On the Isle of Sound and Wonder

by Alyson Grauer

“The kind man, Dante, who let me live, and his daughter, Mira, who is my best friend in all the world.”

  “But, my son,” Corvina said, puzzled. “You cannot be friends with those who belong to you! You are a king, you are an emperor of all this isle. Do they not know who you are?”

  “They know my name,” said Karaburan, happily. “We are great friends! I am very glad they’re here.”

  “My son, my noble son,” Corvina purred. “What is Mira?”

  “My friend!”

  “No, Karaburan. She is a girl. She will be a woman. And you will be a man.”

  Karaburan made a strange face, thinking very hard on what that could possibly mean. Aurael could practically hear the gears turning, even in the dreamscape. Suddenly, before Aurael could stop it from happening, the dream shifted and spun into darkness, and there was a roar as from a great jungle cat.

  Aurael was flung unceremoniously from the witch’s puppet-body and into dark space, spinning uncontrollably like a top. He dug in and tried to grab onto something in Karaburan’s mind. A tiger? What the devil is that doing here! I must be losing my grip on the dream.

  Aurael’s momentum slowed at last, and he could hear Karaburan whimpering in the dream-shadows. He slunk closer, listening with one ear for his unexpected attacker.

  “Karaburan,” he whispered in a voice that was not his own.

  “Who’s there?” cried the man-beast.

  “I’m you,” lied Aurael. “From the future.”

  “What!” Karaburan’s tears dried instantly, and he crawled forward in the dark, sniffing and pawing at the shadows. “Where are you?”

  “I’m here, within you.” Aurael made himself very small. “You—I—we are king of the island!”

  “We are?” Karaburan exclaimed, stopping and making a joyful noise.

  “Yes, yes, we are! But do you know what we had to do to become king?”

  “Oh, what? Tell me! I want to be king. Will I be king soon?”

  “You will if you do this,” promised Aurael.

  “What is it?”

  “Mira.”

  “What about Mira?” Karaburan was puzzled.

  “She is our queen! She loves you and does not know how to tell you. To become king of the island, you must show her you love her.”

  “I do love her! How do I tell her that?” Karaburan scrambled about blindly in the dream space, and Aurael felt the air growing warmer with his excitement and confusion.

  “You don’t need to speak it,” assured Aurael. “You need to show her. You know what you want to do, way deep down. Follow your instincts.”

  “I don’t understand,” protested Karaburan, but Aurael wearied of waiting for the beast’s simple mind to grasp his meaning. He reached way deep into the monster’s psyche, grasping several strands of emotion and base instinct and twisting them together sharply. Karaburan gasped, and Aurael kicked off from the surface of the dreamscape, veering upward, out of the dream altogether, until he crouched on the moss in the clearing again, with the fireflies overhead. He soared backward, perching high in a tree, and watched as Karaburan writhed on the ground and woke with a start, his breathing labored and shallow.

  Aurael felt breathless and dazed, but triumphant. Then he saw Karaburan roll over on top of Mira, and his triumph vanished like a cold dousing of water.

  Mira woke, startled, but groggy. She said something in a blurry voice and began to push at Karaburan, then to kick and flail her arms and legs. She thrashed in protest, but Karaburan was large and heavy, and his body covered hers like an octopus envelops its unsuspecting prey.

  What have I done? Aurael saw the gleam of moonlight in Mira’s eyes, suddenly wide with terror, and knew he’d made a mistake.

  Aurael whipped the air at the grass around them as though he could blow Karaburan away. He changed shapes in quick succession, wanting to drop down and tear the misshapen boy away from her with iron claws and snapping teeth, but he could not do it—Dante had commanded that he never reveal himself to Karaburan. Dreaming had been Aurael’s only access to Karaburan’s mind over the years. Without Dante’s direct orders, Aurael was as powerless as though he were not even there.

  Panicking, he dropped from the tree and threw a bolt of cold air into the cave. It struck and toppled a stack of books and a metal bowl, causing a clatter loud enough to wake the sleeping man.

