Isle of Broken Years

by Jane Fletcher

“It doesn’t mean I don’t value your advice.”

  “Even if you’ve made up your mind to ignore it?”

  Had she made up her mind?

  Liz sighed and shook her head. “Ah, maybe you’re right, dear. I’ve spent too long losing friends. I’ve lost hope.”

  “It’s in Pandora’s jar.”

  “I’d always thought she had a box.”

  “That was a mistranslation.”

  “Really?” A sad smile lifted one corner of Liz’s mouth. “You’ll be asking for volunteers to go with you?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it. I’m not sure if there’s any point more people risking their lives. It’s not as if a large group could fight off the hunters.”

  “Or even an army.”

  Yet, now that she thought of it, company would be comforting. “A second pair of eyes might spot something I miss.”

  “I’d say to take two others with you, three tops.”

  “If I get the volunteers.”

  “Oh, you’ll get them right enough, dear. I know these nutters. Come on. It’s lunchtime. Let’s tell them the news.” She linked arms with Catalina. “If you come across Gerard’s bones over there, give them a good kick from me.”

  The communal room was full. Piracola was chef of the day, which was usually interesting, if not always totally successful. Catalina waited until everyone had finished eating. “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?”

  Around the room, people broke off their conversations.

  “I’m going to Old Town. I want to look for the home of one of the Greeks, a man called Tydides, because there’s a chance, just a faint chance, he’d have known what was going on with Atlantis, and why it’s time jumping. If we can discover that, maybe we can work out how to stop it. I’m willing to go alone, but if anyone wants to come, I wouldn’t mind company.”

  Torvold had jumped to his feet, even before Catalina finished talking. He punched the air with both hands. “Yes. I shall go with you. Together we will hit the donkey.”

  “You mean kick ass,” Babs shouted from the other side of the room. “If you’re short on numbers, I’ll go, but it wasn’t on my to-do list.”

  “I’ll go,” Floyd called out. “You might need a techie. Anything’s piece of cake for me, after Omaha Beach.”

  Catalina drew a breath. “That’s great. Two will be fine.”

  “Make it three,” Sam said. “Torvold has strength, and Floyd can help with the science stuff. But if you want someone who can climb into places, I’m your best bet.”

  Catalina stared at her. Why was she putting her name forward? Sam had volunteered to go with Alonzo as well. Before Catalina could say anything, Liz clapped her hands.

  “Okay. That’s enough risking their necks. You four can sort out when you want to go. Have someone drop you off in the Inflatable. They can wait offshore to pick you up again.”

  “I’ll do that.” Babs raised her hand.

  Catalina nodded. Of course, they would need someone to man the boat, because there was every possibility that no one who stepped ashore would ever be coming home.

  Chapter Ten

  The buildings rising sheer from the waves looked quiet and peaceful—romantic even, draped in trailing vines. Unlike the inner island, this waterfront was not lined with a quay. Floyd and Torvold paddled the Inflatable along the wall, hunting for a place they could disembark. Babs had cut the outboard motor some way out so as not to announce their arrival.

  Dawn was an hour past, but the sun was hidden. The weather was overcast and humid, sounds muted in the sluggish air. Rain seemed likely before long.

  Sam’s ears were trained for a “Tck-tck-tck,” but it was hard to hear anything over the pounding of her heart. Why had she volunteered? Sam smiled at herself—that was one question she had no trouble answering. She wanted to win Catalina’s trust, even her gratitude. Maybe this was impossible, but for her own self-respect, she had to try. She had to make amends for Alonzo. Her taunts had pushed him too far.

  Sam glanced in Catalina’s direction. Her appearance was still surprising. Catalina had turned up in shorts and a loose shirt. Her hair was tied back. Of course, scrambling around ruins in the long blue dress would be awkward. Casual clothes allowed far more freedom of movement. They were not so beautiful or elegant, but they made Catalina appear less delicate. Sam could not decide which look she preferred. Catalina had an empty pack slung over her shoulder, for anything she might find. On her feet were a pair of oversized boots. Strips of padding stuck out around her ankles.

