The Sea-wreck Stranger
Page 15
‘No,’ I lie. ‘My father’s with me. He’s down there.’ I wave vaguely down the slope, praying the farmer hasn’t recognised me.
The man looks relieved. ‘Shout if you find anything.’
I nod but he’s already heading away along the ridge. I can scarce credit that my bluff worked. My eyes drop to Dev and, of all things, he’s grinning. Turning my back, I walk on wobbly knees to where the track disappears over a small crest. Beyond the hill climbs rapidly, so the gully can’t be wide. All I can hope is that it offers somewhere to hide.
When I top the crest and look down I can do no more than stare in amazement. It’s no fold in the land that lies before me, but a steep ravine, the bank scored by the thin track that zigzags down past my toes in a series of sharp turns. At its foot, twenty metres below, the sea flows quiet as a river along the inlet.
The farmer is trudging steadily along the skyline. Though I will him to cross back over the hill, he doesn’t, so I shift instead to willing him not to look back.
Dev’s eyes are fixed on me. Once I’ve gathered my breath I hurry back to crouch beside him. ‘We’re just above the sea,’ I whisper. ‘There’s a path down but it’s steep.’ He nods. ‘The man I spoke to is still in sight, but we can’t afford to lose any time.’
Dev climbs to his knees and looks cautiously around. The farmer is further off now, but close enough to see something amiss if he turns. I wave Dev on. As fast as he can, he crosses the open ground and drops from sight onto the track that leads down to the inlet. Remembering at last to breathe I sling my rucksack across my shoulder and follow.
Chapter 30
Scrambling down the steep path to the water pushes Dev to the limit of his strength. I can only pray the inlet will give us some respite.
The track ends a metre above the muddy silt that marks the water’s edge. Dev slides the last small distance and rests against the bank where it’s been undercut by the tide. Ignoring him a moment I gaze around. Vegetation covers both banks but it’s scraggly and thin, with no shelter to offer. The tide is on the way out, the smell of the sea strong.
To the west the inlet broadens as it curves towards the sea. In the other direction the slopes steepen as they draw inwards. It’s impossible to tell whether it’s a blind wrinkle of coast or whether a stream tumbles down between the hills to feed its eastern end. Either way it could offer places to hide – but whichever way we go, our feet will mark our course in the mud for anyone coming after.
Indecision makes me hesitate and I turn to study Dev where he leans against the bank. Sweat streaks his face and his eyes are closed.
‘I’m going to look around,’ I tell him quietly, lowering my rucksack and fetching out a water bottle. ‘I won’t be long.’
Dev nods his thanks as he reaches for the bottle. With Merryn’s knife I hack a scrubby bush from the bank, dragging it behind to confuse my footprints as I head up the inlet.
My explorations are short-lived. Around the first bend, the sides of the gully draw together in a tight ‘V’. There’s no stream or waterfall: the inlet is a dead-end. Hopelessness seeps into me as I scan the uninviting slopes. To my left the bushes seem to grow more densely above the tide line, almost as if they’re gathered for a purpose. We could hide there, but the place could too easily become a trap.
It’s still worth a quick look. Keeping to the rocks as best I can, I make my way around to the head of the inlet. The mud is thicker here, the air rich with the smell of rotting vegetation. The rocks run out before I reach my goal and I blunder on across the smelly mud, which in places creeps near as high as my knees. I’d have been better heading the other way, towards the sea, but it’s too late now for regrets. With a shrug I push my way amongst the bushes, and stop dead.
Pulled high against the bank, laid across with branches and a dark tarpaulin, small, compact and as far as I can tell all in one piece, lies a boat. I stumble forward. It’s small – big enough for four or five people at most. Not the sort of boat you’d use for fishing, but big enough to take us out of the inlet, away from the headland. We could disappear without trace. Except that I’ve no way of knowing whether it’s seaworthy, and no idea of how to sail it.
I rest my hands on the smooth timber that caps the boat’s sleek sides and breathe deeply. I’ve heard every one of my father’s fishing stories, many times over. Surely that counts for something?
Lifting the branches clear I roll the tarpaulin and stow it inside. The oars are there, and a mast as well, tilted over the prow. If I can get it in the water, I could get as far as Dev, then perhaps he’d know what to do; how to set the sail, and steer, and … Setting my weight against the boat I try to drag it. It doesn’t budge. Searching around I give a snort, for the boat is tied as well as anchored in mud. With fingers awkward with excitement, I untie the knots and drop the rope inside, then pull again with all my weight. The boat moves less than a hand-span before it settles back in the mud with a squelch.
My arms drop. Easier to bring Dev here, I think, or better still, we could wait for the tide – but we’ve no time.