  Mira made a strangled noise of terror, and Karaburan moaned, then Dante appeared with a crack of thunder, his staff gleaming blue in every scratched rune. His eyes were like wildfire, and with a single sweep of the staff, he knocked Karaburan across the clearing and dropped him at the foot of a tree, crumpled and terrified.

  Mira lay on her side on the ground in shock, her hands shaking, trying to catch her breath. Dante stood over her protectively, fixing his furious gaze on Karaburan.

  “Please, sir, what have I done?” cried Karaburan. He looked completely stunned, as though he had been startled awake by Dante’s blow.

  Dante knelt beside his daughter. “Mira,” he said in a very grave, quiet tone. “Are you hurt?”

  Mira hesitated, but after a moment she shook her head. Aurael thought his own heart would burst. She did not look hurt, but surely Karaburan had been too heavy, too strong. Her frightened face and trembling hands made Aurael wild with worry. I thought he would have some kind of fit, cause a scene, not try to take her by force!

  Dante stood again and pointed the staff at Karaburan. “What exactly did you think you were doing?” he demanded.

  “Doing? Nothing! I was asleep! If I hurt her it was a mistake, an accident! I did not mean to hurt her,” pleaded Karaburan. “I did not mean to do anything! I love her, she is my true and only friend. I would never hurt her!”

  “Be still,” said Dante coldly. “You have broken my trust,” he declared at last. “And you have broken hers. You have destroyed what peace you had, and you have done it on your own terms. You will never lay eyes on her again.” The runes on the staff grew blindingly bright. Karaburan’s sobbing and hiccupping slowed, and his eyes grew glassy.

  “You will go to your rocky hovel on the beach, and remain there, asleep, until dawn. You will not return unless I call for you, and you will never see Mira again. You will remain permanently divided from her, as your punishment; she will move freely about the island, but you will only be able to move wherever she is not. If she passes you by, you will be rooted to the spot where you stand until she has gone elsewhere, out of your range. You will be enslaved to my service until your days have ended.”

  “Yes, Master,” answered the hypnotized Karaburan.

  “Now go, and speak no more of this night.”

  “Yes, Master,” repeated Karaburan, and lumbered off as casually as though he had only been a wild animal passing through.

  Aurael could scarcely believe it. That’s it? His big punishment is an avoidance spell? Why won’t Dante just kill him? he seethed, but his insides were as loose and watery as the tide as he looked down at the terrified girl below. What have I done, what have I done!

  “Come, daughter,” said Dante, turning to head back to the cave.

  “Father,” Mira stammered, eyes wide. “Why did he . . . What just happened?” Tears glimmered at the corners of her eyes, wavering on the brink.

  Dante’s expression was stoic. “It doesn’t matter,” he answered coolly. He raised one hand as though to calm her down. “It’s done. You have nothing to fear. You will act as if it never happened.”

  “But it did!” Mira’s voice squeaked in the night air. She shook violently as she reached for her father, seeking comfort. “It happened! That was real. It was. He . . . He was going to—”

  “Hush. No more!” Dante’s eyes flashed. He tightened his raised hand into a fist for a moment, before relaxing and lowering it to help her stand. “Come inside and sleep upon the bed I’ve made for you. It is no place for you to sleep with insects and fish and creatures of all sorts.” She did not take his offered hand, so Dante took her by the a
rm and pulled her upright. She shook free as she got to her feet, recoiling from his touch.

  “That’s all you have to say?” Mira whispered, her voice tiny and terrified.

  “Daughter, you are not hurt, and he will never come near you again. You are quite safe. There is no need for you to be hysterical.”

  Mira stared at him in tear-stained amazement, and Aurael could almost hear the twang of a string breaking somewhere in her heart. After several long moments, she went inside, shocked into silence.

  Aurael put his face in his hands. I have ruined her, he thought desperately. He felt a strange heat on the backs of his hands and peered down. Dante was staring up at him where he perched in the tree. His expression had grown darker, the lines of his face deeper and harder. Aurael felt suddenly extremely exposed and vulnerable. Oh, dear, he thought.