  Despite being dressed like everyone else, Catalina was the only one not carrying a weapon. Sam had a long machete at her side and a coil of rope. She would have liked one of the amazingly sharp swords from the Barn, but could not find a scabbard capable of keeping it safe. Floyd had an eight-inch knife in his belt and an AK-47 strapped to his back. Somewhere, Torvold had found a huge, double-bladed war-axe, which he was so busy admiring he had not found time to argue about control of the outboard motor.

  “There,” Babs said in a sharp whisper. “A marina.”

  A wide channel cut between two buildings, giving access to what had once been a square harbor. The water was dotted with the rotted remains of jetties. The wooden boardwalks were gone, leaving only jagged posts, sticking out of the waves like fingers. At the far side, a flight of steps came down to the water’s edge. Floyd was the first ashore, followed by the rest. Sam came last.

  “First sign of a jump, come running. I’ll be here, waiting for you. I promise,” Babs said. “Stay safe, guys.”

  “You too.” Floyd made a fist with his thumb sticking up.

  They climbed the stairs to street level and reached the edge of an open plaza. Before them, five roads fanned out. It was a dead city, fighting a long, losing battle with the invading forest. Plants grew in cracks between flagstones, and the buildings were wrapped in shrouds of green. The closest formed a semicircle, six or seven floors high. The towers loomed over the plaza with an oppressive weight. The only movements were flocks of birds wheeling overhead, black dots against the cloud. More seagulls perched in empty windows. Their cries and the slap of waves against the harbor wall were the only sounds.

  “Which way?” Torvold asked Catalina.

  “I need to find an inscription, to work out where we are.”

  He nodded and smiled. “So which way?”

  Catalina pointed to the largest building. An impressive staircase led to its doors. “We’ll start there.”

  Standing on the steps, Sam could not get rid of the sensation they were being watched. She felt a prickling between her shoulder blades. It was ridiculous and childish. Watching in silence was one thing the hunters never did.

  Catalina struggled to push aside a mat of hanging vines. When he saw what she was doing, Torvold added his strength.

  “That’s enough.” Catalina rubbed dust and dead roots from the exposed stonework. Sam could see letters carved on a plaque.

  “What does it say?” Floyd asked.

  “It’s the central gymnasium. Tydides lived a few blocks clockwise from here.”

  Sam did not know what sort of distance a block might be, but it sounded like good news. They left the plaza and crept along, staying close to the buildings. Rationally, it made no difference whether they walked down the middle of the street, but Sam wanted a wall at her back. They passed open doorways—air coming from them smelled of mold and decay. The silence was unnerving. She found herself trying to look in all directions at once.

  At the end of the road was a T junction, where Catalina turned right, back toward the sea. At first this seemed to be a dead end, but a narrow passage took them through to an avenue. The line of trees down the middle might once have been ornamental. Most had died but not before their roots had buckled the pavement and cracked the low walls around their bases.

  They walked for another five minutes. Apparently, a block was longer than Sam had expected.

  “How much farther?” Floyd asked.


  “I’m not sure.” Catalina looked troubled. “I may have gone wrong. I couldn’t find a map, just a few clues I put together. We need to get to the Anemoian Bridge.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “A bridge, I suppose. In Greek mythology, the Anemoi were the wind gods, Boreas, Zephyrus, and others.”

  “A wind bridge?”

  “Like Bifrost?” Torvold said. “The rainbow bridge to Asgard?”

  Catalina frowned. “I’m expecting something a little more substantial.”

  “Where does this bridge go?”

  “It didn’t say. All I know is Tydides complained about people on it singing loudly and waking him up one morning.”

  “So it must have gone by his bedroom,” Sam said.

  “As long as he was in his own bed,” Floyd added in an undertone.

  Around the next corner, the road opened onto another plaza, similar in size to the one where they landed, although the buildings here were lower. All were a uniform two floors high, with a balcony lining the front. In the center of the plaza was a lookout tower, identical to the one near the Squat.

