“No!” Phyllis screamed as she leaped out of the boat, swimming against the wind and waves as she saw the sea serpent dive. The ruby scales of Roturk shimmered right before the sea serpent pounced.
45
The Island
Perhaps the serpent controlled the sea because the waves became as small as babes, silent and lapping like sorry puppies, looking for a way to win back the hearts of those it wronged. The rain stopped, and the clouds faded, leaving a clear horizon. The sky was pink with longing as the sun began its descent, light stretching out across the blue-green sea, touching its glistening surface with a blessing. The shipwrecked crew floated on the ends of torn boats; some holding on to barrels as they drifted toward the nearest island, an outcropping of trees welcoming them to its shady boughs.
The sunset held as they struggled towards the shore, counting their numbers, realizing a few of them were still missing. The waters became shallow as they reached the bay, floating into the waiting arms of the island. White sands rose to meet them, quickly fading into the palms trees and wild grasses that lined the shore. The mood was tense, furious, and grumpy, but Captain Winther always had his head.
“The water should be fresh!” he called. “We’ll make a fire and hunt for food in shifts. Everyone stays here tonight; we look for help in the morning.”
All said and done, there were only about twenty of them, mostly burly Crons who set to work as quickly as they could. Ilieus and Phyllis lay flat on their backs, side by side on the beach, catching their breaths. Phyllis felt like her insides had been twisted, and she leaned forward to spit into the waters, even though she was parched and hungry. She glanced to where she thought Cuthan and Artenvox would be. Of course, they were helping to search for dry wood on the coast and to find anything to start a fire with. The buzz in the air was thick with unsaid words of anger and grief.
Phyllis balled her hands into fists. She was to blame for this. If she had not brought the dranagin on board, they would all be safely sailing and close to reaching the landmass and the North Forests. She closed her eyes as the dazzling colors of the sunset became muted. Exhaustion took over, and she slept.
It was warm when she woke; the weather was calm and balmy, the perfect beauty after the storm. Before she opened her eyes, she could hear the fire singing over the wood, a song in a separate language known only to the fire itself. Creatures from the sea were cooking over it, fish of some sort. She could smell their bones and scales roasting and burning into brittle ash. Opening her eyes, she looked up at a blue sky where hazy white clouds drifted above it. She smiled, almost thinking she was back with the Dezzi, but the broad leaves of a palm tree made her sit up. Sand stuck to her cloak as she rose, so she attempted to brush it off.
Cuthan walked over, carrying a platter of wood with slabs of fish on it. “I know it’s not much.” He squatted down. His voice was gentle with a hint of begging. “But eat.” He held it out to her, his bright eyes sneaking toward the palm trees that hid the rest of the island.
Phyllis paused, and she reached for a slab of fish meat. “Cuthan.” She looked at the twinkle in his eyes. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing.” He grinned and winked, handing her the entire platter of wood.
Phyllis looked down at the fish and thought of Roturk. Where was he? Had he survived the assault by the sea monster? She missed his chirps of hunger in the morning and his impatient nips when he didn’t get enough food.
Cuthan stood, his clothes still waterlogged and ripped. “Want to go for a walk?”
“What?” Phyllis spit out a mouthful of fish. It tasted slimy and warm, much like she imagined an eel would taste.
“Captain Winther and his crew are going to search for a ship. He told us to stay in small groups. A large group could spook the inhabitants of the island, if there are any. So I’m thinking we should do our own scouting.”
“Why?”
“Hunt a bit, find better food, and figure out where we are?”
Phyllis leaned over to wake up Ilieus, who sat up and glared at them. She calmed down as she remembered and reached over to help herself to some fish, not even bothering to fix her hair. Phyllis explained where they were off to, but Ilieus shook her head. “Go without me.”
“No.” Phyllis fixed Ilieus with a look. “Please let’s stay together in case things go awry.”
