The Island of Destiny

by Cameron Stelzer

  ‘There’s only one way to resolve this,’ he muttered.

  He rolled up the map and slid it into a canister, sealing the top with a cork. Wedging the canister into his belt next to his green scissor sword, he picked up the key.

  If the map can’t give me an answer, he thought, maybe the island can.

  Whisker had no idea how long he’d been in the navigation room. He staggered onto the windy deck to discover the world outside had changed. The rain had cleared and the sun poked through gaps in the separating clouds. The entire crew was gathered in the centre of the deck, witnessing the spectacle in front of them.

  Sharp rocks dotted the ocean ahead, marking the entrance to the Treacherous Sea. Steep cliffs of basalt rock rose to the north. Sprawling pine trees and crumbling boulders covered the rugged cliff tops. In the distance, twin mountains, black as the night, towered over the cliffs like silent sentinels. The peak of the eastern mountain eclipsed its western sibling by a mere boulder or two.

  The island was more terrifying than Whisker had ever imagined. Even from a distance, he could hear the wind howling through the trees, roaring and racing down the cliffs to the surging sea. Closing his eyes, he imagined he was listening to a graveyard of phantoms, endlessly wailing, eternally cursed.

  If the wind was the terrifying life force of the island, then the waves were its minions. They battered every rock, pounded every cliff face – savagely, relentlessly.

  Whisker shivered. ‘An island of destiny or an island of death?’

  ‘Both,’ Pete muttered. ‘Every rat’s destiny is death.’

  Horace looked up from his net. ‘Don’t listen to him, Whisker. You can get us through. I know it.’

  Whisker wished he shared Horace’s confidence, but he couldn’t shake his feeling of dread. He turned his back on the island and climbed the stairs to the helm.

  ‘Any luck?’ the Captain asked.

  Whisker ran his tongue over his teeth, avoiding an answer. The Captain gripped harder on the wheel, unable to hide his frustration.

  ‘Is the net ready, Horace?’ he shouted.

  ‘Nearly, Captain,’ Horace replied. ‘I just need to load it into a cannon.’

  ‘I thought nets were for throwing?’ the Captain snapped.

  ‘Err, some nets are,’ Horace said cautiously. ‘But I’d prefer we trapped the creature before it got within throwing range.’

  ‘Very well,’ the Captain huffed. ‘But be quick about it. The entrance to the lagoon is just ahead.’

  Horace hurriedly stuffed the net into a cannon on the deck. Loose cords dangled out like the tentacles of an octopus.

  Whisker watched apprehensively as the Apple Pie skirted around a rock and entered the Treacherous Sea. Huge cliffs rose to either side, unscaleable walls of stone, curving in an arc around the lagoon. Directly ahead, the protruding rocks were as large as ships and twice as tall. Not a blade of grass grew on their barren surfaces.

  It was time for Whisker’s decision: left or right?

  He held the key in front of him and, imagining the island was the map, aligned the shaft with the centre of the mountains. Light sparkled through tiny rust holes in the surface of the key and filled the round hole at its base.

  Whisker looked beyond the cliffs, beyond the rocks, beyond the lagoon to the only glimmer of beauty on the entire island: the Rock of Hope. He could just make out the shape – a white rock, bathed in sunlight and surrounded by flowing water.

  He lowered the key but kept his gaze. His line of sight led directly through a narrow passage between the rocks.

  ‘Keep Hope in your sights,’ Whisker thought aloud. And then it came to him. ‘Of course. The riddle is meant to be taken literally. There’s only one way to keep Hope in our sights and that’s …’

  ‘Right or left?’ the Captain bellowed. ‘I need an answer.’

  ‘Neither!’ Whisker shouted. ‘Sail straight ahead.’

  ‘WHAT?’ Pete cried from the deck. ‘We’ll be wrecked on the rocks!’

  ‘Beaten to breadcrumbs!’ Mr Tribble gasped.

  ‘Pounded into pancakes!’ Emmie squeaked.

  Fred licked his lips. ‘Mmm, pancakes …’

  Pete kicked Fred with his pencil. ‘You’re not helping. None of you are helping.’ He pointed a bony finger up at Whisker. ‘Give me one logical reason why we should listen to you? And it better not involve that blasted riddle. It’s led to nothing but trouble.’

