Game of Destiny, Book I: Willow

by J Seab

  Willow fought off the nightmares as she struggled into consciousness.

  Dapples of light flickered across her vision, dazzling her as she pried open her eyes. Gradually, they adjusted. Leaves swayed on arching boughs overhead, shading her from the sting of a bright midday sun in a clear, azure sky. She cracked her eyes open farther and tried to sit up but every muscle and joint protested. She lay back again, drained, her thoughts darkened and muddled. She took a series of cleansing breaths and relaxed against the growing dread as her memories returned. She willed the dread to spill out of her mind and soak away into the ground beneath her. A quiet awareness flowed in. She recalled the orcs, their pirogue smashed, the three of them thrown into the sea; Rengade riding an orc beneath the water, clutching a knife buried deep into its back; her being lost beneath the water, her mind growing dark; a hand pulling her, a gasp of sweet air; a strong arm wrapping around her body, pulling her along. Then, nothing. Memory ended.

  She opened her eyes again, struggled to a sit, and rotated her head about, examining her surroundings.

  She lay on a bed of leaves scooped beneath a large oak rooted at the edge of a beach. Trees and heavy brush thickened the slopes behind her. A sandy beach stretched before her for twenty or thirty meters. Small knobs of rock protruded from the sands here and there and a clutter of flotsam rocked against low swells washing in from the sea. A soft, salty breeze swished across the sands and rustled the leaves behind her. A few birds chirped and squabbled within the nearby trees.

  It was quiet, peaceful—idyllic.

  Willow fought off the compelling lethargy and forced her attention on the urgency of her situation. Anxiety returned to nibble at her thoughts. She swayed to her feet, brushed off a few clinging leaves, and willed her muscles and joints into action.

  She spotted footprints in the sand.

  A set led up to her position, the ground heavily disturbed around it. A single line of footprints led off obliquely, back down to the shore. She peered into the distance, thought she saw something moving against the glare of sand and sea. She waved her arm in a wide, exaggerated sweep. The distant movement increased, became more distinct. A figure approached, trotting, shirt open, flapping behind him.

  It was Geldane!

  She rushed over and embraced him in a fierce hug. A tear ran down her face and a sob burst unbidden from her lips.

  Geldane, for once, offered no verbal response. He held her firmly, as if loath to relinquish the contact, the thud of his heart easily discernible against her chest.

  “Geldane,” she said, her face buried in the curve of his neck. Willow finally released him, her touch lingering. She stepped back, hands sliding down his arms to hold his. “What happened? Are you alright? Where’s Rengade?”

  Geldane studied her, his hands holding tight. Relief washed across his face. “What do you remember?”

  “I remember Rengade riding an orc as it dived and I remember being trapped under water, not knowing which way was up.” Willow scrunched her face up at Geldane. “And I remember somebody grabbing me, towing me to safety.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That must have been you.”

  “That was me.”

  “Rengade?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, leading her back up the slope to the shelter, his hand still clinging to hers. “I couldn’t save him too. I had to get you to shore, to safety,” he said, sounding despondent and defensive all at once. “I looked for him after I got you on the beach but he was gone. The orcs too. Nothing but a few splinters from the pirogue floating out there.”

  Willow’s thoughts banged into each other as she and Geldane approached the makeshift shelter. On the one hand, she wanted to rush out into the sea and search for Rengade. On the other, she was terrified that the orcs would return. She slumped into the pile of leaves.

  “What now?” she asked, head drooping.

  “First,” Geldane said, pacing, kicking at stray leaves, “we need to search farther along the beach.”

  “For Rengade?”

  “For whatever we might find.”

  “We’re stranded, aren’t we? No boat. No guide. And we don’t know exactly where we are, either.”

  Kneeling before her, Geldane asked, “Are you feeling better? You slept for hours. I was worried.”

  “I’m fine,” she answered, running fingers through her hair, trying in vain to impose some order to the tangled, salty mess. “Thirsty, though. Did you find any water?”

  “No, but I did see a ravine farther around the island, to the north,” he said, standing and pointing. He offered a hand. “Up to some exploring?”

  Willow took his hand and pulled herself to her feet. “Sure, at least it’s a beautiful day.” She smiled, standing close, clasping his hand next to her, feeling her fears tatter and drift away in the breeze.

  Geldane, suddenly buoyed, pranced away and then raced toward the beach. “Yup hup, let’s go, then.”

  “Slow down, Geldane, I’m still stiff and I feel worn, like I ran a marathon.” She followed slowly, staggering in the soft sands.

  Geldane paused and looked toward the north, then back at Willow. “I’ll go on ahead, make sure it’s safe. I’ll meet you over there, at the tree line. You OK?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He raced away.

  Willow followed, her stiffness gradually easing in the warming bath of sea air and sun but her mind still felt the chill of the attack and the loss of Rengade. She became increasingly convinced that it had been more than a couple of hungry orcs looking for dinner. It was too deliberate, calculated—unnatural. The orcs weren’t after dinner; they were after them, intruders into a space where they were not welcome.

  She shuddered.

  Geldane’s shout diverted her thoughts. “Hey, Willow, over here.”

  Willow prodded her body into a faster walk. She caught up quickly to Geldane. “What?”