Artenvox, having lost his armor in the shipwreck, joined them after scarfing down his own meal of fish. The four walked up the sloping hill to the trees, stumbling in the banks of deep sand. The cool shade of the palm trees blocked out the sunlight, and they shuffled through tall, white grasses. The palm trees quickly faded, displaying the wide-open expanse of land.
“Wow,” Artenvox breathed as they looked at the island spread before them. Hills of green rippled across the islands with a golden path winding inland. Palm trees still danced across the lush lands, and in the distance, the tips of a castle sparkled in the sunlight.
“Shall we?” Cuthan stepped forward onto the golden road.
It was soft, almost springy, and Cuthan wondered if he could touch the top of a palm tree if he jumped high enough. Round, hairy, brown balls hung from them. A kind of blossom of poisonous fruit perhaps?
“It’s beautiful here.” Phyllis threw her head back in the sunshine, astonished with how different the island was from the landmass. In the islands, it was as if the slow death of the Eastern World did not exist. Perhaps they were immune from it.
Ilieus pointed. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide. “There is something about this place though…”
Cuthan raised an eyebrow. “Come now, we are just out for a morning walk. Everyone loves adventures; besides, we’ve never been to the castle before so that’s where we’re going.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Ilieus muttered.
“Ah.” Artenvox laughed. “Adventure is never wise.”
“Ilieus.” Cuthan moved to walk beside her. “You don’t have to be all doom and gloom; we are off on an adventure. Who knows what can happen next?”
Ilieus frowned. “We are supposed to be in the North Forests. Something is hindering our passage.”
They ignored her as they followed the golden road, winding through hills and curves into the heart of the island. Tall white and green grasses lined the path with wild flowers; their pale purples and yellow faces peeked at them. They waved in the gentle sea breeze, dancing to their own inner tune. Palm trees rose up in the fields, their broad leaves casting shade wherever they stood.
“I could wrap myself in one of those.” Cuthan pointed. “And sleep like the Dezzi in their hammocks.”
“Ah, the Dezzi.” Artenvox shook his long locks. “Would that I could have met them.”
“Their queen.” Cuthan grinned. “Is quite serious, but she would like you much better than she liked me.”
The two chuckled and slapped each other’s shoulders playfully.
“But think,” Ilieus interrupted. “Where do you think we are? What other islands are inhabited aside from Wind Fresh?”
“Plenty,” Cuthan replied. “Just look at a map. There are dozens of islands scattered across the Westiles Sea.”
“I know.” Ilieus reached out, grabbing Cuthan’s arm and halting their progress. “But which ones are inhabited?”
“Wait.” Artenvox spun around to look at them and then froze. “Ilieus, you may have a point. I’ve been down the Westiles Sea before with Captain Winther and his crew. Most of the islands are uninhabited because they are too small to live on. It’s too much work, especially with the storms. There’s nowhere to go when the sea decides to have its say.”
“What are you saying?” Phyllis interrupted, pinpricks of doubt forming in her mind.
“Here.” Cuthan pointed to a person headed their way. “Let’s ask him.”
It was a lone farmer, shuffling down the road and pushing an empty wheelbarrow. A smokeless pipe drooped out of the left corner of his mouth, bouncing with every step. He chewed
on the end, mumbling curses and complaints regarding the lack of tobacco. He was a short Cron, but the way he hunched over his wheelbarrow and the dragging lurch of his steps made him appear shorter. Self-care was clearly of no importance to him. His poor attempt to grow a beard left straggly hairs dripping from his chin. Rags, which were more holes than anything else, flapped around his thin body, and as the four drew closer, they were taken aback by the distinct smell of manure.
He paused as they walked up to him, dropping the end of his wheelbarrow with a thump on the golden road. He jerked the pipe out of his mouth. “Aye, what do ye ‘ave ‘ere?”
Cuthan crossed his arms and grinned. “Say, we got attacked by a sea serpent and are a little lost. Would you tell us what island we’ve arrived on?”
