The Silent Isle

by Nicholas Anderson

  “Or more likely just plain gone,” Owen said.

  “But there they sit," Kenzie said.

  "And there weren't any birds singing in the trees when we landed this morning," Owen said.

  "What's your point, soldier?" Bailus asked.

  "Sir," Kenzie said, "I don't think there's a single living thing in this compound, maybe not even on this whole island, but us."

  As soon as Paul and Rawl had a fire going, Dane took a torch (there were plenty stored in the armory) and with Kenzie and Owen went to check the settlement’s stores. His stated purpose was to take inventory, but he had a secret purpose as well. He wanted to test Kenzie’s theories. "This place is cursed," Smith Darinson had moaned as soon as Kenzie had finished explaining his observation about the rats. Dane wasn’t ready to start whining about devils and dark arts, but he was anxious for Elias to arrive from the boat. But he wasn’t willing to sit still until he did either.

  They went first to the armory. This proved to be a mistake. It didn't take but a glance to tell the armory was fully stocked. "Which means, whatever happened here," Kenzie said, "The men next door didn't have time to get to their weapons."

  "Or they knew their weapons wouldn't do them any good," Owen said.

  "Come on," said Dane, leading them out.

  There were of course, no animals in the stable and, judging by the dryness of the droppings, had been none for several days.

  Next they went to the room with the barrels. There was a latch on the inside of the door which could be lifted only by a drawstring that passed through the top of the door and hung just above Dane's head. They had left the door open during their initial search so the three men walked right in. Dane had at first assumed the barrels contained some kind of beverage. But, on shaking them, guessed they were filled with some kind of fine dry material.

  "Flour?" Owen asked.

  Dane didn't answer. He was looking at the latch and drawstring. Too high for a child to reach. He thought about that.

  Kenzie leaned close with the torch. He tipped a barrel back and passed the torch close to its surface, looking for a label other than the red ‘X’ painted on the side. Dane grabbed him by the arm which held the torch and pulled him back. He took his knife and pried off the lid of the nearest barrel. Kenzie came close again with the torch. "Stay back," Dane ordered but he tilted the open top of the barrel towards the light to reveal a fine white-gray powder.

  Kenzie swore and backed out the doorway with his torch. Dane recapped the barrel and set it back with the others and covered them with the tarp. He exited the room and latched the door. He had seen such powder many times before as a boy. Watching the chemists labor over it with great care - creating fireworks to celebrate another of his father's victories. But he had never seen so much blasting powder. He wondered where it had all come from. He had no doubt of what it was for. To blast rocks. To open mine shafts. But why so much of it? This was enough to bring down a mountain, to turn the island inside-out. Clearly, his father's ambitions for the mining work on Haven were far bigger than even he had imagined.

  As they walked to the door of the storeroom, the first band of men returned from the ship, pulling a cart laden with bags and boxes. "Hey, give us a hand here," they called.

  "I'll take care of this," Dane said to Owen and Kenzie. "Go on." He took the torch from Kenzie and stepped down into the storeroom.

  The storeroom had a sunken floor, dug several feet into the earth like a cellar to keep it cool. There was a false roof formed by planks at head level and these formed a type of attic shelf space. He looked at the hams, the packages of dried goods on the shelves. No ants. No tiny tooth marks. He swept the torch across the straw-littered floor. No telltale droppings. Dane climbed up three rungs of the little ladder that led to the shelf and peeked around. No sign of vermin. Everything was preserved and undisturbed. There would have been space for him to crawl up and sit on the shelf but he did not.

  He went back down the ladder and studied the hams. Everything hung there in perfect shape as thought it had been laid out for them. Why did that bother him? Back home, rats and flies and ants had always been pests. Why should he be bothered by their absence? He made for the door. A sudden gust of wind that seemed to come from the rear wall of the room swept around him. The blast was icy cold. The door slammed shut in his face. His torch faltered and went out.

