Forsaken Island

by Sharon Hinck

  Surprised laughter burst from Brantley’s chest. “They must have called together herders from all the rim villages. And look! The others have harnesses and rafts.”

  So much had happened I’d forgotten our original mission. I spun and looked behind me, half expecting the path toward the green village to be closed again. If anything, the path had widened. Was the Gardener growing weaker, or was he eager for us to leave? Or did this barrier not belong to him at all?

  The warm and powerful voice of the Maker welled in my heart. I made a way for you. For three days.

  “And after that . . . are we meant to stay here?” I whispered. I wanted to leap into the water and swim for all I was worth back to Meriel. But if He asked me to remain, I would.

  After the three days, return home. Your place is on Meriel.

  My breathing was still shallow and fast. I stood on tiptoe, hardly daring to take a deep breath, afraid the beautiful vision of home would disappear.

  As the fleet of stenella and riders drew closer, Brantley scanned the water intently. His gaze marked each creature and its rider. Then his shoulders sank. Despite his certainty of Navar’s death, I knew his hope had flared and been disappointed. She wasn’t among the sea creatures.

  I leaned my head against his shoulder, wishing I knew how to offer comfort. “We’re going home,” I said quietly.

  His chin lifted, and he drew a long draught of sea air into his lungs. “Yes.” He turned and hugged me close, then let the realization flood him. “Yes, we are!” Dazed, joyous laughter burst from us both. Together we whooped and jumped up and down on the bouncy tangleroot.

  The stenella that glided in the air was small, and when it splashed back onto the water’s surface, it nearly unseated the wiry youth straddling it.

  “It’s Teague!” Brantley waved again to his apprentice. “Where did he get that stenella?”

  Teague wiped water off his face and guided his mount toward us with a cheeky grin. When they stopped, he sprang to stand in the smooth motion Brantley had taught him. “I knew it! I knew we shouldn’t leave.”

  “We found the parchment but thought it said you were leaving.” I reached out to pat the stenella’s muzzle, but it jerked away. Not all stenella were as affectionate as Navar had been.

  Teague eyed the tiny opening of shoreline and bunched the freckles around his nose. “Not saying some didn’t push for that. But Saltar Kemp insisted. We’ve had patrols circling that whole island looking for signs.”

  Words tumbled from the excited boy, interspersed with our questions. As the other herders drew near, we learned that the decision to keep Meriel close to this island had been contentious. “I told ’em we couldn’t give up. Saltar Kemp convinced them to wait for one more star rain.”

  Cold prickles fluttered through my chest. We’d been within a few weeks of never seeing our world again. Even though I’d resigned myself to living the rest of my days trapped inside this world, now that Meriel was within enticing reach, the thought of losing her made me tremble. I rubbed my arms, reminding myself this wasn’t mere chance. The Maker had known that help awaited us. He’d known the right time to make our path.

  “And this?” Brantley perused the irritable stenella.

  “Kenvo let me borrow him for my shift. All the herders have been taking shifts watching the island. Well, everybody but Goreg.”

  Brantley chuckled. “He’s an old crank from Rippler,” he explained to me. “Never had much to do with the other herders. Sounds like nothing’s changed.”

  Teague’s chest puffed forward. “I volunteered extra. Navar will be surprised at how much better I’ve gotten. Where is she? She was pining by the shore most days. Wouldn’t let me ride her. She disappeared a few times, and I haven’t seen her in many days.”

  Brantley, with a catch in this throat, explained what had happened to Navar. The excited boy instantly sobered and grew tongue-tied, as unsure as I was how to offer comfort to Brantley. I distracted him with more questions. The youngling relaxed as he gave us a full report. Everyone in Windswell was fine, although Brantley’s family had spent many days and nights in a vigil, staring at the strange foreign island and praying for our return. Supplies were still scarce throughout Meriel. As the other herders pulled along the shore, we told them about the bounty we’d found.

  “Step aboard,” one herder offered. “I can bring you over.”