“Aye, strangers are ye?” The farmer stuck his pipe back in his mouth and stared at them out of his pale blue eyes, taking in their torn clothing and lack of weapons. “First.” He stuck a finger in the air. “What are ye goin’ ta give me fer in-fer-ma-tion?” He stumbled over the last word; it was much too big and long for him, but it made him feel important.
“What do you want?” Artenvox folded his arms across his chest and raised his chin.
The farmer chewed on the end of his pipe and eyed the four as he considered. “For starters…” He coughed and spat a wad of brown liquid onto the polished surface of the golden road. “Ye ken get rid o’ ‘em.”
“Who?” Artenvox raised an eyebrow.
The farmer jerked a thumb backward toward the middle of the island. “Dem. Ye know.” He shook his head; the wide-brimmed straw hat he wore flopped in the wind. Phyllis noticed it had a hole on the top, letting the sunlight in to burn the thin hairs left on his head. “I’m a-gettin’ a poorer an’ poorer dez days. Ever since dey came.”
“Wait.” Cuthan waved his hand. “What are you talking about? Where are we?”
The farmer wagged his finger, picking up the ends of his wheelbarrow. “See now, I can’t be doing talks with the like of ye. Ye don’t even ken where ye are.”
“Hold on.” Cuthan held out a hand to stop the wheelbarrow’s progress. “What do you want from us?”
Setting down his wheelbarrow, the farmer considered them. “Naw, nothin’ but to keep me own food. Ye see, all I know is, dey need a lot ‘o food over yonder. Got a lot ‘o mouths to feed and eat up all the grown plants in me land. An ta think, dey don’t gimme anything for it.”
“The Contrevails?” Artenvox asked boldly. “This is their island, isn’t it?”
“Now, now.” The farmer raised a dirty hand, visibly shaking. “I’m all fer the Contrevails. But…some things day do just don’ make sense. We had more here, a-fore dey showed up,” he complained. His eyes turned shifty as he looked at them, and he grabbed the handles of his wheelbarrow. “Spies are ye?”
“We’re not spies,” Phyllis hissed, afraid of the very word.
“Get off this island.” The farmer peered back over his shoulder at them as he marched away. “When dey come, just the noise of de marchin’ sends yer blood a-chillin’. I’ve seen ‘em.” He waved uncertainly back at the castle in the distance. “Thousands of ‘em getting ready fer war. Something ‘ta be proud of at least, but leave a-fore yer one of dem!”
He hurried away, shuffling off the road into the wild grasses.
Ilieus spoke first. “We are on Contres.”
Phyllis swallowed hard. “We should go back to the shore. Before they find us.”
“Wait.” Cuthan reached out to grab her arm before she could run away. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Don’t you see we have to go to the castle now and gather as much ‘in-fer-ma-tion’ as possible,” he suggested, mocking the farmer’s accent. “We’re spies after all, and if we have the opportunity to find out something that could help the Realalons, why wouldn’t we?”
Phyllis yanked her arm away from Cuthan. “Because something terrible could happen to us. They are dangerous, and here we are, lost at sea and running straight into their hands. What if they capture us?”
Cuthan just smirked while Artenvox held up his sapphire ring. “If worse comes to worst, we will charm them.” He grinned as well, and at that moment, the two of them looked like twin jewels.
Phyllis turned in a huff to Ilieus, who stood with her hands dangling by her side. Her eyes were dark as she looked at Phyllis as if begging for forgiveness. “We should go. Cuthan and Artenvox are right. We accomplish nothing sitting on the shore, even though that’s what I would prefer.” Her shoulders sagged. “But we are part of this, we should do something.”
“We are doing something,” Phyllis argued, taking a step toward the shore. “We are going to the North Forests to hunt for some fable.”
Ilieus looked down at her hands. “It’s not a fable.”
“Look, Phyllis.” Cuthan raised his hands, giving in. “If you don’t want to come, fine, but we’re still going.”
“We’ll just pretend to be islanders,” Artenvox agreed. “How hard is it? It’s not like we’ll meet anyone we know.”