  Whisker dropped his chin and stared at his toes.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he mumbled. ‘Maybe the water is too shallow for the creature … or maybe it’s too narrow between the rocks … or maybe the wind is calmer …’

  ‘Three great reasons,’ Horace chimed in. ‘I’m convinced. Off we go then.’

  Pete stamped his pencil leg in defiance. ‘Call a vote, Captain.’

  The Captain studied the faces of his crew and nodded. ‘As you know, only full members of the crew are permitted to vote. All those in favour of sailing straight through the rocks raise your paws now.’

  Horace and Fred raised their paws. Smudge stuck four arms into the air and blew off the barrel. Ruby gave Whisker one of her expressionless stares and raised her paw.

  ‘Four votes seals it,’ the Captain confirmed.

  Pete snorted in disgust and clomped into the navigation room. Whisker mouthed an awkward thanks to Ruby, and turned to the Captain. The Captain hadn’t shifted his paws from the wheel, not even to vote, and the Apple Pie was already heading straight into the rocks.

  ‘You said straight,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I sailed straight. The vote was merely a formality.’

  ‘Do you honestly think we can make it through?’ Whisker asked.

  ‘It’s a tight squeeze,’ the Captain said, ‘but you were right about the wind. It’s much calmer in here.’

  Whisker wondered if the Captain was simply being polite. The wind swirled in mighty gusts around him, whipping up the waves and sending them crashing over the rocks. The Apple Pie rocked up and down in the centre of the narrow passage like a rubber duck in a bath tub.

  ‘A little to your starboard, Captain,’ Ruby called out. ‘I can see the bottom and there’s a rock ledge coming up.’

  The Captain gave the wheel a gentle spin and the ship turned to its right.

  ‘Pull in the sails,’ he ordered. ‘Too much speed and we’ll collide with a rock.’

  The twins tinkered with their mice knots, adjusting the sails, and the Apple Pie slowed its pace. Whisker held up the key. The Rock of Hope was still in view.

  The crew remained alert and on edge as the Apple Pie manoeuvred through the rocks. Fred and Smudge stood lookout on either side of the ship, surveying the ocean; Horace waited next to the loaded cannon and Pete remained in the navigation room, doing whatever grumpy quartermasters do on such occasions.

  Large rocks to the east sheltered the ship from the wind, but the swirling gusts returned with greater force as the Apple Pie neared the Rock of Hope.

  Pete poked his head from the navigation room.

  ‘Are we there yet?’ he muttered in a less than pleasant voice.

  ‘Shallow water dead ahead!’ Ruby cried.

  Whisker looked up. The Apple Pie approached two final rocks. One lay to his near left, and the other further to his right.

  ‘Turn her starboard, Captain,’ he said. ‘We can squeeze between the rocks and still maintain our course.’

  Smudge buzzed his wings frantically and pointed to the starboard side of the ship.

  ‘What is it?’ Horace asked with wide eyes.

  Ruby darted to the bulwark.

  ‘More rocks!’ she exclaimed. ‘Just below the surface – everywhere. We’ll run aground.’

  ‘That can’t be,’ Whisker cried. ‘The map says …’

  ‘… nothing about low tide,’ Pete cut in.

  Whisker looked ahead to the shore. A long strip of wet sand extended from the Rock of Hope to the sea. The tide was fully out. He felt his tail work it
self into a knot.

  ‘Rotten pies to low tide,’ Horace groaned.

  Pete screwed up his nose. ‘Port side, Captain. Circle around the rocks. Before we bottom out.’

  The Captain let out a low growl. ‘Yet again, it seems we have no other choice. If we maintain a narrow berth around the rock on the left, we can hopefully centre up for the final approach.’

  Whisker didn’t respond. His eyes were transfixed on the rocky shape, rising like a tombstone from the crashing waves. He wasn’t superstitious, but anyone could see it was a bad omen – a very bad omen.

  ‘SAILS OUT!’ the Captain bellowed, swinging the wheel hard left. ‘And make it snappy. I want us past that rock in sixty seconds.’

  The crew rushed to the sails and began to work the ropes.

  ‘Whisker, I need you on the jib,’ Ruby shouted.

