“He must be lonely,” said Pirra behind him. She stood in the shallows, a slight figure in the gloom. “Doesn’t he have a pod? A family?”
“They’ve gone off. I don’t know where.”
“That’s why he’s unhappy. Dolphins aren’t meant to be alone.”
“What do you know about dolphins?” he said curtly.
She smiled. “Every Keftian knows about dolphins; they’re the guardians of the Sea. That’s why it’s death to harm one.”
“I knew that,” he lied.
Wading deeper, she put out her hand, and Spirit swam past and let her stroke him. “They say that a dolphin never stops moving,” she said. “They can hear everything in the Sea. And see in the dark. They can see through things too. A dolphin can see a flounder hiding under the sand, and a baby dolphin in its mother’s belly. It can see the heart beating in the chest of a man.” She paused. “But I never met anyone who could talk to them.”
“I can’t, not really,” Hylas admitted. “Not the way they talk to each other. But sometimes I can guess what he’s feeling. And when he looks at me, it’s—it’s like he can see into my spirit…” He broke off, embarrassed.
Spirit swam in a circle and flicked water in Pirra’s face with his flipper. She laughed.
Hylas found himself telling her about being adrift, and the shark, and the dolphins saving him. It was a relief to tell her; but when he mentioned the blue fire, she gasped.
“You saw the blue fire?”
“Why? What’s it mean?”
She hesitated. “Sometimes the Goddess summons dolphins to do Her bidding. They swim so close that they’re splashed with Her burning blue shadow. Her shadow, Hylas. That’s the blue fire. That’s what you saw.”
He waded ashore, and the night breeze chilled his skin. He thought of the first time he’d seen Spirit, rising out of the Sea in a fountain of luminous blue. He felt breathless and scared. He didn’t want Spirit to be sacred. He wanted him to be his friend.
Pirra waded after him, wringing out the hem of her tunic. “Not many people have seen the blue fire,” she said quietly. “I wonder why you did?”
He thought of the dying Keftian in the tomb, and the lock of hair floating on the waves. He had an alarming feeling that he was caught up in something far greater than he knew. Why had he ended up here, on the Island of the Goddess? What lay on the other side of those cliffs that barred the way inland?
“Hylas—who are you?” said Pirra. “Why are the Crows after you?”
Odd that she’d mentioned them first. “They’re after Outsiders,” he said warily.
“Is that what you are, an Outsider? What does that mean?”
He told her. “I think you Keftians call them the People of the Wild.”
She considered that. “I’ve heard of them. Though there aren’t many left on Keftiu. They’re said to keep to the high mountains. But I didn’t know there were any in Akea too. So why are the Crows after Outsiders?”
“You tell me, you camped with them.”
She bristled. “My mother might have dealings with them—but I’m not in league with them, if that’s what you think.”
“But you must know something! Why did they come after me that night on the coast?”
“I don’t know! Userref said—”
“Who’s Userref?”
“My slave. He said they told him you’d tried to kill Thestor’s son, but we both thought that was just—”
“What?” He was horrified. “That’s a lie!”
“Like I said, we didn’t believe them—”
“I’d never do anything to hurt Telamon—he’s my best friend!”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re friends with Thestor’s son? But—that doesn’t make sense.”
“Why, because he’s rich and I’m poor?”
“No, because he’s the boy I’m supposed to wed, and because he—”
“Telamon? He and you are supposed to wed? And you didn’t think to tell me that?”
“Why would I? It never occurred to me that you could be friends!”
“Why not?”
She opened her mouth to reply—then shut it again. Her face closed. Hylas could see her deciding not to say another word. She didn’t trust him any more than he trusted her.
“You’re hiding things,” he said accusingly.
“So are you,” she flung back. “Where did you get that dagger? How come you know our name for Outsiders, if you’d never met a Keftian before you met me?”
He did not reply. The fragile ease that had sprung up between them was shattered. “We’d better get some sleep,” he said brusquely.
“Right,” snapped Pirra.
That night, Hylas lay in his shelter, listening to the black water lapping at the stones.
Telamon had never mentioned the deal with Keftiu. But then, he never did talk about what was going on at Lapithos; he said it was showing off. And he would have been embarrassed about having to wed.
Unless Pirra was lying about that. Unless she’d made it up, to distract attention from the Crows.
The Sea grew quiet and the crescent Moon rose, but still Hylas couldn’t sleep. Talking about the Crows had brought them much closer. He pictured sinister ships with black sails racing toward him. Would the Sea carry them here? Would Pirra betray him?
There was silence from her shelter, but he could tell from her breathing that she wasn’t asleep.
She was hiding things. She must be.
Well, one thing was certain. He couldn’t trust her. Once they’d built the raft, he was leaving her behind.
22
Pirra had thought that things were beginning to improve between her and Hylas, but last night had changed all that. If it was true that he was friends with the Chieftain’s son—which seemed impossible—then the less she said about anything, the better.
She decided to keep her head down and help Hylas build the raft; then, once they’d reached Akea, she would slip away.
She was vague about what would happen after that. Besides, she had more pressing concerns. She was beginning to worry that Hylas might be planning to leave her behind.