  “I had a vision this day would come,” Dante murmured. “I foresaw the betrayal of the beast-child, and I foresaw the change in my daughter’s innocence. There are forces at work here other than you, Aurael, and I will not have it. I will not brook any further mischief. And as for you, you will leave her alone, do you hear me? She will forget you as easily as a dream.”

  “Master!” Aurael exclaimed aloud, swooping down and landing on his knees at Dante’s feet. “Please! I can help, I can protect her, I can—”

  “No,” declared Dante. “She has outgrown her imaginary friend.”

  Aurael’s soul cried out in agony. His voice, reed-thin, pleaded once more, “Please!”

  “From now on, no more games. You are my servant, Aurael. I am your master. If you want your freedom, you must work for it.”

  He went away into the cave, his strange and weathered cloak flowing like the night sky behind him, leaving Aurael to cry to the fireflies and night-birds in the darkness.

  Ferran drifted into consciousness and heard a faint but steady dripping of water nearby. He felt hard, uneven stone against his back, his muscles sore from the not-quite-flat position he lay in, with rocks poking into his back and neck. He opened his eyes to darkness and tried to sit up, but found that his ankles were bound, as were his wrists before him. A pain spiked in his ribs as he tried to turn over onto his side, and he caught his breath hard. Soreness bloomed throughout his body, various bruises throbbing in reminder of their presence. The sound of his sore grunt echoed back at him from the walls and low ceiling.

  A cave? What happened? Ferran tried to think back, reaching into the dark fog of his mind for answers, but nothing materialized.

  There was a scraping sound somewhere in the dark. Ferran lay very still, listening. Someone was coming. He shut his eyes, hearing the heavy footfall of someone coming nearer. Whoever it was sounded as though they were dragging something big. The unseen stranger stopped somewhere in the room and dropped the load, then sighed heavily and lumbered away again, the steps sounding fainter and fainter down the corridor.

  Ferran waited a few more moments then opened his eyes again. His eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and as his world came into focus, he found himself in a small cavern, with several large stalagmites protruding from the ground. Although his feet and hands felt completely bound, he could see no rope or ties of any kind.

  What prison is this? Ferran craned his head carefully to look at what the stranger had left behind and saw that it was a man, lying in a crumpled heap with his back facing Ferran.

  “Hello?” he whispered. “Who’s there?”

  The man on the floor lay motionless and did not reply. Ferran felt his heart pounding. Captive in a cave with a possible dead body, he thought worriedly. This does not look good.

  The footsteps approached again, and Ferran quickly shut his eyes and shifted back to his original position, hoping he would continue to go unnoticed. The stranger came along again, dragging more cargo.

  Another body? thought Ferran. Who are these men? Castaways from the Albatross . . . or something else?

  He risked peeking one eye open as the stranger dumped the second body near the first, and Ferran caught his breath audibly. The stranger heard his small gasp and turned to peer into the dark warily. Just before he could shut his eyes again, Ferran saw its face, and froze.

  It was a monster.

  It was a man, more or less, though unlike any man Ferran had ever seen. Tall and wide, it was covered in dark skin mixed with pebbly rough patches, like a fish’s scales, that gleamed in the dim light. It wore a rough hempen cloth wound about its waist and legs like makeshift short trousers, and there were six long fingers on each hand and six toes on each huge foot. Its eyes were unevenly placed and Ferran was surprised to note they were sky blue, startlingly pale against the creature’s unusual, patchy body.

  The creature looked hesitantly about the cave, not noticing Ferran’s stare then, seemingly dismissing the sound, turned back to the bodies on the floor, moving them closer together as a sailor arranges barrels of cargo in the hold. Finally, it gave a sad sort of shake of its lopsided head and slouched out of the cavern again, its huge feet stomping down the passageway, out of sight.

  Ferran tried to keep his breath quiet, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. The monster that hurt Mira, he thought. That means I’m in her father’s caves. I could be hundreds of feet underground.

  In a flash, Ferran recalled Dante’s arrival in the clearing by the treehouse and the subsequent attack when Mira tried to stop her father from taking him away. He shivered.

  He’s going to kill me, thought Ferran. Unless Mira finds me, or I escape.

  One of the bodies on the ground groaned softly, startling Ferran.