  Whisker leapt down the stairs and raced to the bow of the ship, still clutching the key in his paws. While Ruby and the mice adjusted the two larger sails, Whisker added some slack to the giant pair of underpants.

  He edged along the bowsprit and peered down. The shallow rocks beneath the surface suddenly disappeared as the Apple Pie glided over the edge of a deep ravine. He looked ahead to see the Rock of Hope vanish behind the black pillar of rock. Like a solar eclipse on midsummer’s day, their guiding light was gone – the Pie Rats were at the mercy of the Treacherous Sea.

  ‘Prepare to turn,’ the Captain commanded.

  The crew heaved on the ropes, swivelling the sails around to capture the gusty wind. The Apple Pie began curving around the rock.

  Seconds passed and Whisker grew anxious. He watched as the tip of the shoreline grew visible, the sand glowing yellow in the afternoon sunshine.

  Almost there … Whisker thought.

  The western side of the estuary came into view and then, finally, Whisker saw what he was looking for. As the Apple Pie straightened up, the Rock of Hope reappeared from behind the last rock of the lagoon.

  Whisker sighed with relief. The eclipse was over. In moments they would be in the safety of the shallows.

  THUD!

  Out of nowhere, a monstrous blow echoed through the hull of the ship, toppling barrels and shattering windows. Whisker grabbed the jib line to steady himself. Behind him, Pete slipped on his pencil and tumbled onto the deck. The mice squeaked in terror.

  The vibrations stopped and the crew grew silent, listening attentively to the sounds of the sea. All they heard was the deck of the Apple Pie creaking softly and the sails flapping quietly in the wind.

  ‘Oh my precious paws,’ Pete groaned, staggering to his feet. ‘What the flaming rat’s tail was that?’

  Horace gripped the cannon with a terrified look on his face. ‘Th-th-the creature.’

  Whisker peered into the dark water at the front of the ship, hoping the hull had simply scraped a rock. Fred scanned the starboard side for clues. They saw nothing.

  ‘Check the hull for damage …’ the Captain began. He never finished his sentence.

  There was a loud SPLASH from the port side of the ship and an enormous head rose from the waves. Its brown-speckled skin glistened in the dying rays of the sun, its beady eyes stared down from either side of its hideous snout and its mouth curved open to reveal not one but two sets of savage jaws.

  It was the most terrifying creature Whisker had ever seen. It wasn’t a beast of mythology. It was real, very real and Whisker didn’t need a second look to know what it was.

  ‘GIANT MORAY EEL!’ he bellowed. ‘PORT SIDE!’

  The eel’s slender body rose higher into the air, propelled by its serpentine tail. Its dorsal fin rippled along its spine like seaweed in a tidal current. It hovered over the ship. Then it struck. Teeth bared, it ripped through the foresail.

  Ruby and Mr Tribble leapt clear as the eel’s body battered the mast. The huge fork toppled backwards, tearing the jib sail from its line. Whisker was flung from the bowsprit and hurtled towards the deck.

  He threw his paws forward to break his impact but the force of the landing catapulted the key from his paws. He watched in horror as it spun through the air, bounced off the bulwark, and disappeared into a shower of spray.

  A moment later, the eel’s enormous tail crashed onto the deck, dragging the front of the ship under the waves. Whisker struggled to stay afloat as the surge of water engulfed him. He heard the screams of the twins, desperately clutching the mainmast, and glimpsed the black figure of the Captain tumbling from the helm.

  The eel’s tail slid over the bulwark and the bow of the ship catapulted upwards in a wave of water. Spitting out salt water, Whisker somersaulted through the air, landed on his backside and skidded to a halt on the slippery boards.

  He raised his nose and frantically scanned the deck for the key. It was nowhere in sight. Before Whisker could pick himself up, the eel had reared its vicious head out of the sea.

  A loud BOOM echoed in Whisker’s left ear and a crude net of ropes and sinkers exploded from Horace’s cannon. The stray ends of long ropes snagged on broken barrels and twisted around the fallen mast. The rest of the net shot upwards, smothering the eel’s head in a mass of knotted cords.

  The enraged creature snapped its jaws, trying to tear through the net, but the ropes coiled around its teeth and held fast. In a fury, it lowered its head and plunged under the waves.

  Barrels and boards tumbled overboard. Tangled ropes tightened. With a hard tug, the eel began dragging the Apple Pie away from the shore.

