and get on with my life.
Weariness overtook them, and with it came sleep.
§
King Crow perched on his throne in his crow shape, the strand around him black with his congress of crows. They were so many, this great flock of his fellows, that the sand could not hold them all, and they gathered in their multitudes on every branch of every tree on either side of the inlet. Their raucous cries filled the air, kaw, kakaw, ka-kaw-kaw-kaw. King Crow spread his wings for silence, turning about on his throne until he had the attention of every crow in the flock. His fierce eyes bored into them, and they looked down rather than meet his fearsome gaze.
“They are here,” thundered King Crow, “yet you cannot find them. They are here, and yet you let them mock me by remaining hidden. Are you a flock of simps? No, you are not. There is not a fledgling amongst you. We are crows, brethren, and we are not to be trifled with. We shall be masters of this world and the other, for that is our destiny. But first, kiaw, we must find our enemies and destroy them.” King Crow flapped his wings, and rose above his fellows, and they all looked up at him.
“Find the lesser gods,” he cried, “find that wagtail goddess, and that blackguard the frigate bird. Find those traitors, the pelican and the cormorant, for I shall have my revenge on all who have opposed me! Ko, ko, ko,” he thundered, “are you with me?”
“Kiaw!” the multitude cried.
“Follow me!” King Crow thundered. “We shall start on the eastern tip of the isle, and we shall form a line, and search from one end to the other. They cannot escape us.”
And so the great congress of crows followed King Crow to the beach, the Sea of Bones at their backs, and they formed a great line, and they moved forward on King Crow’s command. They searched the sandy beach, with its rack and ruin of broken bones, but they found no one. They scaled the cliffs, hopping their way upward from clawhold to clawhold, flapping their wings to keep their balance, but they found no one. Over the top of the cliffs they went, the sun now starting to set in the east, but they found no one. With King Crow’s counselors gone, and fled from his wrath, there was no one to point out to the crow that it was late in the day to start such a painstaking search.
Kwurk, kwurk, kwurk, they muttered, ka-kill, ka-kill, ka-kill. They left in their wake no unturned stick nor stone. They left only their guano behind them, in sticky gobbets, the white daubs of it bright in the fading light. When night was completely fallen, and the beast’s heart beat above them, the line of crows had barely made it down the back side of the sea cliffs. Nearly the whole of the Isle of the Dead lay before them, waiting to be searched, but it was too dark to see. And so, at King Crow’s command, they left off their search, and they slept where they stood.
§
The fisherman and Cariña made their way deeper into the forest under the cover of darkness. They had heard the line of crows coming down the back side of the shore cliffs as the sun set, and they were far too close for comfort. They took care to not make any noise, and yet they moved with the urgency of those who flee a certain death. They were nearing the crow’s mound of shiny things when a fluttering sound above them stilled their steps.
The crow? mouthed Cariña. The fisherman shrugged, but there was fear in his eyes.
A moment later the goddess descended and stood before them. Cariña greeted her with great relief in her heart, for surely the goddess would lead them to safety. The fisherman’s feelings were roiled. On the one hand, he was still trying to escape the machinations of these infernal gods, for he wanted no part of the troubles they were brewing. On the other hand, this selfsame goddess had knelt before him but a day before and made, with more prowess than he had ever known, his Man Thomas stand tall. Yet that was a poor reason to follow her into an uncertain and deadly future. Though what alternative he might have was unknown—there seemed to be no way off this cursèd isle, and the crow would kill them if he found them.
“The crow,” whispered Dewi Sri, “has brought forth a great army of crows from the land of the living. You’ve seen them?”
Yes, they nodded.
“They sleep now, but at first light they will continue their search,” the goddess whispered. “Let me take you to a place deep in the forest where we shall be safe a while.”
Yes, they nodded, Cariña with trust in her heart, and the fisherman with resignation.
The goddess bade Cariña climb upon her back. “I’ll be back for you,” she whispered to the fisherman. “Stay here. The others are out searching for you as well. If you see any of them, tel
l them to go back to my nest.”
They flew through the dark forest, dodging tree limbs, the night air cool upon their brows, until at last they came to the hollow cedar tree where Dewi had built her nest. She parted the curtain of moss and ushered Cariña in, and there was the frigate bird, his black feathers shiny in the candlelight.
“You’ll be safe here,” Dewi said, “and you’ll find the frigate bird is good company.” With that she flew off to fetch the fisherman.
“We feared you were captured,” the frigate bird said, “or worse. The crow has declared us all his prey, and now he hunts us.”
“We escaped,” Cariña said, “or nearly so.” She settled herself on the bed of moss that filled the hollowed cedar, and she told the frigate bird the story of their adventure on the canoe of the dead, and how they came to be back on the isle.
“Where were you headed?” said the frigate bird.
“To the far shore, to return to the land of the living.”
“The far shore? You cannot return to the material world from there.”
“Why not?” Cariña asked.
“There is no connecting passage from the material world to the far shore,” the frigate bird said. “Trust me, I would know if there were.”
“There must be,” Cariña said, “or else how do the dead arrive there?”
“Through a kind of alchemical migration of their souls,” the frigate bird said. “More than that I do not know.”
She looked at the frigate bird, with his pirate’s pistola and his spyglass stuck into his belt. Next to him was a large duffel that bulged from within as if it held things bulky and sharp.
“Yet you come and go from here to the land of the living,” said she. “How is that so?”
“There are passageways,” said the frigate bird, “known only to a few. The nearest one is on an isle to the west, just beyond the horizon. Isla del Ombiglio it is called. It is the navel of the spirit world, and it connects to the land of the living through a kind of umbilicus. There’s a cave there, with a ladder that goes a very long way down, through a dry well.”
The Alehouse at the End of the World Page 33