The Silent Isle

by Nicholas Anderson

  As he lifted the mug to his lips the sound came again. The sound of someone shifting their weight on the beams overhead. “You can come out now, Rawl,” he said. “It was a good try, but I know you too well.”

  There was no answer.

  Fletcher thought about heading up the steps and out the door but instead forced himself to sip his drink. “You’re wasting your time, Rawl.” His voice wavered a little as he said it. He looked over the flame of his candle to the door. He could dimly make out its shape. “Rawl?” The question squeezed out of his throat an octave or two above his normal voice.

  This time there came an answer, if an answer it could be called. A single dry croak sounded from the darkness above his head. It reminded him (ridiculously) of a vulture. Fletcher held his breath. Very slowly and steadily he set the mug on the barrel and picked up his candle. As he did, a sudden chill swept over him like a breath of cold air. His candle flickered and went out. He heard the thing move above his head once more and he knew it was much too big to be a vulture. The soft croaking cry came once more. Curious. Eager. Hungry.

  And Fletcher Dibsy knew two things at the same time:

  The thing in the darkness above him was not Rawl.

  And coming here had not been worth the risk.

  XVII

  Where Night Never Sleeps

  By first light the next morning, Dane was pacing before the door of the assembly hut of Tomka and his people. His men sat on the ground beside him. The Tirans had treated them well, feeding them and hosting them in their homes. But any time Dane tried to bring up the mark they would change the subject, or shake their heads, or simply walk away. The sky in the east changed from gray-blue to gold and he knew the sun must finally be rising. Turning, he saw Tomka and his entourage coming towards him.

  Tomka was accompanied by his wife, Valis, and the high-priestess, Ahthala, and several other men and women. Behind them marched a dozen armed men. Valis ushered Dane and his men into the assembly hut. The sat in a circle, facing one another, with Tomka’s people forming one half of it and Dane’s the other. “Before you ask your questions,” Tomka said, “I must ask you: How did you come to know of this mark?”

  “There is an island,” Dane said, “A day’s voyage northwest of here.”

  At his words, Tomka’s people began talking amongst themselves. They talked mostly in their own tongue, which Dane did not know, and talked too lowly for him to hear their words anyway. When the murmuring died down, Dane said, “I see you know of this also.”

  “We know it,” Tomka said. “It is something we would be happy to forget.”

  “We named it Haven,” Dane said.

  “We have another name for it,” Tomka said. “But we do not speak it.” He gestured for Dane to continue.

  “My father’s men discovered the island two years ago. On exploring the island, they found it full of caves, (this drew another burst of murmuring and agitated movements but Dane talked over it) these caves were rich with iron ore. My father sent settlers to colonize the island.”

  At this, even Tomka and Valis began to murmur to one another and to those beside them. Only Ahthala, the priestess, kept her eyes on Dane and kept her silence. Finally, Tomka held up his hands for silence. He turned to Dane. “And what became of them?”

  “Of whom?”

  “These people your father sent to the island.”

  Dane felt a chill creep up his spine. He had not said anything happened to them. Tomka had taken it for granted. “For months, ships went back and forth, delivering ore from the island. Then a final ship arrived – bearing only a single passenger. An old man from the colony. The mark I showed you was burned in his forehead.”

  More murmuring. The Tirans were so agitated and noisy Dane was again compelled to wait for them to settle down. But this time he did not waste the interruption. He focused his attention on the two Tirans who sat closest to him. One was a young man with a fur robe, perhaps a son of Tomka’s. The other was a grizzled old man with a patch over his left eye and a left ear that looked like it had been mostly chewed off. The old soldier was speaking to the young noble in hushed tones. Both were looking at the floor. Dane focused all his concentration on them. He knew they were using their native tongue, but he strained his ears nonetheless. Before Tomka raised his hands once more for silence, Dane caught one word, a word which the veteran spoke in a different way than all the others. He faltered before saying it as though he had decided against it, but the youth beckoned him on with a tilt of his head. The old man dropped his voice in pitch and volume. It was a dark word. But Dane heard it clearly enough. He repeated it to himself over and over in his head so he would remember it.

