by Shade Owens
“You ever read Harry Potter?” Eagle asked.
I nodded, not quite understanding the relevancy.
“Think of Murk as the island’s sorting h—”
“Shut up!” Fisher hissed. “We were all forced to face the island blindly. Brone isn’t any different.”
Eagle looked away, not daring to challenge Fisher. I didn’t blame her. Fisher was the toughest-looking woman I’d ever seen, aside from Trim. She was definitely a mixed race, with dark hair pulled back and round black eyes. She was short, with broad shoulders that gave her the appearance of a professional wrestler. I knew she was Trim’s right hand by the way she hovered nearby, constantly glancing her way like a pit bull on guard, as if ready to pounce on anyone who posed a threat.
Trim glanced back at us, at Fisher, and then said, “Fisher’s right. Let’s go.”
She turned toward the sun and led us through an array of trees, plants, and flowers. I could hear birds chirping from above, followed by other sounds I was unfamiliar with. I flinched when a monkey—or a chimp—screamed ahead of us. The women didn’t seem bothered by this at all.
I watched my every step, careful not to step on any hard-shelled critters or giant spiders. I’d seen jungles in movies before, so I knew what I was up against—sort of.
Trim led us farther and farther away from shore, and I couldn’t help but feel that the deeper we ventured, the more we became vulnerable to Mother Nature.
It was just like I’d seen in the movies. Everything was green or brown, with the exclusion of colorful flowers routed at the base of overly large trees. Even the water flowing through a narrow stream nearby had a greenish tint, most likely due to reflection.
I breathed in the scent of wild flowers, which masked the subtle scent of moist dirt and widespread mildew. I wouldn’t get used to this. I’d always been disgusted by the smell of my cat’s litter box; I used to remedy the problem by spraying excessive amounts of air freshener throughout my apartment. And I wasn’t the outdoorsy type. I’d never survive.
Trim quickly crouched, and the others followed. Rocket tugged on the back of my shirt to bring me down. What was going on? I parted my lips to speak, but Rocket nudged me in the ribs. Fisher’s nostrils flared and her muscles bulged. She wanted to fight. But who? Or what?
I heard the cracking of forest vegetation in the distance, and my heart began to race. I realized that aside from these women surrounding me, I was entirely unprotected. The others had blades and spears and even arrows, yet I had nothing. How was I supposed to defend myself in the event of an attack?
Eagle slowly slid a wooden arrow from its quiver on her back. She placed it against the bowstring and drew it back, her gaze fixed intently on her target up ahead. I held my breath, fearful to lure in the unseen predator.
Eagle’s eyes narrowed, and she released the arrow. Her bowstring made a snap-like sound, and her arrow whistled through dangling vines and past several tree trunks. There was a squeal in the distance followed by rapid footsteps and the stirring of leaves. Eagle bolted forward, and the others followed, leaving me at the back. I hurried to keep up, but the moment I arrived at the site of her wounded target, I cringed.
Across the root of a tree lay a dying boar, its eyes wide and its head swaying desperately from side to side. Eagle pulled a grimy hatchet from her holster, grabbed the pig by one of its tusks, and raised the weapon over her head.
Rocket barely had time to warn me to look away when Eagle swung downward at the boar’s neck. The sound of impact nauseated me. There was a violent squeal, followed by another blow and another and another until the boar stopped moving entirely. Eagle stepped onto the boar’s body, and with a hand on each one of its tusks, pulled upward. I nearly threw up at the sound of flesh and soft tissue tearing.
“Nice shot,” Trim said, staring down at the arrow protruding from the animal’s chest.
“Thanks.” Eagle raised the boar’s head to eye level, analyzing its face, tusks, and teeth. “Better than my last,” she said.
I threw my hand over my mouth at the sight of blood dripping from the wild pig’s severed head. Rocket laughed and squeezed my shoulder.
“You get used to it,” she said.
Eagle wiped her bloody blade against several vines to clean it, then quickly sliced through one of them before placing her blade back into its holster. The thick, green rope-like plant fell to the ground with a thump. Eagle wrapped the vine around the boar and secured it by tugging hard. She then bent over and tore her arrow out of the boar’s chest. She inspected it quickly, then wiped it and tossed it back into her quiver.
“Need help?” Fisher asked.
Eagle shook her head and began dragging her kill through the forest’s bed.
“That looks really heavy,” I whispered.
“That’s nothing,” Rocket said. “Maybe two hundred pounds, at most. A while back, Eagle killed one that was at least five hundred pounds. Had to cut it up to bring it back to the Village.”
I grimaced.
“The Village?” I asked, enthused by the prospect of a civilized society.
“What were you expecting?” Flander said, her wrinkled face suddenly near mine. “You were dropped off on an island with over a thousand square miles of land, along with hundreds o’ criminals. You really think it’s a free-for-all? Humans are social creatures. We wouldn’t survive without each other.”
Rocket rolled her eyes as if to say, ‘Old woman. Here she goes again…’
“How do you know all of this?” I asked.
“I do my research,” Flander said.
“Let’s keep moving,” Trim interrupted.
She continued her lead through the jungle, hacking away at the overpopulation of tree branches and vines.