Hurrying back I abandon caution and my careful sweeping with the branch. We’ll only leave more footprints anyway. Dev is resting still, but his eyes open when he hears me coming. ‘There’s a boat!’ My voice sounds hoarse in my ears. ‘At the head of the inlet. Do you know how to sail?’
Hope flickers across his face and he pushes himself upright, nodding. ‘What sort of boat?’
‘Small. I don’t know. It has a mast and oars.’ I hesitate. ‘It’s stuck in the mud. I can’t get it to the water.’
Dev looks at the sea. ‘The tide’s already turned,’ he says. ‘Show me.’
It’s the first time all day I’ve heard real hope in his voice. He lumbers behind as I pick my way over the boulders and around the thickest patches of mud. When we reach the screen of overhanging trees I hesitate, looking back at the path we’ve made, as though an army of folk have run up and down the shore.
‘It’s not designed for the open sea,’ Dev says, running his hand along the boat’s side, ‘but it seems sound enough.’
‘Someone went to the trouble of hiding it,’ I say. A suspicion is whispering at the back of my mind but I turn it aside. We’ve more practical questions to answer. ‘Can we get it to the water, do you think? Will it get us away safe?’
Dev straightens and gives me his full attention, slow and steady. ‘Ness, you’ve friends here, and family.’
I know what he’s saying, and I know just as well – suddenly and clearly, as if I’ve known it all along but couldn’t bring myself to see it – that I’m going with him. ‘There’s nothing for me here,’ I say.
It’s true. Aside from that, I’d not be able to keep my part in helping Dev a secret, not after being seen on the hill and caught in a lie. Marn might be able to protect Merryn but he couldn’t protect me – even supposing he’d want to – not against Colm. Not with the evidence they’ll have to stack against me. But it’s more than just fear of what will happen if I stay. I’ve known for weeks that there’s no place for me at Leewood. Maybe there never was. By sending me to Tarbet, Marn’s made it clear he knows it too.
‘Please,’ I say, ‘let me come with you. I want to see what there is of the world beyond the island. I want to be part of it.’
Dev stares at me a moment before turning back to face the boat. ‘I don’t know how far it is to the mainland,’ he says, ‘or whether I can find it. And this boat – it won’t weather a storm. I’ll be trusting to luck as much as anything, Ness. I couldn’t promise you’d be safe.’
‘I’d be safer than I will be here,’ I tell him.
He hesitates still. I slip my pack from my shoulders and tuck it in the boat, out of the way beneath the seat. Dev watches, and shrugs at last. ‘You’ve brought me luck so far,’ he says. ‘Maybe you will in this too.’
Together we set our weight against the boat and heave it out through the branches and down to the sea. The water laps a welcome around
its prow and we push till only the stern still lies in the mud’s greedy clasp. Dev leans for a moment on the gunwale, getting his breath before he hauls himself awkwardly onboard, falling into the bottom as if the effort has taken the very last of his strength. I hesitate, feeling the pull of the retreating tide at my legs in just the way I suddenly feel the pull of the land at my heart. Then I push and jump up as the boat floats forward, scrambling over the side, landing half on top of Dev, which turns my near-tears to near-laughter, more hysterical than not.
The boat’s begun to turn in the tide and I fumble for the oars. Dev is ahead of me, taking an oar and using it to push off against the bottom, setting us properly on course before he sits himself on the broad plank seat and arranges the oars in place. In rowlocks: the word drops into my mind as if I’ve known it all my life – perhaps I have, though I have no memory of how I know it, other than that it must have come from Pa.
Dev pulls almost lazily on the oars, and with the tide helping we’re at the foot of the path before I know it. A whisker of excitement twitches in my belly. We’re on, and past, the oars rasping quietly as Dev finds his rhythm, his leg no hindrance though his shoulder must surely be feeling the strain.
A shout from above turns my relief sour on my tongue. On the hillside near where the path crests the slope two men are standing, one pointing, the other already turning away. Their voices drift down to us as they call for the others.
Too late. The tide has us now and we’re moving fast down the inlet. The first man, Ton, I suddenly realise, as we pass directly beneath, stoops sideways and straightens, then a rock comes hurtling at us, splashing into the water a few feet to our left. Another follows, clattering into the boat, and another.
‘Get down,’ Dev says. ‘Under the tarp.’
There are four men now, all lobbing rocks and clods of earth down at us. One strikes the wood by my cheek and I feel the sting where fragments chip and fly in my face. Dev winces as a clod hits his arm, sending us veering from our course, but only for a moment. As quickly as it began, the volley is over. The men run along the bank above, but they can’t match our speed. We’re nearing the turn where the inlet curves out of sight. I fear suddenly that I’ve misjudged, that it’ll prove a dead end, that they’ll catch us after all. My hands grip the gunwales as I strain to see ahead. Dev says nothing, his face locked tight as he keeps up a steady rhythm with the oars.
