by Mandi Lynn
“What will we do?” I ask. I struggle to follow Garren even though he has to tow a boat by a rope. Once the boat is upon land he releases the rope tied to the boat and lets it drop to the ground as if it’s nothing.
“We hide the pool. Cover it, bury it, whatever it takes to keep it hidden from others.”
“Why are they here? They’re merchants. They should be bringing their goods to Marseille, not stopping at an island so small you can view its entire perimeter in one glance.”
I try my best to keep up with Garren, but I’m always a few steps behind, trying to navigate the rough terrain of Tiboulain. I’m watching the ground to find my footing rather than watching what Garren is doing. Every time I glance at him, he is farther away.
“They won’t be here long,” Garren shouts from ahead. “They sometimes explore the islands for anything they deem useful. They’ve done it in the past when you were still in the water. I would cover the pool with a boulder so they wouldn’t find you, but as soon as they left I would uncover the pool in case you woke up.”
His voice grows farther away and I have to strain to hear him. When I look up I only see an outline of Garren’s body. I slow my pace, growing aggravated with myself. My breaths come quickly, like they had at times when I was human, but I don’t feel a heartbeat in my chest. I hold my fingers to my neck and there’s no pulse, yet I fatigue as if human. And even though my limbs don’t ache, I can’t find it in myself to push farther.
Too much time has passed when I come across the pool of water. Garren is already working and straining to push a large boulder—almost twice the diameter of the pool—over the opening before the men of the ship notice anything here on the island.
“Garren,” I say, but he doesn’t hear me. His focus is solely on the task at hand. I watch as he pushes, strains, and tries so hard to do something that seems impossible. But the boulder moves across the ground and rolls over the lip of the pool.
“You need to leave, Luna,” he says. A hint of urgency is in his voice. He abandons the boulder and comes to me. “I don’t want you here, in case something happens.”
“Garren …” I look at his eyes and they stare into me and plead with my soul to understand whatever danger he speaks of. I watch as his hand cups my cheek and I close my eyes, begging myself to feel this moment, to feel the touch of his skin.
“I need you to be safe,” he tells me.
I open my eyes again and look at him. His eyes are glassy even though we can’t cry; we are so close our breaths mingle.
“Please leave,” he says.
The words echo—the same words I have spoken to him—and they sting. I feel myself pull away, though he is the only person I have ever grown close to. I know he is protecting me, but I feel a small burn of rejection all the same.
I push his hand from my cheek and drop my gaze, no longer wanting to see him but also not wanting him to realize how much his simple words have hurt me. When I try to leave he doesn’t let me. His hand grips my own, and I tug away with a gentle and tired motion, only to give up a few seconds later. I’m a child in his arms, waiting for something.
“Luna,” he says.
I can feel myself being pulled closer to him and I hate it. I hate that he has control over me and that I’m weak enough to concede to him.
“Look at me.”
His hand clutches my arm close to him, but his other hand comes to guide my face, tilting my chin, so I have no choice but to look him in the eye.
“What?” I say, but my voice is so defeated. There is a definite broken note in my word and I know he has heard it. As soon as I speak he changes, becomes softer as all tension in his body leaves.
“I have to stay here and make sure they don’t uncover the boulder.”
For the first time I realize how vulnerable we are out here. Garren glances behind me, where the merchant’s ship is docked.
“But you need to run. They can’t see you or me, remember? We’re just ghosts to them—an Essence. But even those who exist only spiritually can be hurt.”
“What do you mean?”
But he doesn’t let me speak. Instead he tugs my arm once more to close the small space between us. His lips caress mine in a kiss as I close my eyes, and there it is again—a small tingle of heat, a sense that tells me I’m here in this world even when my form is not. I’m swallowed by the realization and even though I don’t understand it, I let it consume me.
Garren pulls back too soon, looking at me with an ever-building urgency as the large ship sends crewmembers to our side of the island. “Please, do this for me,” he says.