  Geldane was half in the lapping waves of the sea, poking through a jumble of rocks that broke along the shore. Triumphantly, he pulled a sodden bundle loose and held it up. “Look, one of our packs.” He tossed it ashore, then, with an exclamation of delight, scrambled farther along. “Here’s my bo.” He brandished it aloft. “Let those orcs come. I’m ready for them now.”

  Frowning at Geldane, Willow picked up the pack and rummaged inside. She scooped out a soggy mass that used to be trail bread. Flinging it into the sand, she said, “That’s no good but there should be some apples in here, too.” Hearing the mention of food, Geldane scrambled over and tried to reach into the pack also but she pushed his arm aside. “Hang on a minute, I’m looking.”

  “But I’m hungry.”

  Willow pulled out some wet clothes, squeezed most of the water from them, and laid them over a rock warmed by the sun to dry. Underneath that, she finally found the apples. “Here,” she said, handing one to Geldane. “Wipe off the salt water and this will be fine.” She removed another apple and they both sat on a nearby rock and ate.

  Geldane gnawed the last bit of fruit from around the core and then tossed it into the rocks. “Any more?”

  “There’s only a couple left. We’d better save those for later,” Willow cautioned. “At least until we find something else to eat, and some fresh water.”

  He sighed. “OK, I suppose. I’ll search more of the shore. Maybe there’s something else.” He rose and waded back among the rocks, poking around with his bo.

  Willow gathered their still damp clothes, repacked them, and then slung the pack over her shoulder. She carefully picked her way through the rocks higher up where the ground smoothed out into grassy knolls and small scrub pines. She wasn’t sure she was steady enough to negotiate the jumble of rocks closer to shore. “Find anything?” she called.

  “Nothing, not even any crabs.”

  “While you’re looking, I’ll explore farther inland.”

  Geldane waved a reply, his head bent low as he groped under a shelf of rock. “Ow!” he hollered, jerking his hand ba
ck.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He reached under the rock, grabbed at something, and then held it out. “I just found a crab, the hard way,” he said, sucking at a finger, grinning. “Do we keep it?”

  “Let it go. We’ll find more.” She suppressed her uneasiness so she wouldn’t get Geldane all wound up. “I’d like to spend the daylight searching the island, find out what’s here. We need to locate a fresh stream and a sheltered place where we can camp. Tonight we can plan how to get back to the mainland.”

  Reluctantly, Geldane dropped the crab back into the water. He watched it scuttle away. “I’ll check another couple hundred meters along the shore. I’ll meet you in the trees over there, where it looks like there’s a ravine and maybe a fresh water creek.” He turned back to his task.

  Willow took a deep breath and looked around her. The ground sloped gently upward, the trees thickening until they broke against an escarpment far above. As much as she’d like to climb to higher ground to survey the island, she simply wasn’t up to it. The path north was much easier. A sheet of limestone lay partly exposed along most of the route, its leading edge broken into a series of rocky cascades that tumbled down into the sea. About a kilometer away, a declivity extended beyond the shoreline. A profusion of brush, maples, and the white glint of sycamores flanked the declivity, a good sign that there was a creek running through it. She ran her tongue across dry lips, her thirst returning with the thought.

  She picked her way across the slope, walking around broken patches and tuffs of thick brush, pausing frequently to rest. Geldane was wading along the shore, swinging his bo, leaping onto boulders, acting more like a kid on an outing than a shipwrecked survivor of a vicious attack. Sighing, she moved on.

  An hour later, she was scooping cool water from a small creek with her hands, splashing it over her head, and drinking large gulps. A squirrel fussed at her from a bough in the sycamore behind her. She ignored it. From killer to lifesaver, she thought as she let another mouthful trickle down her throat, savoring the refreshing, mineral tartness. Geldane was whooping farther down, kicking through the water toward her, an infectious grin stretching his face. Willow dropped the pack, removed her shoes, and sat at the edge of the creek, her feet idly swirling in the water. She grinned back at Geldane as he splashed his way next to her. The dread that had dogged her this far slipped away.

  “Told ya!”

  “Right again,” she admitted. “I suppose you didn’t find anything else?”

  “Mostly rocks. Lots of rocks. A few shells. A few pieces of something that might have once been pirogue.” He shrugged and sat next to her on the small rock, pressing close, then removed his boots and socks and rinsed them in the creek. He sluiced water over his head and arms and then stuck his feet into the cool water, flexing his toes. “Ah, good.” After a moment: “You suppose I could have that other apple now?”

  “Are you sure? It’s our last.”

  “There’s always squirrel,” he said, gesturing overhead.

  “Ugh,” she grimaced. “As you know, I’m not fond of meat. I don’t much like the killing and I don’t much like eating the bloodied remains. How about you eat the squirrel and I’ll have your apple?”

  Geldane twisted around, squinting up into the tree. The squirrel must have decided it was time to move elsewhere. It scampered off.

  “Well, maybe later.”

  They sat quietly together, relaxing within the soft babble of the creek as it swirled through the rocks. The rapid drumming of a woodpecker echoed in the distance and a thrush scratched in the leaves across from them. A soft breeze rustled through the trees, cooling their skin and drying their clothes.

  Time crept on. Willow’s eyelids drooped. Geldane pulled over their pack and lay back, his head resting on it. Willow slid over and curled up next to him. A short nap will do me good, she thought, as she drifted off.