  Whisker heard a loud cry and turned to see the Captain sliding towards a gaping hole in the bulwark, struggling to free his ankle from one of the ropes.

  Panic-stricken, Whisker scrambled to his feet and threw his arms forward in a desperate attempt to grab the Captain. His paws clutched at thin air.

  The rope dragged the Captain closer to the edge and, with a horrified gasp from Ruby, he vanished over the side.

  There was a muffled cry and then a splash. A moment later there was a second splash as Whisker dived, headfirst, into the ocean after him.

  Deep Water

  The water beneath the surface was dark and turbulent. Weighed down by his sword, Whisker exhaled the air from his lungs and kicked deeper. He knew he only had seconds to find the Captain.

  A black shape moved swiftly past him, covered in a tangle of criss-crossed cords. Frantically, he made a lunge for it. His paws wrapped around the smooth sides of a barrel. He dug his claws into the soft wood to stop himself slipping and held on tight. It wasn’t the Captain, but it was moving in the right direction.

  With the water rushing past his eyes, it was a struggle for Whisker to see anything, but he could just make out the silhouette of the Apple Pie above him and the shadow of a large rock to his left.

  The cord jerked violently to the left and the barrel scraped the side of the rock. Whisker felt something brush past his right ear. Tightening his grip, he turned to see the limp body of the Captain drifting beside him, the rope still attached to his ankle.

  Whisker seized his opportunity and grabbed the rope with one paw, looping his tail around the Captain’s leg. When he was confident he was secure, he kicked off from the barrel, sending it bouncing into the rock. It smashed open on impact, clouding the water in a dark liquid. Whisker lost sight of everything in the murky haze.

  Frantically, he tried to draw his scissor sword, but the speed of the current worked against him. He felt for the Captain’s sword. Alas, the handle was out of reach.

  A burning sensation spread through his lungs and he knew he was running out of time. If the Captain was still alive, he needed to get him to the surface – fast.

  The rope jolted left and Whisker was thrown against a rock. He winced in pain as a sharp piece of coral dug into his side, and he struggled not to inhale a lungful of gravy-tainted water. His head pounded, his chest burned, but he tried to stay focused.

  You’ve survived this before, he told himself, fumbling blindly with the rope in a futile attempt to unravel twis
ted loops and tangled knots. It was hopeless. The knots were too tight.

  Please, please, please, he begged, not giving in.

  As if responding to his plea, the rope suddenly went slack and Whisker felt a surge of hope – we’re free.

  He kicked furiously with his legs and pulled himself up the side of the rock with his paw, dragging the Captain with him. The water cleared and the Apple Pie grew visible. Halfway to the surface the rope began to tighten.

  We’re still attached, he thought in panic.

  In a final desperate attempt to free the Captain, Whisker looped the rope around a small outcrop of rock. Clutching the loose end in both paws, he waited in agony, his lungs ablaze.

  The rope went taught, tightening the loop. The creature pulled and Whisker held on. Seconds passed. The rope refused to break. Whisker felt himself blacking out …

  SNAP!

  With a powerful jolt that threw Whisker backwards, the rope finally tore in two and the Captain was free. Whisker fought his way to the surface, bursting through the white crest of a wave. He gulped in the salty air, each breath more painful than the last.

  Deliriously, he dragged the Captain onto a rock and reached down to check his pulse. Whisker’s paw barely touched his neck when the Captain coughed up a mouthful of water and began sucking in air.

  Whisker slumped down next to him, overwhelmed with relief and exhaustion. He watched helplessly as the wreck of the Apple Pie was dragged along the western side of the lagoon and disappeared out to sea. The Captain was alive but the Pie Rats were gone.

  The black velvet hat of the Captain drifted through the waves, rising and falling like a cork in a sea of champagne. Its golden pie insignia caught the attention of the two rats on the rocks.

  Whisker drew his scissor sword and plucked the soggy shape from the sea, handing it to the Captain. The Captain wedged the once-regal hat on his head, dribbling water over his face. He didn’t blink. He didn’t speak.

  Whisker returned his sword to his belt, noticing the small map canister wedged beneath his pie-buckled belt. Its presence was a relief, but it also filled him with guilt. What good was the map without the key – the key he’d lost?