  “Perhaps if we climb that we’ll be able to see this wind bridge from the top,” Sam said.

  Catalina chewed her lip and said nothing.

  “Unless someone has a better idea, I’m with Sam.” Floyd adjusted the strap of his gun and set off.

  Crossing the open plaza felt so exposed. The prickling down Sam’s spine returned full force. It was stupid, no one would be watching, yet the urge to run was overwhelming. The others clearly shared her unease, and their pace picked up noticeably as they scurried over the worn flagstones.

  When they reached the tower, the absence of caretakers was obvious from the state of repair. The handrail was loose, although there was no sign of rust. Sam prodded the bottom step with her toe. “Do you think it’s safe?”

  “Easy to know.” Torvold jumped onto the next step up and stamped his feet. “Right as jolly old rain.” He bounded up the stairs.

  “You’ve been talking to Horatio again.” Floyd followed more slowly.

  “Why not? He is my friend.” Torvold had reached the top and looked down at them.

  “Can you see the bridge from up there?” Catalina called.

  Torvold’s head vanished briefly. “No.”

  They joined him on the deck. As with the other tower, the two circular sitting areas gave the impression they were floating in midair. Both were six feet across and surrounded by a rail, with a small gap for an entrance. Each could easily have held ten people. The seats were positioned with the rail as a backrest, meaning the occupants would all be facing each other. Directly opposite the entry points were control panels, with keypads.

  Sam went to the edge of the deck. She was just high enough to see over the surrounding buildings. On three sides, the ruins of Old Town stretched into the distance until they were swallowed by the jungle. To the east was the inner sea, dull gray in the sullen light. The huge tower in the center of Atlantis was a black block against the clouds. There was no sign of a bridge anywhere.

  “Catalina. Come have a look at this.” Floyd had entered the right-hand circle.

  “What is it?”

  “One of those keypads. There’s writing as well.”

  Catalina gingerly sidled through the entrance gap, clearly unhappy about the lack of support.

  “What does it say?”

  Catalina took a while before answering. “It says this is the Anemoian Bridge. And it says, Enter destination code.”

  “Could the keypad make a bridge appear?”

  “How?”

  Sam stayed outside but peered over the guardrail. “Look. There’s no plants or damage inside. The caretakers must have been looking after the seats.”

  Floyd frowned. “Why these and nothing else in Old Town? But you’re right. Towers like this are dotted over both islands. They must have a reason to be here.”

  A breeze stirred the sluggish air, making hair tickle Sam’s forehead. “They’re not guard posts. The seats face inward. But it seems a strange place to have a meeting.”

  Dead leaves skittered across the deck, driven by a stronger gust. Sam turned her head to follow the noise, even as the wind picked up, growing stronger. A tremor shook the ground. Sam felt her guts turn to ice. She looked up. The thick clouds made the change less noticeable than normal, not that she needed confirmation. “She’s jumping.”

  Torvold shouted a stream of words that were, undoubtedly, curses in Norse.

  “Back to the Inflatable.”

  Sam was moving, even before Floyd spoke. The next quake hit as she reached the top of the stairs, sending her stumbling. The handrail wobbled when she grabbed it, about to give way. Sam pulled back and took a second to steady herself. Breaking her neck in a fall was not going to help. She raised her eyes. On the far side of the plaza was movement, things flowing over the ground. Was it weeds swaying in the wind? But then a small shape broke free, scuttling from one building to another.

  “We won’t make it.”

  Everyone froze, then Floyd tugged Sam’s shoulder. “Come back. Away from the edge. The hunters don’t like climbing. Maybe they won’t come up if they don’t know we’re here.”

  What other hope did they have? Catalina returned to the circle of seats. She grabbed the guardrail for balance with one hand while stabbing at the control panel with the other. The guardrail began to hum faintly; lights flickered into life at foot level.

  “What did you do?” Floyd joined her.

  “I pressed the button marked Power.”

  “Anything else obvious?”

  “No.”

  “So what now?”