He drops his fingers from my cheek and pulls my hand to his mouth to kiss the top of my palm, curling my fingers in as he releases me.
I shrink away, blinded by confusion and the need to be near him. I’m disoriented as I retreat from Garren, my gaze never wanting to leave his, but agreeing to his words and desires anyway.
“I will,” I tell him, whimpering away.
XXXIX.
I watch from a short distance as men explore Tiboulain. Their voices are rough against the otherwise soft hum of the ocean. The men interrupt the calm island as they intrude on the land and leave prints behind that don’t belong. Their words mingle and carry offenses that should never be heard in nature.
In the center of the island Garren guards the pool of water, and I watch as the men wander and push themselves like playful pups. Some of them walk with stumbling gestures, and I realize that the majority are drunk. When one man comes close enough I see a bottle of ale clutched in his hand, already half empty.
And that’s when I hear a scream from somewhere within the ship. The men don’t seem to notice. The shrill sound echoes over the air and only one sailor who looks particularly drunk cocks his head at the noise—but that is the only awareness he offers.
I watch as they slink away to explore the island in small groups. Someone on the ship shouts a command to the men ordering them to stay near, that if they aren’t back soon the ship will leave, with or without their bodies.
Another scream comes from the ship again and I follow the sound. I balance myself on the thin wooden ramp set out on the shore and walk along it to the ship, not an eye noticing my ghostly figure.
The crew still aboard are checking bindings and examining the sails. The wind blows steady on the mast, shifting the ship back and forth on the water.
I jump and almost scream when a body emerges before me and I realize that a man has just walked through me. He walks away, leaving me with the view of his back as a reminder he was ever near me. With tentative movements I continue forward, spotting an opening in the floor that leads below to the hull.
I lower myself into the opening, dropping my feet down and finding a ladder secured to the side. It is too dark below to see everything. There are large dark rectangles that could be more boxes of goods from merchants, but in the corner a small glowing light appears. Above me the boards groan under the weight of the men, but even as the nearby voice whimpers and wavers the men don’t notice anything.
The cries come from the direction of the light, but it seems muffled. It’s female—that much I am sure. She seems to almost hum to herself, but a hint of hysteria can be heard in her song.
“Hush, by the moon. Hush.”
The voice is so quiet, so small, I’m almost unsure someone is really here. But then I step closer, following the light to see the body that accompanies the voice. In the farthest corner of the cabin a candle is lit, and a woman not much older than me lies across the floor in a gown so glorious that its layers blossom around her. The dress is dark blue and makes her pale skin glow in the dull light.
As I look closer she isn’t alone. Her attention is preoccupied enough that she doesn’t move or shudder as the men above make a loud commotion, the ship groaning and creaking. In her arms she cradles a baby so small and frail that I wonder how it’s alive.
And for a heartbreaking moment I question if it is. I watch the woman closely
as she nestles the baby. She’s so weak that she can barely keep her head up, but a mother always finds a way to tend to her baby despite her own needs. The infant coughs and the sign of sickness is a glorious reminder that the small human is still alive.
“Sabine!”
A man’s voice comes from the ladder I had just climbed. He doesn’t make a move toward us, but his voice is impatient and when I look at the woman—Sabine—I know that she is expected to come to him.
Her attention drops from the child in her hands, and I watch as she gathers herself and pulls her body up enough to stand. She carries her baby in one arm while she works to straighten the folds of her gown. Once she stands I see another gown on the floor that she had been using as a cushion.
“Shh,” she whispers into the baby’s ear. “I’ll be back, Clara.”
And just like that she bends down to place her child on the other gown. Clara, only an infant, sinks into the clothing and I watch as she disappears into the folds, not making so much as a whimper. Sabine straightens herself again, gazing down at her child and there’s a fear that rots away her features.
“Sabine!” the man shouts again, this time louder.