  Everything in me wanted to flee the heavy vegetation of the rim. But these herders didn’t know the people of the green village or the strange problems of this island. I shook my head. “Brantley and I will bring you in to meet some of the people. I’m sure they’ll help you load your rafts. But don’t stray past the village.”

  Brantley tugged me aside, casting a dark gaze at the shadowed path inland. “We are not going back in there.”

  I touched his clenched arm. “Three days. The Maker told me.”

  His eyes narrowed as he pulled away to face me. “When?”

  “A moment ago. Trust me. Please. This is our chance to help Meriel.”

  He rocked side to side, indecision bouncing his gaze between the sea and the path.

  My heart felt tight in my chest. How dare I ask him to trust me? In spite of his assurances, it had been my decisions that led to Navar’s death. What if he blamed the Maker for my actions? Had my choices that day damaged his fledgling trust in the Maker?

  I chewed the inside of my lower lip, tugging on the silky sleeve of my day-before robe. He had every reason to step onto the nearest stenella and return home. And after that . . . perhaps after all that had happened here, he’d withdraw his request to bond.

  His posture softened, and he offered his hand. “If you’re going back in there, I’m coming with you.”

  His words didn’t answer my deepest questions, but I managed a smile. “Then let’s get started.”

  Over the next three days, we introduced the herders to Trilia, Harba, Wimmo, and Morra. Some cheerful villagers even helped gather fruit, tubers, and seeds for the stenella to shuttle back to Meriel. Those affected by the convening showed no curiosity about the strangers or where they were taking supplies. None of the villagers dared the path toward the sea. Morra came closest, peering into the shadowed trail. But even though his mind was clear, he insisted they weren’t meant to leave the enclosure of the rim barrier. And maybe he was right. In the vision I’d had of the time before, the barrier had been created as a protection—guarding out-islanders from the dangerous influence of the Gardener, but perhaps also protecting the inhabitants until the time the Maker would walk among them.

  I decided not to coax any of my friends to walk through the barrier, even though I would have loved to show them the sea, my island, and the many stenella gliding through the current.

  Wimmo was disappointed that the bonding ceremony for Brantley and me was postponed. I welcomed her complaints because they were such a beautiful contrast to the passivity that used to cover her every expression. No one else in the village paid much attention to the change in plans. Now that home was in our sights, I indulged in dreams of gathering with Brantley’s family in Windswell, with some of the dancers and saltars in attendance. Waiting a few more days was a small price to pay.

  Brantley didn’t speak of our postponed bonding, which only fed my insecurities. He barely spoke to me at all. He was busy overseeing the harvesting, packing, and transporting of supplies. My heart swelled with pride as I watched the way the other herders deferred to him. Then on the tail of my admiration, the heavy wave of unworthiness would wash over me again and again. He deserved so much better. Even he had said it—under the influence of the Gardener, but still—why would he want to be saddled with a cripple? Perhaps he had only wanted to go ahead with the bonding while we were the only two from Meriel trapped on a foreign world. Now that he could return to Windswell, his affection for Brianna could blossom into more, or a strong, healthy rimmer girl could catch his fancy. And even if we went ahead with our bonding, what would happen to his grief ov
er Navar’s death? He said he didn’t blame me, but in time wouldn’t resentment spring up like daygrass?

  Thankfully, the days were so busy I couldn’t dwell on the fears that weighed me down. But I also couldn’t raise the subject with Brantley. We were never alone together, working feverishly to gather all the resources our world needed before the currents pulled them apart and into their assigned paths.

  On the last evening, some of the herders mingled at the revel. Bonfire smoke curled through the air. Rich stews simmered and enticed. Laughter swirled, and music stirred our hearts. The villagers danced, again reminding me of soaring birds with their vibrant robes and wide sleeves rippling. Spinning, dipping, weaving.

  The herders watched wide-eyed from the sidelines, sipping punch, talking to each other and to Brantley. I was glad someone else could witness this beauty. In the coming years, there would be others to speak to as I’d remember this scene and these people.