  Torvold hefted the war-axe and took up position guarding the entrance to the circle. “We see how many I can take with me. Ja?”

  Floyd nodded slowly and slipped the AK-47 from his shoulder. “I’m with you, buddy.”

  Sam drew the machete from its scabbard. Was there any point? But at least she would die fighting.

  The tower continued to shake, making the loose handrail clatter and groan. The wind whistled under the roof. But at last, the world calmed, the tremors stopped, and bright morning sunshine flooded the observation deck. It was a short while after sunrise, date, as ever, uncertain. The sky was washed blue, without a trace of cloud.

  The roof was a curved hood over the deck. It was lowest on the side opposite the seats, where it was supported by three stumpy posts. In the fresh dawn light, the effects of time were obvious. A beard of vines dangled from the upper edge. The interior had once been white, but now was coated in dirt and cobwebs. Patches of green and orange lichens spread out from the joints with the support posts. A band of rust stains formed a pattern at head height.

  Or was it rust? The six red marks seemed too deliberate to be natural. Sam’s reading skills did not go beyond being able to sound out letters and numbers. She could pull information from a ship’s log, but would not claim to read English. However, to her eyes, the marks looked very similar to the Greek she had seen.

  “Catalina.”

  “What?”

  “Are they Greek letters?”

  “Where?”

  Sam pointed. “On the wall, behind you.”

  “Yes. They are. So what…” Catalina turned back and spoke aloud as she punched keys, “Kappa. Iota. Mu. Omicron. Rho. Beta.”

  Nothing happened. Catalina’s shoulders slumped.

  Floyd patted her arm. “Guess it was worth a try.”

  Sam walked up to the letters, and brushed the cobwebs away. The paint was old and flaked under her hand. It had to mean something. Someone had written it for a reason—but what? Was it the writer’s name, so everyone would know who had been there? Sam had heard of people doing that.

  The fourth letter was a tall oval, shaped like a zero. Close up, Sam could see there was a line down the middle, obscured by a water stain.

  “Catalina. Did you see this?”

  “What?
”

  “This line on the fourth letter. Does it have any effect?”

  “Where?”

  Sam traced it with her finger.

  “Yes.” Catalina’s voice picked up. “It means it’s phi, not omicron.”

  Sam kept studying the letters, searching for other hidden lines. Then, from the ground below, came a series of clicks. “Tck-tck, tck-tck-tck, tck-tck.” The sound became a chorus as more hunters joined in. Sam took a step back, her eyes fixed on the top of the stairs.

  “Sam!” Floyd shouted.

  Sam took another step backward. The clicks were growing louder, swelling in a clamor. “Tck-tck-tck, tck, tck-tck.”

  “Sam. Quick. Get in.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. The circle was moving, slowly drifting away like a giant hover board. Already it was two feet clear, leaving behind a space where it once had been docked, like a bite taken out of the side of the deck.

  Torvold stood in the entrance gap holding out his hand. “Skjot. Jump.”

  Sam dropped her machete and ran. The platform was picking up speed, leaving her behind. Five feet of nothing now lay between it and the deck. Another two steps. Sam’s foot landed at the edge and she launched herself off. Her left hand caught the guardrail, but the other flailed at air. Then a strong hand gripped her wrist, steadying her, though her legs were still swinging free. More hands seized her shirt and hauled her over the rail and down into the space between the seats. Sam landed on her head.

  She squirmed between the three pairs of legs until she could get her feet under her. A helping hand from Torvold pulled her upright. The flying platform rocked gently, like a rowing boat, but showed no sign of tipping over. Sam looked back to the deck.

  A swarm of creatures were surging through the entrance to the stairs. Sam knelt on the seat, folded her arms on the rail, and studied them while she got her breath back. If the caretakers made her think of spiders, these were crabs—crabs with two sets of foot-long pincers, shaped like curved sheep shears. A tide of them flowed over the deck. But the flying platform was going ever faster, and the scene behind dwindled.

  “Wind bridge. Air Bridge,” Catalina said. “It makes sense. It means we were in the right place.”