Her head snaps up and she rushes past me, completely unaware of my presence as she goes to the man. Her figure disappears up the ladder, but I don’t miss the small quivers that course through her arms as she pulls herself up the rungs and into the daylight where many more men await her.
There are shouts and I think it must be Sabine who screams up above. In the hull the air is still, but above my head the wood of the floorboards shift, and men shout. I go to the corner, stopping at the edge of the gown stretched out across the floor. It is orange silk, and even though I can see it is worn, there is still delicate stitching in the skirt.
“Clara?” I whisper to the baby like she may respond to her name. Soon after I bite my tongue, feeling foolish—she can’t hear me.
The gown doesn’t move. I hold my breath, waiting for any sign of life, but it doesn’t come. I kneel down to the wooden floor and search the fabric. The silk flows against my touch and I realize how soft it must feel to the infant’s skin.
Finally I find Clara in the center of the gown. Her skin is pale—paler than a child’s should ever be. Her eyes don’t open to me, even though I’ve removed the cloth from her face. Small tufts of light hair cling to her scalp, but it is nothing more than a small gathering of curls. I remove the gown to reveal the rest of her body and see that her limbs are smaller than any infant’s I’ve ever seen. When I hold my hand out in contrast her arm is barely longer than one of my fingers. It’s as if she is only a few days old.
Clara is curled within herself, her hand bundled to her chest like the small point of contact might give her more warmth. I lower the gown over her small form, watching as the infant shivers. She doesn’t wear any clothing. A hushed cooing noise comes from her, but the sound is muffled. When I bend closer I hear her breathing—slow and labored. It sounds suffocating, but when I step back I see she somehow has a steady rise and fall to her chest.
My head snakes up when I hear a scream overhead. There’s more shouting from the men, and a few seconds later a weight drops against the upper deck. I can hear some men laughing. They speak in a harsh tongue, and even though I can’t make out their words, there is a mocking tone to their speech.
A moment later comes a small, frail cry; I’m not even sure if I heard it. But what scares me most is that, even though the sound was so quiet, I know who made the cry. I look at Clara, knowing it couldn’t have been her and fear the worst for her mother.
All is quiet in the hull. Clara rests in her nest within the gown, unaware that her mother may be in danger. At the ladder, light pools in from the deck above. It’s blinding for a moment until my eyes adjust and I can make out the forms of the men moving about the ship. More people are aboard now and everyone moves with quick and rehearsed movements. They tend to the sails and pull at ropes that steer the vessel with the wind and rudder.
“We leave with or without!” shouts one man. He walks about the deck, making orders but never actually doing anything except barking commands. I climb the ladder but don’t step onto the deck. I search for any sign of Sabine, but there is none. Everyone moves so fast, and it’s like the screams and whimpers I heard moments ago had never existed.
On the deck I see something. At the farthest edge is a small pool of blood, bright red against the dull brown of timber. I fear the worst; that it may belong to Sabine, but she’s out of sight and I hope that maybe one of the men took mercy on her and brought her to get aid or at least some shelter.
“Go clean up after the woman.” The voice comes from somewhere else. When I turn I see the shouting man push a bucket and brush into the arms of a boy roaming the deck. He doesn’t say anything but takes the items and brings them to the stained red floorboards. The boy is small and thin and I watch as his frail muscles work to scrub away the blood—he looks no older than Dondre and I wonder what it is he had done to get himself on this ship.
“Go below deck, in the hull.” The other man kicks the boy in the back.
The boy doesn’t say anything; he just takes the blow, showing nothing but the small wince that accompanies his pain.
“Yes, sir,” he says, taking the bucket and brush in his arms to go below.
I rush down the ladder and into the darkness where Clara rests undisturbed. It’s as if the rest of the world and its noises disappear when I listen only to the boy crossing the floorboards and down the ladder. Each groan of the rungs sings out his arrival and I crouch next to the newborn.