“Hundreds of criminals?” I whispered, leaning in toward Flander.
She nodded all knowingly.
“Are they all in the Village?” I asked.
She smiled, as if this had been the dumbest question she’d ever heard.
“Like any society, Kormace has its outlaws and its rebels. And like any prison, women fight to hold a position of power,” Flander said. She wiped several beads of sweat away from her shiny forehead and gazed around, as if paranoid of being heard. “A few years ago, someone challenged Murk. Didn’t agree with the way she was runnin’ things. Long story short, she and her loyal followers were removed from the Village. Rumors say they moved to the north of the island and created their own society. They’re dangerous—merciless. They attacked a while back, killin’ a dozen women in their sleep.”
I swallowed hard. Flander paused, and I knew she was vividly reliving that terrible night. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d lost anyone she truly cared about.
She cleared her throat. “The Northers all deserve to be killed.”
“Fucking right,” Rocket interjected.
Fisher joined in on the conversation, shaking a clenched fist in the air. “I’ll be the first to rip off Rainer’s fucking head!” Her muscles bulged out from underneath her tanned skin, and I could tell she’d been born to fight.
“Rainer?” I asked.
Trim stopped walking. She slowly turned around, as if insulted by the very name.
“Their leader,” she said scornfully.
“Whatever you do,” Rocket warned, “don’t mention that name in front of Murk.”
“And Murk is your leader?” I asked.
In an instant, Trim was standing in front of me, her cold blade pressed against the base of my throat.
“Yours too,” she said, glaring. “Or would you rather go find the Northers?”
I swallowed hard.
“That’s not what Brone meant—” Rocket said.
“Shut up,” Trim ordered. I felt the sharp edge of her knife press harder into my skin. “Well?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “No. I just meant… I was just trying to understand the hierarchy. I don’t know how things are run here… I’m sorry if I…”
&nbs
p; She quickly pulled away and stored her weapon.
“Good,” she said. “Just making sure.”
I noticed a satisfied smile curve at the corners of her lips, but I failed to see the humor in her reaction. My heart was racing, and my mouth was completely dry. Why was I being treated like the enemy? I wasn’t here to harm anyone.
“Don’t take it personally,” Flander said, tapping me hard on the back. “She wouldn’t be a good leader if she didn’t instill fear every once in a while.”
I resentfully accepted this advice and decided it was best to continue following, despite my anger toward Trim. We continued through the jungle for a while, Fisher and Eagle alternating turns pulling the boar.
My legs were about to give out when I finally noticed light being cast through the trees. As we moved closer, the light expanded, and I realized we were exiting the forest—or at least, nearing an opening. Had we crossed the island? My feet were throbbing and my muscles burned. I wanted to collapse. As we moved closer to the light, I realized that the brightness was not being cast by the sun, but rather, by its reflection over a beautiful bed of green water. The water was surrounded by some of the tallest trees I’d ever seen—walls built of greenery that formed a natural enclosure.
A cool mist floated in the air. I parted my lips, allowing several droplets to land on the tip of my tongue. I swallowed hard, my throat sticking, and I wanted nothing more than to dive into the water and drink until my stomach blew. I’d never felt so thirsty in my life.
A consistent static echoed in the distance—the sound of water crashing against water. I knew we’d reached a waterfall. We stepped out into the opening; it was encircled by tall trees and a rocky surface, and I immediately realized we weren’t alone.
Surrounding the large circular shaped body of emerald green water were women with similar attributes to those who’d found me. They were wild looking with their tangled hair, their tattooed arms, and their suntanned skin. The ages varied—from adolescents to elderly who required assistance with their bodily movements.
There were women skinning animals and removing their bloody body parts for meat and other materials; women working with some type of contraption in the sand, which appeared to be a handmade water filtration system; women sewing animal hide to construct clothing and shelter; women chopping away at logs of wood; and women working the earth, cultivating and planting a multitude of fruits and vegetables—a society working together to ensure all basic needs were being met.
We moved in closer, and I felt several eyes turn my way. These women stood tall, their chests heaved and their shoulders drawn back as if preparing to face a potential threat. I didn’t blame them—they didn’t know me, after all. I could have easily been a Norther or even one of the outlaws, as Flander had explained.
A young girl, maybe in her early twenties, was the first to approach me. She had frizzy, dirty blonde hair that was tied back and a fresh cut across her lower lip. She smiled, and I knew it was genuine. She reached out her hand, as did I, but there was no time for introductions.
She was instantly propelled into the air by a woman twice her size, who I could tell ate enough food to feed an army. She had rolls on her arms, her belly, and her legs. How was she so obese while everyone else was so muscular and lean?
“You don’t talk to da newcomers, stupid girl,” she said, her ugly face contorted as she eyed me with disgust from head to toe. She waddled away with such confidence that it made me wonder if she was Murk.
Rocket chuckled. “Welcome to paradise.”
CHAPTER 3
There was no Hogwarts sorting hat.
In fact, there was nothing magical about it at all. She just sat there against the leather of her ruling chair, gazing into me so intently I felt as though I’d be billed for the psychiatric evaluation upon exit.