  He blinked in the darkness. He blundered forward, bashed his shin on the foot of the stairs, swore. A scurrying noise came from the darkness behind him. He spun to face it. "Who's there?" he demanded. The second he had said it he knew how ridiculous it was. He had just been over every inch of the room. There was no one there but himself. Somehow, knowing this did not slow his breathing.

  He felt his way up the stairs and found the door. He pushed it but it did not open. He shook it so that it rattled in its frame, but it did not open. He paused for a minute and in the silence he heard it begin.

  It began almost as a whisper; a soft, doleful voice. Gone, gone, gone. All your friends are gone. The sorrow of the voice took on a mocking ring and rose in pitch and volume. Mine, mine, mine. All your friends are mine.

  Dane tried the door again. Nothing.

  In the next sentence the voice rose to a crescendo, a lunatic scream. Dead, dead, dead. All your friends are dead.

  Dane pounded on the door. His shouts were almost as loud as the voice.

  Food, food, food. All your friends are-

  Dane threw himself against the door. It crashed open and he stumbled out into the sunlight.

  He spun back towards the gaping door, expecting something to come flying up the steps towards him. Nothing. It took him a moment to realize the voice had stopped. It had stopped the moment he'd opened the door. He was shaking. Shaking all over. He sat down hard in the dirt, still facing the door. He heard rushing footfalls behind him. "Captain, are you all right?" Owen and Kenzie asked, running up to him.

  Dane looked up at them. He still didn't trust his legs. "Did you hear it?"

  "Hear what? You banging on the door and calling for help? Of course. What happened?"

  Dane checked himself. Could it be they had not heard the voice?

  "Sir?" Kenzie asked.

  "Nothing happened. The door latched shut behind me." He accepted a hand as Kenzie pulled him to his feet. "That's all." He wiped a hand across his brow. "Let's finish moving in."

  He saw the rest of the crew heading into the compound, laden with bundles. He walked over to Kit Forsythe, the ship's steersman. "Is this everything?"

  "Yes, sir. Less what I kept for our voyage."

  "Alright, have your men get something to eat and get some rest. You'll set out first thing tomorrow morning."

  "Aye, sir."

  Dane patted Forsythe on the shoulder and stepped past him to help unload the cart. He saw Bax's slave girl struggling to reach a heavy-looking bundle from atop the heap of items on the wagon. She had stepped up on a spoke of the cart wheel and was stretching to reach the bag. Dane stepped up beside her and pulled the bundle down, catching it on his shoulder. He stepped off the wagon wheel and turned to face her, still holding the bundle.

  "I had it," she said.

  Why was she so defensive? Did she think he was mocking her? Did she think he was like Bax? "Are you afraid Bax will be angry with you for accepting help?"

  "I'm not afraid of Bax," she said, reaching for the bag.

  He kept his grip on it. "Let me help you with it."

  "I don't need your help." She pulled the bag from him.

  "But Bax. How does he treat you?"

  She looked at him, more of a glare, and then looked away. Did she still think he was mocking her? "How do you think he treats me?" She hefted the bag on her shoulder. "When he's not letting his friends treat me the same way." She turned to leave and then turned her head to face him. "Why, Captain, are you one of his friends?" She started walking away.

  "Can't you see I'm trying to help you?"

  She stopped a
nd turned to face him again. "Look around you, Captain. You can't even help yourself."

  "Would you at least tell me your name?"

  She laughed. He had hoped, hopeless though it was, to hear her laugh at some point on the voyage. He did not like the little sound she made now. He hoped it was not her true laugh. "Why should that matter to you, my lord? To know the name of your servant's slave?"

  Dane swallowed. He realized he had no good answer. His father had many slaves and servants and he had never had trouble speaking with them. Why did he falter now? Was it enough to say, "Because I'd simply like to know it."? Was it too much to say?

  He was almost grateful when the silence which stretched between them was interrupted by Bax's voice. "Mara."

  The girl turned. Dane turned. Bax was standing in the doorway of one of the houses. "Mara," he called again and waved the girl on impatiently. She turned back to Dane and gave him a little half nod and then walked towards Bax.