Everything in my body begs me to push away the thoughts of how Sabine became victim to this, but as I remember the look in the men’s eyes, how they were so willing to escape this reality by drinking their ale, it becomes evident these men are fully capable of inflicting their awful drunken deeds upon this woman.
In the dim light of the hull a candle burns, giving off small flickers. The boy’s face comes into view and all is still—and I swear I can hear Clara’s labored breathing close to my ear. I sit atop the gown next to her, not daring to move as the boy comes closer. His face is covered with dirt, eyes dark and tired. Bones protrude from the thin clothing he wears, just a scrap of fabric against his skin. His body is host to scrapes and bruises all over, and I know this boy is just another victim like Sabine.
Beside me Clara lets out a wheezing cough. The sound makes me flinch, fear of her tiny lungs failing, but then I see the boy’s face change. He seems intrigued by the sound, confused by its presence.
He comes closer, but I reach for the gown, pushing it from me without disturbing Clara. The boy freezes as if he’s seen a ghost, and I realize he has.
I shift forward to pick up Clara, intent to save her from the cruel men on this ship, but when I do her body slips through my arms. It was foolish of me to forget I’m an Essence. I watch her body, helpless as she rests on the gown.
All at once I slip my arms under the folds of the gown, scooping up Clara, still cradled in the silk. I watch in amazement as her body rises with the gown and she rests in my hands—for a moment I’m left in awe as I’m able to hold her, though only through inanimate objects. As I lift her, she seems to stir and a small sound emanates from her. It’s only a quiet whine, but as I jostle the gown and get a better grip on her Clara wakes up and breaks into a shrill cry. And it leaves me to wonder if the men have always heard her cries and have chosen to ignore them.
When I glance at the boy he doesn’t see me. All that he can make out is the floating gown that wraps around a crying baby who he wasn’t even aware was on the ship. I wait for the boy to scream, to do something, but he stays rooted in place.
For a long moment he just watches, frozen in fear.
I try to calm Clara as her bright green eyes stare up at me. I rock her back and forth like I had seen Margo do so many times with Joelle when she was just an infant.
“Please leave,” I whisper, fully aw
are no human can hear me. I don’t watch the boy. I just continue to soothe Clara and wait for her cries to soften.
A still silence fills the air, and when I look at the boy he isn’t afraid anymore. His face is helpless and I watch as he inches closer, peering into the folds of the gown to look at Clara. She quiets, her cries turning into a mumble that fades into the background. But the boy doesn’t step away. He becomes daring, no longer a coward.
“Don’t touch her,” I say, directing my gaze toward him. I put all my concentration into the sound of my voice like it might matter, but he doesn’t hear me so he doesn’t let up. He doesn’t see me, unaware of the protective stance I have taken, wrapping myself around Clara.
“Leave!” I shout. And this time it’s like he has heard a whisper. A small flicker of recognition appears as his gaze on Clara falters. He stills, listening as if thinking someone on deck has called to him.
I grip Clara firmly in one arm and use my other hand to check the edge of gown that hangs over my arms. I pull the fabric up and over Clara to block the boy’s view. And finally I see fear in him again. He backs away, suddenly frightened by my quick movement.
“Leave,” I say again, my voice firm and directed to the boy. This time I’m not sure if he has heard me or not. There is no sure sign of recognition like last time, but he cowers away to the ladder. I watch him climb the rungs, stopping to look back, but I don’t give him the chance to see Clara again.
XL.
The sky is dark by the time I have wandered above deck again. The push and pull of the ocean makes the boat tip side to side ever so slightly, as if to only lull one to sleep. When I stand at the edge of the deck, all I see is water.
No waves appear in the sea. No white water crashes against the shore with the tide because there is no shore, no land for the water to break upon. The boat has left Tiboulain. I’ve left Garren, not by choice, but by accident. When I heard Sabine crying from the boat, I didn’t even think of my own safety. Panic rises within me, but I hush it away, urging myself to do whatever is needed so Clara can be alive and well.