She smiled, and there was something genuine about it. She didn’t look menacing or mistrustful, yet there was something intimidating about her. She had crystal blue eyes and short silver hair that looked white in comparison to her suntanned face. There was red paint, or blood, smeared across her cheeks, and she wore a necklace made of sharp canine teeth. She leaned back in her chair, then crossed her legs and interlocked her fingers over her knees.
I had been led underneath the large waterfall, through a damp cave that smelled of mould, and into a room illuminated by wall-mounted torches. I’d been told to get on my knees and bow the moment I saw her, and I realized then that the bully I’d run into earlier had not been Murk. This woman was Murk.
“Welcome,” she said.
I was told to stand, and I did so—for what felt like hours—being scrutinized by the leader of the island. I realized the power she had over me. With a click of her fingers, she could have me dragged away from their society and fed to the sharks. It was best to remain silent until asked to speak.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“L—Lydia. Lydia Brone.”
“Why are you here?”
I swallowed hard. I wanted Trim, Rocket, Fisher, Eagle, Biggie, or Flander to speak on my behalf, but the only other person here was Trim who was standing silently at the cavern’s entry point, arms crossed over her chest and eyes focused away from us.
“Well, the government—” I started.
She waved a hand and shook her head.
“I know all about the government. What did you do? What crime?”
“M—murder,” I said.
“Cold-blooded?”
I shook my head. “It was an accident.”
“I don’t need the details,” she said.
“What did you do?” she asked.
I wasn’t sure what she was referring to. I’d just explained to her what I’d been convicted of.
“Well… I… Um. It was a complicated situation. It all happened really fast.”
She cut me short again with a wave of her hand.
“What was your profession?”
“Oh. Cashier. Local flea market.”
She smirked. I immediately knew that I wouldn’t be of much use to her.
“Are you strong?” she asked.
I knew I wasn’t the toughest of girls, but I needed to sell myself.
“I’m not weak,” I said.
“Ever been in a fight?”
“Does fourth grade count?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then no,” I said.
I wondered if I should have lied, but there was something about the way her eyes gazed into me that made me want to reveal only truths. If I lied, she would somehow know.
“What about your parents? What do they do?”
I hesitated.
“Well, my mom doesn’t work, and my dad… Well, I’m not sure… I haven’t spoken to him in years.”
She nodded slowly.
“My dad worked in a warehouse—when he was around, that is,” I continued.
She shook her head. “That’s fine. What do you like to do for fun?” she asked. “Any hobbies?”
I felt like I was being interviewed for a salary-less job. How many more questions did she have up her sleeve? And how did my hobbies have anything to do with my life as a prisoner on Kormace Island? It wasn’t like I’d be given a flat-screen TV with a cable box that fed off some magical source of electricity. My hobbies really didn’t matter.
I shrugged. “I like to cook.”
“Anything else?”
“I like to read.”
She was still staring at me, and I knew she was unimpressed.
“I like beading and bracelet-making. I don’t earn money doing it, but they make nice gifts.”
No response.
“Look, I’m just the average person. I spend most of my time watching TV, which is obviously something I won’t be doing anytime soon. I have a cat at home, but you know how cats are… pretty independent. I don’t take him to the park. I don’t have many friends or a social life. I’m nothing special—I’m sorry. I know you’d rather have a doctor land
on the island, but that’s not me. I don’t have any special talents, but I’m a quick learner, and I’ll try anything.”
I hadn’t meant to ramble for so long, but I couldn’t bear another minute of her analytical gaze. It made me feel not only judged but completely unworthy of living among the other women on this island. She had a way of making me feel comfortable while also completely helpless and in need of her guidance.
“Trim,” she said.
Trim turned her way.
“Have her join the Needlewomen.”
Needlewomen? Who were they? I wanted more information, but I knew I wouldn’t receive it. Murk simply smiled and nodded at me as a way of saying good-bye. I met Trim at the entryway, and she led me out through the cavern.
“What’re Needlewomen?” I finally asked her, but she ignored me.
The sound of the waterfall crashing into water grew louder as we approached the exit. I would have had to yell to communicate, so I remained quiet and allowed Trim to lead the way. We slid out through the side of the waterfall, and to my surprise, the women working in the open space and around the water stood still, their eyes fixed toward the waterfall. What were they looking at?
Trim led me up a crooked path, away from the fall. I realized then that my paranoia was warranted. They were all staring at me—watching me. We finally reached the path’s peak—an elevated surface that sat on a rocky wall. A cliff, almost.
There was an unlit torch jabbed into the earth of the platform. Trim wrapped her fingers around it, almost ceremonially, and threw her fist into the air before shouting over the people, “Brone! Needlewoman!”
There were shouts of anger and resentment and then shouts of joy, but I couldn’t tell which were coming from where. I scanned the crowd in hopes of spotting one of the women I knew, but I couldn’t see them.
I was led back down the cliff, alongside the waterfall and through the crowd of wild women. I received several glares, most of which I could tell were attempts at intimidation.
“This way,” Trim said.
We approached a group of women sitting in the forest’s cool shade, away from the body of water.