  Morra left the dancing and found me near the musician’s platform. He bowed over one chunky leg, and his smile dimpled his round cheeks, florid from drink and exercise. “Be you still leaving tonight? You be welcome to stay, you know.”

  Weight on my good leg, I bobbed up and down on my toes. “Thank you.” Then I startled him with an enthusiastic hug. “You helped us when we first arrived, and you’ve done so much to help our world these last days of gathering. Are you sure you don’t want to stroll down the path and see our island?”

  He shuddered. “My place be here. Thanks all the same.”

  Harba waddled over, Wimmo by his side bouncing her baby. Makah’s eyes were wide, taking in the music and voices around her. Wimmo kissed her head. “We be heading to bed. Little ones need early nights, I be thinking.”

  Again I rose and lowered on my toes. “Your people have given us so much aid. I have a gift for you, as well.” I crouched beside my pack and pulled out a linen-wrapped bundle. During all the trips between the two islands, I’d sent word asking Fiola for a spare copy of the Maker’s letter. She and Brianna had organized the women of Windswell to produce more copies for all the rim villages as well as the midlands. The Order was also having novitiates dedicate an hour each day to reproducing the precious words. Although copies were still scarce, we could afford to share with these people.

  “They be stories?” Harba asked, turning the parchment pages carefully against the leather cords that bound them.

  “They be truth,” I said. “Share it while you prepare for the Maker’s arrival.”

  Wimmo’s gaze was clear and alert. She nodded. “We will watch for the Maker and call the others to this too. Perhaps when they understand how all our villages be shrinking, how our people be disappearing, they will see the danger and listen.” She caressed Makah, a new fire blazing from her eyes. “We’ll speak truth so no more babes will be forgotten and lost.”

  I hugged them and fought a welling of tears. Saying goodbye to my new friends was harder than I’d expected.

  As so often happened at a moment of ache or need, Brantley appeared by my side.

  “Ready?” He grabbed my bag and slung it over his shoulder with a nonchalant smoothness. But a hint of gravel in his throat betrayed his own emotions.

  I nodded, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulder, adjusting his steps to my uneven ones. I gripped the cane handle that Morra had carved. Turning back, I let a few tears fall before continuing down the shadowed path to the sea. “Is everyone out?”

  “I counted heads. Can’t believe none of the villagers wanted to pass through the barrier and see what’s beyond.”

  We reached the tangleroot edge. One stenella, on loan from another herder, floated nearby. Several others with riders disappeared around the bend that hid Windswell. I looked back. Wispy branches dangled downward and swayed even though no breeze touched them. Then they reached toward each other and wove together. Soon the path disappeared, although hints of evening music reached our ears over the top of the tallest trees. “I wonder if the Maker will tear down the barrier when He comes.”

  “That’s a better question for you to puzzle over.” He swept a stray lock of hair from my face. “Having a hard time saying goodbye?”

  I tightened my cloak around my shoulders. “A lot has happened. The people here have become true friends.”

  “True.” Brantley’s husky voice melded with the lapping of water against the shore. He paused. “Carya, we need to talk.”

  Had any conversation that began that way brought good news?

  The barrier trees darkened with the setting subsun, reminding me of the menacing view they’d presented when we first arrived here. Perhaps I was braver than I gave myself credit for. After all, I had touched these plants, felt their pulse, heard the island’s cry for help. And I’d answered in my own small way.

  Yet I couldn’t seem to find courage for the conversation Brantley asked for. I’d wanted time alone to talk with him ever since Meriel appeared, but now a hard knot twisted in my center. The borrowed stenella flicked an impatient fin. I looked down, my leather shoes getting damp from the water seeping up through the tangleroot. He’d said we needed to talk, but now he waited, silent. Irritating man. Clearly, he expected me to start. Still, I floundered for something normal to say. “I hope our friends will convince more villagers to stay away from the convening.”