  "Mara." Dane sounded the name under his breath. He found he could not take his eyes from her. He watched as she reached Bax and Bax turned, without taking or even offering to take the bundle from her, and stepped into the house. Mara followed him in without a backwards glance. Dane felt a muscle jump in his jaw. Hadn't he seen scenes like this played out a million times, between countless slaves and masters in his father's crummy little kingdom? Wasn't this scene enacted every night in the brothels in the harbor? Were those girls, though Draconian-born, any freer than Mara? So why did it bother him now? Was it because it was Bax or because it was her? From within, someone shut the door to the house. Though he stood thirty paces from it, Dane felt it was being shut in his face.

  ***

  Josie had entered the compound with the first group unloading the ship. Actually, she got there before them. As soon as Ira and the others had returned to tell them to start unloading the ship, Josie had grabbed her small bundle and started up the path.

  “What did you find?” Josie had asked Ira as she pushed past him.

  Ira had shaken his head. “Nothing. There’s nothing there.”

  Josie had not known how to take this, but she did not wait to ask further questions. Crossing the strap of her satchel across her chest, she hurried up the path. From Ira’s comment she imagined the colony burned to the ground. She wondered if she would be able to find human bones among the wreckage or if they would have burned down to ash with everything else.

  She felt a brief sense of relief when she was the walls still standing and she picked up her pace. When she passed through the gate, the courtyard was empty. Dane was going through the rooms with Owen and Kenzie and the rest of his squad was dispersed on other errands.

  Josie slipped her pack off her shoulder and leaned it against the wall. Then she began to wind among the houses. She did not know what she was looking for but near the northern end of the settlement something caught her eye. It was a dogcart, lying on its side in an open space of the courtyard. Something small and pale lay in the dirt on the other side of it. Josie stepped around the dogcart and knelt to retrieve the small object. She recognized it even before she picked it up. Even so, she studied it for a long time, running her hand over it.

  It was a cornhusk doll, its waist and joints tied up with plaid ribbon. She had bought the ribbon herself with money she’d earned from selling apples from her family’s trees. She had made the doll and given it to Nelly, her niece, as a parting gift before Gwen’s family had left for Haven. Josie stood up, pressing the doll to her chest. She had made an identical doll for Chloe, Nelly’s younger sister. Josie righted the dogcart and walked several circles around the area. The second doll was nowhere to be seen. This gave her an idea.

  She entered the house nearest her and went through all its rooms quickly but carefully. Then she went to the next house. She found the matching doll in the fourth house she entered. It was propped up on a pillow in a bed. The bedspread had been pulled up under the bed’s two pillows. Josie sat down on the bed. She picked up the doll and cradled it beside its twin in the crook of her arm. She ran her free hand over the pillows. She imagined the girls there, sleeping side by side as she stroked their hair. She knew then the second doll was Nelly’s. Chloe’s had been the first doll. Nelly, the responsible. Nelly, the fastidious. Making her bed and setting her doll down just so before running out to play. With a smile that made her eyes burn, Josie imagined if Nelly had been in her shoes and had run away from home, she would have remembered to pack a blanket.

  “Did you run away from home, baby?” she asked, touching each of the pillows again. “Where did you run to?”

  After a while she stood up again. She smoothed out the wrinkles she had made in the bedspread. She set each of the dolls on a pillow. She walked into the other bedroom. Its bed was not made. Clothes hung on the back of a chair by the window. She sifted through them. A man’s shirt. The threadbare dress that was all she could remember Gwen ever wearing except on special occasions. She held this up to the light from the window. The light passed through it. The tearful smile returned. She had always thought her sister radiant. She folded the dress and set it on top of the chest which sat below the window.

  She returned to the chair and found Nat’s leather trousers. Josie held these up and then laid them out on the bed. Without bothering to close the door, she slipped out of her skirt and folded it and set it on top of her sister’s dress. She sat down on the bed and pulled on Nat’s pants. They were cold and stiff but she told herself she’d get used to them. They were also much too big for her. She went back to the chair but did not find what she wanted. She glanced about the room until her eyes settled on it.