  Tomka was motioning to him. “Go on.”

  “The old man died that same day. The next day, I set sail with these men and twice as many others. We have been on the island (he paused, counting in his head) five days now.” Five? Had it been only five? “We have found no trace of those who were there before us.”

  “And I doubt you ever will,” Tomka said.

  “Then tell me about the mark,” Dane said. “Tell me about the island.”

  “I will tell you this about the island,” Tomka said. “That you should sail straight back to your father and do your best to forget you ever heard of the island, much less set foot on it.”

  “I can’t do that,” Dane said. “Half my men are still there.”

  “There is nothing you can do for them now,” Tomka said.

  “That smacks of cowardice,” Dane said.

  To his surprise, the older man did not stiffen with offense. “Call it what you will, but to return there is nothing but foolishness and suicide. Go back to your father and tell him to renounce his claim on the island before more evil comes of it. No man can lay claim to that island.”

  “Why?” Dane asked. “Who claims it?”

  Tomka only shook his head.

  “I need you to tell me.”

  “A terror dwells there, King-son” Ahthala said, opening her mouth for the first time since entering the hut. “Something we do not know or understand. Something from before our time or the time of our forefathers.”

  “We have spoken of this too much already,” Tomka said. “We will say no more.”

  “I need to know more,” Dane said.

  Tomka only shook his head.

  “Your secrecy will not protect you,” Dane said. “It breeds suspicion. My father is looking for someone to blame for this. Your island lies the closest to Haven.” He would have said more but someone put a hand on his arm. He turned. It was Bax. The sheer shock of Bax trying to calm him down caused Dane to reign in his temper.

  Tomka spoke. He sounded weary but not offended. “I see. You think we razed the colony. You think we sailed to the island and killed in secret.”

  “I don’t really think that,” Dane said softly.

  “You know if we wished violence, we would not strike in secret. But I will tell you this, if it means anything to you: There is nothing you could say, no threat or promise you could make, no blessing or curse you could invoke, that would induce me to set foot upon that island.”

  ***

  That same hour, Rawl was jogging around the inner perimeter of the wall with Tipper and his dog, Dioji. Tipper and Dioji did this every morning and evening and Rawl, who had been walking the wall but not on watch, had simply fallen in with them. They ran two circuits around the wall-walk and then bounded down the steps and continued circling the hardpan at the base of the wall at a brisk walk. Tipper was something of an idol to Rawl. He was a rarity in the company on Haven. He was too young to be considered part of the old breed, that band of born soldiers that started with Bailus and ended with Bax and Dane – men who had been fighting for as long as Rawl could remember. But nor was he like Rawl and Paul and Fletch and the other young men who the old-timers referred to as fresh meat. He was the youngest man to get to go out on patrol with Dane and Bailus. He could spend all day tracking in the woods beside Bai
lus and never say a word. But when he opened his mouth, everyone listened. He had all the privileges and prestige of the older soldiers, but he was just as laid back and easy going as any of the younger ones. He was a man apart, but not standoffish. He fit in confidently with either group. And to top it all off, he had the love and loyalty of the best dog Rawl had ever seen.

  “How did you name him?” Rawl asked as they trotted along.

  “What, D.O.G.? I guess it just sort of came to me.”

  “Wait, his name is D.O.G.?” Rawl asked, annunciating each letter.

  “Well, I say it ‘Dioji’,” Tipper said, slurring the sounds together.

  “So, in a sense, you named your dog ‘Dog’?”

  Tipper shrugged. “It seemed to fit.”

  Dioji, several paces ahead, pulled up hard and began sniffing around the base of one of the doors set in the wall. The dog stopped shuffling back and forth and put his ears back and growled from down deep in his throat. His hair bristled and his eyes blazed.