The wind lifts slightly and I tuck my hair behind my ears, surprised to see blood on my fingers where the cut on my cheek has split open. Ahead, the inlet widens and I can see the open sea. Lines of white reach inward from the rocks on either side, but the centre of the channel is clear. Beneath us the water is green shot with blue, the bottom already lost in its depths. Water hisses and froths along the sides of the boat. I reach a hand down to it and shiver. Not from cold.
Dev is watching me. ‘If you change your mind, Ness, I can set you ashore down the coast,’ he says.
I wipe the blood from my cheek, salt stinging in the cut, and shake my head. My choice is made.
Past the neck of the inlet, the sea begins to rise and fall, and I remember suddenly Pa’s games of storms on the ocean. ‘I’m not afraid,’ I tell Dev.
The tide pulls us around to the north, towing us out through the channel that runs between the twin line of breakers. Dev tells me how to lift the mast and I struggle to keep my balance as I follow his instructions. The sea feels like a wild creature, eager to be free of us.
As the mast snicks into place I sigh with relief. Dev nods his approval. ‘Can you take the oars?’ he says.
I do as I’m bid, stumbling into the seat he vacates and fumbling awkwardly, though it looked easy enough when I was watching. It’s only as I feel I’ve mastered the oars that I look towards Dev and see that he’s hunched forward cradling his injured shoulder. My smile of pride slides away, worry again coming topmost amidst my lurching emotions.
He sees my expression and smiles grimly. ‘I’ll be all right.’
The sea slaps up against the bow, scattering me with spray. ‘Keep her pointing into the swell,’ Dev says. ‘I’ll set the sail in a minute.’
I press my lips tight together and keep a watch over my shoulder. Soon enough my arms are aching and I’m beginning to shiver – as much, I think, with the turbulent mix of my emotions as with the salt-sea cold.
The boat rocks suddenly, and I turn to see Dev fumbling with the ropes that wrap the bulk of sail. As I watch they rattle free and the canvas spreads wide, flapping and flailing in the freshening wind.
‘Bring the oars in,’ he tells me, and I do, flinching against the lumbering sway of the boat as a swell hits us side-on. Suddenly, though, Dev’s hand steadies the tiller and the sail bellies out, the wind trapped in its smooth grasp. With a lift and the hiss of water along the boat’s sides we’re shot forward as if a giant fist took us in its grasp. I gaze at Dev in awe and he smiles, gesturing me to the bow. I feel clumsy and ignorant, my footing unsure and my stomach suddenly watery.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask, less certain than I was.
Dev smiles. ‘West first,’ he says, ‘so I can get my bearings – maybe find your father’s island. That might help me work out where we are. Then home. My home,’ he adds.
A hollowness opens up within me and I glance back towards the land for the first time since we left the inlet. It lies sharp-cliffed and dark behind us, already farther behind than I expected. The whole of the headland stands proud in our wake. Tucked on its northern flank there’s a slice of yellow, and I start. ‘Is that the bay? Skellap Bay?’ I ask.
Dev squints across his shoulder and nods.
It looks different from the sea, smaller and unfamiliar. Narrowing my eyes I try to find the places I know so well: the tall headland, the shadowed mouth of the cave, the path to Leewood curving like a fine thread up and over the brow of the hill. I think I can make out the break in the path, midway, where Sophie always hesitated.
A lump rises in my throat and I swallow it away, keeping my eyes wide so that I can better imprint the island on my memory. Spray flecks my face, the sea’s salt mingling with my own.
I’ll come back one day, I tell myself. I’ll come back to see Sophie and Ty and Merryn. Marn too. Dunnett is my mother’s island and these – these four at least – are my mother’s people. But as the seas lift beneath our small craft and the wind catches in the sail, swelling it outwards like a pregnant cow’s belly, like a bird’s wing, like a promise, it is my father’s blood that is running like a tide in my veins.
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The Sea-wreck Stranger
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About the Author
Anna Mackenzie lives with her husband and two children on a farm in Hawke’s Bay. She attributes her love of words to her father, who was an inspired storyteller and poet, and credits coastal landscapes and small communities as sources of inspiration. The Sea-Wreck Stranger is her third novel. She is currently working on a sequel.
also by Anna Mackenzie:
High Tide, 2003
Out on the Edge, 2005
Copyright
Published with the assistance of
This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without prior permission of Longacre Press and the author.
Anna Mackenzie asserts her moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
© Anna Mackenzie
ISBN 978 1 877460 58 6
A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.
First published by Longacre Press, 2007,
30 Moray Place, Dunedin, New Zealand.
Book and cover design by Christine Buess
Cover photography by Lu
cinda King
Printed by Griffin Press, Australia
www.longacre.co.nz