She told herself that she must be mistaken. He couldn’t be that ruthless, even though he was a Lykonian. But what if she was right?
Building the raft turned out to be exhausting. Hylas would crawl over the makeshift bridge while she waited on the rocks; then he’d hack a piece of timber free with an axe he’d found in the hold, tie a rope around it, and throw her the other end. This was the worst bit, as she scrabbled about, failing to catch the rope, and being shouted at. When she finally did catch it, Hylas would again make the perilous crossing and help her haul in the timber.
They also salvaged three beeswax tablets, which they could melt down and use for plugging gaps, and four unbroken jars, which Pirra guessed from their seals contained olives.
By nightfall they were too tired to fight, and sat numbly by the fire, picking out splinters.
The next day they lugged everything back to camp, as Hylas insisted on building the raft behind the boulders, where it couldn’t be seen from the Sea. The threat of the Crows was ever-present. They were constantly checking the horizon for ships.
Hylas worked with grim determination, pausing only to set a few fish traps or bird snares. He didn’t even ask her to show him where she fetched the water, and when she mentioned the cave, he just nodded and left her to it.
She wished he wouldn’t. She hated the cave. It was guarded by clumps of white asphodel with spikes taller than she was, and to get inside, she had to wriggle in backward with her arms against her chest, then drop into the chill, wet, gurgling darkness. It was too low to stand up in, and she felt the rocks pressing down on her. But she couldn’t ask Hylas to do it instead, because it was the one thing she knew more about than him.
On the whole, though, they got along all right, and she began to think that her suspicions might be unfounded. One time, he tossed her a pair of sandals which he’d fou
nd on the wreck and trimmed to fit her. And he taught her to swim, by making her jump into a rock pool and shouting at her to use her arms and legs. She swallowed so much seawater she was sick, but she managed it in the end.
Then last night he had a nightmare, kicking his shelter and shouting, “Issi! Scram! Scram, where are you?” When she shook him awake he looked dazed, and not quite so tough. She asked about Issi, and he blinked and said she was his little sister who’d gone missing when the Crows attacked; and Scram was his dog who they’d killed. Pirra felt sorry for him, and envious because he’d had a dog. But she was pleased that he’d told her about Issi. She was also intrigued; she’d always wondered what it would be like to have a sister.
On the third day they built the raft. They’d salvaged nine longish timbers, two logs—which Hylas said would do for rollers, whatever they were—and four shorter planks. He laid two of the planks about three paces apart, then he and Pirra put the timbers side by side on top. The plan was to place the other two planks across the row of timbers, then lash each pair of planks together at the ends, thus clamping the timbers in between.
It proved extremely hard to do. To force the ends of each pair of planks together around the timbers, they had to pile rocks on them, and Hylas had to carve notches so that the ropes wouldn’t slip off. Steering the raft posed a problem too, until Pirra remembered a painting of an Egyptian barge in her mother’s chambers, and suggested mounting an oar on a tripod of crossed sticks.
At last, it was finished.
“It looks fine,” Pirra said proudly.
“It’ll do,” said Hylas. He was busy gathering the dried mullets he’d prepared for the journey, and tying the other supplies to the raft. Pirra noticed that although he’d secured two of the jars they’d salvaged, he’d left off the other two, along with a second waterskin that he’d rescued from the hold.
With a sensation of falling, she realized that those provisions were meant for her. She’d been right all along. He really did intend to leave her behind.
Desolation, rage, and hurt battled within her. Rage won. Her palms prickled. Her blood roared in her ears. She wanted to batter him with her fists and scream, You rotten stinking liar!
“Pass me that bit of rope, will you?” he muttered.
“Fetch it yourself,” she snarled.
He glanced around. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said sweetly. “Maybe I’m just a bit annoyed that I’ve been working like a slave for days, and you said you’d take me with you, and you lied.”
He flushed.
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes? Is that all you can say?”
“Yes.”
She blinked. “Have you no—no honor?”
He snorted. “Honor’s for people who get enough to eat.”
“What about gratitude? I helped save Spirit! I helped build this wretched raft!”
He rose to his feet and met her eyes, and his gaze was level and unashamed. “I’m sorry,” he said flatly, “but I’ve got to find my sister. You’d be in the way.”
“In the way?” she exploded. “If I hadn’t helped you—”
“Look. Pirra. It could take days to reach Lykonia. If there were two of us on the raft, what would we do for food? I couldn’t catch enough for both of us and you can’t fish. So either we’d both starve, or I’d have to chuck you overboard to be eaten by sharks. I’d rather leave you here to take your chances. You’ll be safer.”
“Oh, so I’m supposed to thank you?”
“No. You’re supposed to accept that this is how it’s got to be.”
“You’re horrible!” she shouted. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself!”
“Even if you did come,” he called after her, “what would you do when we got there? Lykonia’s what you were running away from! And you couldn’t go back to Keftiu. Where would you go?”
“I hate you!” she screamed. Snatching up the waterskins, she ran off toward the headland.
She was so furious that she almost forgot to be frightened of the cave.