  “I suppose that’s in the Maker’s hands now.” Brantley shifted his weight, one hand resting on his longknife. “Carya, I’ve wanted to ask—”

  “I’m not sure we gathered enough supplies. Three days weren’t nearly enough time. We could have used a week or more.” Now that the moment of reckoning had arrived, I pushed it away with an onslaught of words. “Once we’re floating in healthy currents again, each village can plant new orchards. Of course, it will take time, but I think it will help everyone, especially the rimmers. Teague told me that there have been rumors that Saltar River has gathered a group of former dancers to oppose Saltar Kemp. I’m not sure what—”

  Brantley clasped my upper arms and tugged me to a stop. “We can talk about all that once we’re back in Windswell.”

  I pulled my gaze from my feet. When I looked up, he was studying me with a frown. The knot in my stomach pulled taut. This was it. The moment of a loss more painful than any I’d faced before. I stopped fighting it. My ribs contracted with my sigh. “Say it.”

  His head tilted, and that tendon along his jaw tightened. Oh, how I would miss watching the play of emotions on his face. Subsunset sparkled against his fair curls. His fingers pressed warmly into the back of my arm. I was close enough to smell his unique scent of damp leather vest and sweet citrus seawater. I inhaled deeply, tormenting myself further.

  His hands dropped away, and he stepped back. “Carya, what’s wrong?”

  I couldn’t answer. My chin dipped, and I shook my head, mute.

  He took one of my hands and traced thoughtful patterns on my palm. “Have you changed your mind? Is that why you’re as skittish as a newly weaned stenella?”

  Stenella. We hadn’t talked about Navar since that morning at the lake. A sharp sting filled my eyes. I blinked, hiding the threat of tears and keeping my gaze down. I couldn’t bear to see the anguish in his gaze.

  “You won’t even talk to me?” His voice held a ragged edge now. “For a pair to be bonded, it seems to me we need honesty between us.”

  My head jerked up. “But that’s just it.” My throat closed, and I couldn’t continue.

  He drew back, dropping my hand. “You truly have changed your mind? Why? What have I done?”

  I clutched my head. How could one man be so confusing and frustrating? “You’ve done nothing. But I know you blame me . . .”

  “Blame you?” His brow puckered further, then cleared. “Are you thinking of Navar again?”

  I bit my lip and managed a tight nod.

  “The only one I blame is the Gardener of this accursed island.” He spoke with so much heat I began to believe him. “I don’t deny the shock made me an
gry at everyone. The Maker, the people here . . . you. I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I couldn’t talk about it then. It’s still hard. But I shouldn’t have shut you out. Forgive me?”

  He reached for my hand again, and I clasped his. “Of course. But as you said, we need truth between us. Be honest. Won’t you resent me for—”

  “For dancing me away from the Gardener’s spell? For finding resources to benefit our entire world? For bringing light and laughter to my heart every time I look at you?”

  Heat curled in my chest. “But the cost . . .”

  He pulled me close again. “Navar chose to save us. It was a gift of loyalty . . . and love. I’m grateful for the years we had together. A companion like that is rare.” He rested his forehead against mine. “The loss is huge. But it is nothing compared to the loss I would feel if you no longer wanted to bond with me.”

  My heart tingled as if star rain swirled and sparked within. The warmth in my chest moved up to my face. “Truly?” I whispered.

  He sighed. “That you could doubt it shows me how preoccupied I’ve been. Will you let me prove it every day for the rest of our lives, dancer?”

  I gasped in a small sip of air, as surprise, hope, and finally delight spun inside. “You truly still want that?”

  His head bent, and his lips found mine. Tender, longing, his kiss pledged things he couldn’t put into words. I answered in kind, then wrapped my arms around his waist and nestled into him.

  “I’ve never stopped wanting that, Carya. And you? Are you ready to bond with a reckless herder from a poor rim village?”

  Joy emboldened me to tease. “Maybe. If you could be a tiny bit less reckless?”

  His laugher spun into the sky. He stepped onto the borrowed stenella and offered his hand. “Ready to leave this forsaken island?”

  “Not truly forsaken. The Maker has never forgotten them.” I didn’t need to look back anymore. I joined Brantley and settled behind the neck of the creature.