  Nat’s belt hung from a peg in the wall. She needed the belt but it was what was attached to the belt that she really wanted. She lifted the belt off the wall, surprised by the weight of it. She fastened it around her waist and positioned the object of special interest over her right hip. A simple leather sheath hung from Nat’s belt. The sheath housed a knife which Josie remembered well. It had been a wedding present from her parents. She drew the blade and found it accounted for most of the belt’s weight. This fact pleased her.

  The observations she’d been making since finding the dogcart coalesced into a scene of images playing in her mind. Early morning. The girls slipped out to play before breakfast. Maybe Gwen was heading to the kitchen; maybe she was still in bed. A scream from outside. Nat and Gwen rush out of the house, still in their nightclothes. Nat didn’t think to take his knife. Why would he? Most days a scream would mean nothing worse than a pinched finger or a fall. But this hadn’t been like most days. Whatever they’d found with their girls in the courtyard, they’d never made it back to the house.

  Josie slipped the knife into its home. She would not make Nat’s mistake. She told herself that while she was on the island, the knife would not leave her side. Whatever happened. Whenever it came. She would be ready.

  ***

  For dinner that night they had soup along with bread left over from the voyage. The bread was stale but not bad when dipped in the soup and although the soup was simple and hastily prepared it felt so good to have a hot meal. Dane ate with Forsythe and the men he'd selected for the voyage around the island. He had thought the men would be rankled by the command to get back on the ship so soon, but if anything they seemed pleased. They talked and laughed more than those who would be staying on land. Dane imagined they were relieved to be getting off the island.

  Dane watched for them, but Mara and Bax never joined the others at the meal. Bailus sat beside Dane and was explaining to him the lodging situation. Most of the single men would stay in the barracks by the main gate. Bailus and about half a dozen others would stay in a smaller room built against the wall at the opposite side of the compound where the other, smaller gate stood. The Thatchers and Josie were sharing one of the houses. Leech was already at work outfitting one of the larger outside rooms to be a clinic and hospital. He was sleeping in a smaller space next door. Bailus had offered Elias o
ne of the houses but the priest had chosen a smaller room near the back gate.

  "I suppose I should keep order in the barracks," Dane said.

  "No," said Bailus, "You’re our commander. That wouldn't do. You need your own place."

  "Well, then you deserve your own place as well."

  "I've been a fighting man all my life, sir," said Bailus. "I'd be ashamed not to share quarters with the rest of them."

  "Then why shouldn’t I?" said Dane.

  "Because," Bailus said, leaning close, "We need a leader. Someone apart from us. Beyond us. No matter what tomorrow brings, no matter how bad this gets, the men need to know you'll lead them."

  Dane wasn't sure he understood Bailus's reasoning, but he had no chance to question him more as at that moment Josie came and stood behind him. He turned towards her. If he noted her new attire, he made no sign of it. "I want to go out with you tomorrow."

  Dane shook his head. "Absolutely not. We don't know what's out there."

  "My sister is out there."

  "I'm taking only a few men. Skilled woodsmen and trackers. If there's anything to find, we'll find it. But we don't have time or room for tagalongs."

  "Tagalong? Is that all you think of me?"

  "Well, you did steal away on our ship," said Bailus, but without looking at her.

  “Besides, there will be plenty for you to do here while you wait,” Dane said.

  She tossed her hair and put her hand on her hip. "And what would you have me do? Dig graves?"

  "There will be plenty to do to prepare for the return of the colonists."

  She hesitated half a moment before saying, "So you think they'll be coming back?" Her voice was softer. An honest question, not an interrogation.

  Dane hesitated. How could he lie to someone he respected so much? She was headstrong and foolish, but also spirited and brave. Uncommonly brave.

  She read his silence. "I knew it," she said. She turned to leave but he caught her arm.

  "I promise you; as soon as we find anything, you'll be the first to know."