Grinding her teeth, she wriggled through the entrance and dropped into the gloom, where she plunged the waterskins into the stream and held them under by their necks, as if she were strangling kittens.
But once she was climbing back up the headland, laden with two heavy waterskins, her rage burned off and her spirits plummeted. Of course Hylas didn’t want her. Why would he? She was useless. And shouting at him had achieved nothing—except to prove that she couldn’t keep her temper, and thus wasn’t worth taking along.
He was right too, about her having nowhere to go. Desolation swept over her. No one in the whole world cared about her.
A trickle of pebbles above her, and she glanced up to see Hylas skittering down toward her.
“What is it now?” she said dully.
Grabbing her wrist, he yanked her after him down the slope. “Quick!” he panted. “Where’s this cave?”
“What?”
“The cave, the cave, we’ve got to hide! Ships!”
23
“Spirit warned me,” panted Hylas as they scrambled down the slope. “He kept slamming his tail.”
“How many ships?” said Pirra.
“Two. But they’re too far off to see if they’re Crows. Is this the cave?” They’d reached the asphodels.
“I’ll go first,” said Pirra. Squirming through the cave mouth, she dropped onto the stones. Fear squeezed her heart. She pictured ships beached in the bay and men splashing ashore. Her mother was relentless; she would search the whole island…
“Catch!” Hylas tossed in the waterskins, then jumped down beside her.
He’d brought two sticks of giant fennel, which he’d lit at the campfire. Pirra was astonished at his forethought, and even more that he didn’t seem scared of the cave. To her, the uncertain light only deepened the darkness around her. For all she knew, ghosts were all around them, thronging this shadowy pathway between the worlds of the living and the dead. Didn’t Hylas feel it too?
He was prowling about, peering into cracks, and kneeling to taste the black water sliding past their feet. “This is good,” he muttered. “We could hide in here for days.”
“No we couldn’t,” she said quickly. “It’s too small, there’s not enough air.”
“Yes there is, there’s a draft.” He sniffed. “Smells salty. Must be a way to the Sea.” He snapped his fingers. “I just remembered, when I first got to the island I saw a cave, it opened straight onto the Sea. That’s where the air’s coming from.”
“Hylas—”
He was poking his head through a gap between two tall pillars of dank rock. “Think I’ve found it.” Before Pirra could stop him, he’d squeezed sideways and disappeared.
“Hylas!” she hissed.
“Come on, it widens out!”
Setting her teeth, she squeezed after him.
She burst through into a narrow cave that was too low to stand up in, and clammy with breath. “We’ll get lost!” she panted.
“No, we won’t. Just remember those tall rocks near the entrance, and that red rock like a hand we passed at the turn—”
“But why go deeper at all?”
“Because we need to see those ships. If we can’t, we won’t know if they’ve gone, or if they’re heading straight for us…” His voice grew fainter as he rounded a bend.
Gasping for breath, Pirra followed him at a crouching run. In the wavering light of her fennel stalk, rock faces sprang at her, and shadows slithered away. She heard the echoing plink of water—and behind it the impenetrable silence of stone.
Something brushed her ankle. She stifled a cry.
It was a garland, so ancient and shriveled that when she nudged it with her sandal it crumbled to dust. Her hand crept to her sealstone. The walls threw back the sound of her fear. In the gloom, she made out brittle twists of barley from summers long gone, and olive leaves as gra
y as death. Others had been here before her. She thought of the Vanished Ones: the people who had lived on the island in the old times, and mysteriously disappeared.
Here and there, she glimpsed lesser offerings pushed into cracks and crevices: a tiny earthenware bird, a bull, a snake. On Keftiu, people did the same thing, journeying to sanctuaries on peaks and in caves to leave the first fruits of the harvest, and little wild creatures of clay or bronze.
She glimpsed a small clay dolphin on a ledge. It lay on its side, its painted eye faded with age, yet curiously alert.
Ahead, Hylas’ light had dwindled to a glimmer.
Pirra righted the dolphin on its ledge, and hurried after him.
Being stuck on the island had been very terrible, and the dolphin would never have gone near it again if it hadn’t been for his pod. They were lost somewhere inside it, and he could tell by their squeals that they were getting weaker.
And now the island had swallowed the boy and the girl too.
The dolphin couldn’t abandon them. It wasn’t only that they’d rescued him. More than any humans he’d ever met, he cared about them. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to them.
Especially to the boy. Even when the boy was busy, he would always pat the waves with his flipper when the dolphin was near; and when the dolphin swam closer, the boy would stroke him and talk to him in his odd, pebbly speech.
Sometimes too, when the Above had gone dark and the girl was asleep, the boy would wander down and stand quietly in the shallows, and the dolphin would swim around him. Then there would be no need for speech, and boy and dolphin could be lonely together, both missing their kin.
But how dreadful to be human! To be forced to live in that terrible, glaring heat! No waving forests of cool green kelp where the succulent bream swim. No deep, dark hunting grounds where you must click hard and fast to find the stingrays hiding under the sand. It made the dolphin long to grab the boy by the flipper and dive with him, down through the shimmering Blue to the Black Beneath, to show him what it is to be a dolphin, at one with the Sea.
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