  “Come on, boy,” Tipper said, trying to pull his dog away.

  Dioji wouldn’t budge. Tipper trotted several paces forward and called to his dog, but Dioji did not acknowledge him.

  “Maybe we should see what’s in there,” Rawl said.

  Several people were starting to gather from across the courtyard. Tipper came back and stood before the door.

  “What do you think he smells?” Rawl asked, but if Tipper answered he never heard it, because at that moment he realized that the door Dioji was bristling at was the door of the storage cellar. Fletcher’s face, youthful and careless, came before him, and he remembered the invitation to drinks. Rawl’s throat was suddenly dry and his legs felt like all the strength had melted out of them. Tipper was saying something to him. He turned towards him. Tipper made a gesture with his hand and Rawl, after watching it several times, realized Tipper wanted him to ready his bow.

  Rawl pumped his bow and brought it to his shoulder, aiming it at the door. Dioji had calmed down a little with the attention the door was now receiving. Tipper stood to one side. He flicked the latch over with his hand and tapped the door open with his foot. Rawl bit back a scream at the sight which greeted his eyes. Then he realized he was only seeing what he’d seen a dozen times before, what he’d seen every time he’d entered the pantry for this item or that while on kitchen duty: the hams hanging from the attic beams.

  Dioji sprang down the steps. Rawl followed, leading with the point of his bow. Tipper came behind him. Rawl could hear Dioji barking and snarling and scratching at something at the back wall but he could make out little else in the dim interior. He made towards the sound of Dioji’s barking as his eyes adjusted to the light. When he could see more clearly, at first he thought Dioji had disappeared altogether. Then he realized the dog was at the end of the row of casks that lined the rear wall; he was between the casks and the wall so that Rawl could not see him. Rawl stepped towards the far rear corner. Something crunched beneath his feet. He reached down and picked up several things that were cold and hard with smooth and jagged surfaces. He had to hold them close to his face to inspect them properly. They were pieces of pottery, smooth and curving. The jagged surfaces were broken edges. He guessed the shards had been a pitcher or mug.

  He reached the far corner where Tipper stood behind Dioji. The dog was barking and scratching at the planks that formed the back wall. Tipper brushed him aside with his leg. “There’s nothing here, boy.”

  Tipper gave the wall a kick. His boot striking the planks made a hollow knocking sound. Tipper glanced at Rawl. Then he took hold of the planks and pulled on them. They swung out like a rickety gate. Dioji disappeared into the dark hole behind them. Tipper shouted and reached for his dog but the animal was gone. Tipper swore and slapped his leg. He turned to Rawl. “Get some lights.”

  Rawl returned with two torches. By this time, a fair crowd had gathered so that he had to push his way through them to reach Tipper. The two young men crouched before the mouth of the tunnel. They could hear Dioji barking but he sounded a long ways off. From its mouth, the tunnel curved downwards for a short distance and then angled up, but the men could see no further than this bend and could only wonder at what lay beyond it. Two stout blocks of wood supported an arched piece of stone just inside the mouth of the tunnel. Glancing up, Rawl realized this support sat directly below the trunks that formed the wall. The logs of the palisade were anchored four feet in the ground. But the floor of the cellar was at least three feet lower than these, allowing the tunnel-diggers to create a crawlspace that went under the wall and out through the wall of the cellar. Rawl wondered where the other end of the tunnel came out. If it came out at all.

  “Well,” Tipper said. “Who’s going to be first?”

  Rawl was no fan of tight spaces. He shuddered to think what he might find in there, what might be waiting. What was Dioji barking at? But he knew his duty. “He said he was going to marry my sister,” Rawl said. “And he only wanted me to drink with him.”

  “What?” Tipper asked.

  Rawl realized he had already made up his mind about how it all had gone. He’d been playing it over and over in his head since finding the mug. “I should go first,” he said.