  “Hello! Psst! Are you all right?” Ferran whispered frantically. There was no telling how long they’d be lying here in the cold and the dark, how long before Dante came to fetch them. If they’re not too injured, perhaps we can help each other out of this mess.

  There was another groan, worried and pained, and one of the bodies rolled over a little.

  Ferran’s heart leapt. It can’t be! he thought as the man’s face came into view. “Truffo?” he whispered, voice cracking.

  The bruised, rumple-haired young man opened his eyes. It most certainly was Truffo Arlecin, but he looked so different now: tired, hunted, and almost empty. Ferran was reminded of his childhood hound, and the look it had given him the day before it had given up on living and died of old age.

  “Truffo,” Ferran whispered again. “You’re alive! I am so glad to see you!”

  “Prince?” muttered the fool, his eyes fluttering closed again.

  “Yes, it’s me, Prince Ferran. Wake up! We have to get out of here!”

  “Can’t escape . . . there are monsters . . .” Truffo’s head lolled with exhaustion.

  “Truffo!” Ferran was desperate. “Please! Stay awake!”

  It was no use. Whatever had happened to him had worn him completely out. Thinking on Dante’s soulless stare and the creature that had brought the bodies in, Ferran could hardly disbelieve Truffo when he claimed there were monsters about. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he drifted into a kind of dreamless sleep, waking some time later to the faint smell of something burning and the tinkling of a distant, unseen wind chime.

  Somewhere deep in the caves, a man screamed in pain, and Ferran felt the last of his courage vanish completely. With great effort, he rolled over onto his side and saw that Truffo and the other body had disappeared. He was alone.

  I have to get out of here. Ferran looked toward the passageway where he’d seen the monster enter. There was another scream, and, without another moment of hesitation, Ferran began to wriggle desperately toward the uneven passage in the rock ahead of him, praying that it was not far to the cave’s exit, and that he could make it outside before he was caught.

  * * *

  “I said, stay back, ghost!”

  Mira adjusted her grip on the staff, feeling it buzz in her palms. Although there was no sharp head on this staff’s point, something about having the staff in hand was comforting in the face of this unexp
ected development.

  “Please, do not be alarmed,” the sheer-skinned man pleaded, still kneeling. His eyes were full of starlight and endless night skies, and his voice shook with something possibly like joy. “I’m no ghost. I mean no harm to you, Mira. I owe you my life.”

  “You . . . what?”

  “I beg of you, please remember me.” He looked pained. “Think hard, think back to your early days. Remember when you came to the isle, when you were but small. Do you remember your very first friend?”

  Mira hesitated, furrowing her brow in deep concentration. “I remember my father and the monster, and . . .” The glimmering creature before her looked hopeful. “And there was someone else . . .” Mira felt her heart leap in confusion.

  “I am an airy spirit, born of the sky and wind and clouds,” the spectre said, spreading his arms wide. “My name is Aurael. I was bound here, imprisoned in a tree, until you and your father arrived and freed me. You found me first, and you were such a little thing, so bright and trusting!” He smiled, and Mira felt something brush up against her memories, familiarity dropping like a pebble to disrupt the surface of a pond.

  “I . . . don’t remember everything, but I think I remember you,” she said slowly. She could not quite place the exact memories, but it felt true. “What happened when we freed you?”

  Aurael sat back on his heels with a happy sigh. “We were inseparable! We spent all of our time together, and as you grew and explored the island, I kept you safe from harm. Do you remember the games we used to play? I sometimes was a bear to walk with you, sometimes a dolphin to swim with you. I was always at your side, Mira.”

  Mira lowered the staff so that it rested upright on the ground, and she leaned on it a little. “I don’t remember,” she said again, although there were echoes of truth to his words that made the lights on the staff’s runes glimmer and spark as the shadows around them grew darker. It will be night soon, and Ferran is in trouble.

  “Try. Think back.” Aurael’s sheer, pale blue form did not fade or darken, but he seemed to glow from within himself, pale against the twilight of the forest. “I was with you all along.” His expression was full of—what? Adoration? Mira felt her skin prickle.