Phyllis huffed and placed her hands on her hips. “How come when the Horse Lords suggested we come here and spy on the Contrevails, you rejected it? But now that we are here, you think it’s a good idea?”
Cuthan grinned. “Don’t you see? It’s different. We didn’t intend to come, but now that we are here, we should make the most of this opportunity. Maybe we’ll even meet the Horse Lords again.” He pretended to mount a horse and ride off down the road, laughing as he mocked them.
Phyllis watched him with growing irritation, refusing to agree with him. “We need to focus on leaving.”
Ilieus stepped forward. “We have to find a ship. Let’s blend with the people here until we find one. Then we can leave and continue our quest.”
The golden path took them beyond the fields until they could see the island laid out before them. Huts of wood and straw dotted the landscape. Reeds of tall bamboo shoots began to appear, and the air smelled faintly of rice and rain, the dampness from the Westiles Sea creeping inland. Farmers worked hard in their fields; families of them toiled under the rays of the sun. The children wore hats made of palm trees and were suntanned and grubby. The full-grown Crons were in rags while their younger children chased pigs through the lands. Once a full-grown tortoise crawled across the road, large enough for Cuthan to sit like a king on its shell. It was past mid-afternoon when they reached the center of the island and the castle rose like a monster, towering over the square where booths were set up. A low murmur of voices hummed through the air; otherwise, it was eerily quiet. The typical boisterous voices and rambunctiousness of children and animals at play was lost on the town.
Phyllis couldn’t help but stare at the islanders. Most of them were short Crons, but they were skinny and suntanned with large hungry eyes. Like the farmer, their appearance was dirty, their hair stood up straight in the air from sweat and water. Dirt and shaft from the fruits and vegetables they farmed covered any visible skin, and the dust from the road covered their feet and legs. Most of them wore shoes, unlike the farmer, but they were coated over with a fine layer of dust. In fact, the Crons seemed quite out of place with the rich appearance of the island. Ilieus reached out to grab Phyllis’s shoulder and leaned in, whispering into her ear. “They have it.”
Phyllis turned so fast she almost knocked Ilieus off her feet. “The Clyear?” she squeaked, her heart pounding despite her insistence that it was a fable.
Ilieus shook her head, her eyes glazing over as she stared past Phyllis. “I can’t see what it is, but it is powerful.”
The blast of a trumpet interrupted the peaceful market, and the sound of horse hooves drew near. The quiet murmur in the town square faded into silence as the islanders backed away, waiting. Into the square came a wagon drawn by brown horses. Two Crons sat high above the ground in gray jerkins with gold fringes around the ends, swishing as they moved. They had long swords by their sides, and the first one swung down, tossing a bag of coins h
igh in the air and laughing as the islanders moved forward, swayed by the sound of money. The other Cron tied the reins to a pole and motioned to a child to bring the horses water as if they had come from the end of a long journey instead of the castle that was a short distance away. Minutes later, five more foot soldiers jogged into the square and took up a post, each one effectively blocking the entrance and exits of the square.
One by one the well-dressed soldiers marched to each booth and took their share of vegetables and meats, grown and dried by the islanders. Ignoring the outstretched hands, waiting, nay, begging for something in exchange for their goods, the soldiers loaded up their wagon. With a crack, they jump abroad and, turning the laden wagon around, headed up the road back toward the castle. The foot soldiers waited a beat before following them up the road. The square was silent again, save for the quiet weeping. But it was Ilieus who gathered her skirts in her hand and took off, running up the path toward the castle.
46
Contres
Wait!” Phyllis shouted in anger, hurling herself after Ilieus. “What are you doing?”
Cuthan and Artenvox glanced at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and ran after the twins.
When they caught up with her, Ilieus was hiding in the tall bushes across from the golden gates of the castle. Guards were milling about, busy unloading the wagons. Ilieus kept biting her lower lip; her face was pale as she watched them. As Phyllis crept up beside her, she pointed anxiously. “I thought…” Her voice dropped away.
The Complete Four Worlds Series Page 55