  He lay down on his side and started into the tunnel. Crawling on his side, holding the torch out with his free hand and pushing his crossbow in front of him with the other, Rawl inched forward. The tunnel wall was damp and cool. He made it down the slope and squeezed through the bend and started working his way up. The slope was gradual and going up proved easier than going down. His legs had more leverage. The torch light, close enough to his face to feel the heat of it, illuminated a few feet in front of him and blinded him to all else. Dioji’s barking grew louder.

  Rawl squeezed through several more support braces. Looking up, he saw the roof of the tunnel was lined with boards. He wondered how close to the surface he was now. He paused and looked back. He could see Tipper’s torch and hear his breathing and the scuffing of his feet and body in the dirt. Rawl kept on.

  Suddenly, Dioji’s barking turned to a whimper and then ended all together. Rawl paused. His heart beat furiously in his chest and he could feel it slamming against the earth. He willed himself to keep going, keeping the hand of his crawling arm on his crossbow. He thought there was a change in the tunnel up ahead but it was impossible to tell with the torch light in his face. He wondered how long he’d been down there and how far he’d traveled. It was difficult to gauge time or distance in this darkness.

  He was quite sure of the change now. Thrusting his torch forward, he saw he’d come nearly to the end of the tunnel and there was light falling in from above. He rolled onto his belly and used both elbows to propel himself forward.

  Rawl came to the end of the tunnel. There was a small opening above his head, but he had trouble twisting his body so that he could get his feet under him. He extinguished his torch in the damp earth to allow himself more freedom. Finally he managed, creating little avalanches of dirt around him as he did. He had only room to crouch in the vertical space at the tunnel’s end. The opening through which the light came was too small for him to slip through. Feeling with his hands, he realized the roof above him was also made of planks. Pushing upward, he shifted the cover aside and stood up.

  He was surrounded by trees. Something was coming through the underbrush towards him and he realized he’d left his bow at his feet. He reached for it but the narrow space did not permit him to bend over and pick it up. Instead he pushed himself out of the hole and turned towards the sound. Dioji burst from the bushes and circled around him panting, then disappeared into the brush again. Rawl breathed a sigh of relief. The dog must have reached the end of the tunnel and dug and sniffed around until he’d scratched a ramp in the side of the entryway and then wormed his way under the trapdoor. That must have been the whimpering followed by silence.

  Rawl turned to give Tipper a hand in getting out of the hole. Standing up for the first time, Rawl r
ealized he could see over the shrubs to the wall. It was only 30 paces away.

  “How did they do this right under our noses?” he said. “Surely we should have heard them.”

  “They probably did this before we got here,” Tipper said. He brushed himself off.

  “You mean it’s been here this whole time?”

  Tipper nodded. “Kind of creepy, huh?” He called to Dioji and the dog nearly knocked him over coming to his side.

  They started back towards the wall.

  “I know Dane gave strict orders not to open the gate for any reason until he returns, but let’s hope our boys on the wall are willing to make an exception,” Tipper said. “There’s no way I’m climbing back through that again.”

  ***

  A half hour after Tomka dismissed the council, Dane was standing on the beach, watching his men make the final preparations for their return voyage. Bax came down from the village with his pack on his back. Dane stopped him as he made to go up the rope ladder. “My offer still stands.”

  Bax looked at him. “I told you I’d think about it.” He climbed the ladder to the deck.

  Dane walked further up the beach and turned back to the Bloodwake. Ahthala, the priestess, stepped up beside him. She stood so long by him in silence, staring out over the blue-green waters, that when she finally spoke her voice startled him. “You have seen our soldiers in battle, King-son. So you know what kind of men they are.” She looked northwest and was silent again so that Dane thought she had finished. She turned back to him. “It is not death they fear. It is something worse.”

  Silence rolled back in on them again like the waves.

  “But you are not a whole man here. I see you left something on the island that is greater to you than any fear. There is nothing I can say that will induce you to stay.”

  Once more, the silence stretched. But Dane felt a calmness in this woman’s presence. The silence did not yawn or wear. He felt no need to speak to be understood.