Rising

by C B Samet

  I tried to swallow the taste of bile in my mouth.

  He handed me a small clump of something that looked like moist fruit or maybe a mashed-up vegetable. I couldn’t fathom eating anything in my current state and started to shake my head.

  “It’s ginger,” he explained. “It will help with the motion sickness. Just chew on it. Tomorrow, I’ll remember to have some ginger tea made when you wake up so we can avoid this unpleasantness.”

  Joshua’s tender voice was soothing. It was his character to refer to my vomiting as an unpleasantness rather than an unsightliness, which is what I had already labeled the event.

  I put the raw ginger in my mouth.

  “Rest here,” he said, stroking a hand over my hair. “I’m going to help Captain Kale and Arturo with some chores.”

  I stood. “No,” I said. “I won’t be made useless while other people do all of the work. I’ll grab my boots and join you.”

  We made a day of catching our next meal and cleaning the boat.

  That night we dined on fresh snapper with Arturo and Stic. I asked where they were from. Stic declared proudly that he was born on a ship in the middle of the Viger Sea crossing from Bellos to Crithos, and as such he had dual citizenship. Born in the ocean, it was the only place that felt like home for him. Such a concept was foreign to me. I also thought about the risks his mother had taken. Ocean travel was frightening enough without having to worry about childbirth.

  “Your mother risked ocean travel while pregnant?” I asked. It was awful enough without having an unborn child about which to worry. Not to mention seasickness on top of morning sickness.

  “Yeah,” he said, hunched over his plate and talking between bites of food. “Me pops was beatin’ ’er, so she was litcherally fleein’ for ’er life.” I was surprised at his candor. A child born on a boat to a frightened mother and without a father put the loss of my parents in perspective. I had many years with my parents before they were taken from me.

  Arturo, in stark contrast to Stic, sat tall at the table and ate slowly. He listened intently without interjecting. His behavior was much like how he worked the sails and cleaned the fish, slow and deliberate. He spoke in the broken Crithos language of the Hunju, betraying his origins, though his size did that as well.

  “Ab’ay,” he had called me. “Ab’ay, grab da line,” or “Ab’ay, grab dem gloves an’ load da bate.”

  He was too small, though, to be Hunju, so he must have been mixed human and Hunju. It was good mix—stronger than the former and smarter than the latter. The downside was the sterility; something about the two species didn’t mix well. Given the size of them, a human mother and a Hunju father meant that the mother would not survive childbirth and was not likely to make it to term. The opposite match could achieve offspring, but he or she could not continue the line.

  For the next five days, rain or shine, Joshua and I cleaned the deck, caught fish, cleaned fish, cooked fish and ate fish. Each night we fell into each other’s arms to make love. Each day, the cycle repeated itself, and each night I thought I could live like this with Joshua forever— though preferably on land.

  12

  I awoke to the sensation of pain. A roaring reverberated in my head. Every breath caused a twisting dagger sensation between my ribs. I tried shorter, shallower breaths to keep the pain at a minimum. The taste of sand filled my mouth as I struggled to stand. It seemed like my limbs were all intact, though battered. I felt like one of the Queen’s garments after a raking across the washboard—limp, wet and beaten.

  With some effort, I was able to stand and survey my surroundings. The ocean hurled angry, frothy waves onto black sand and rock. A murky gray sky loomed above, with somber clouds watching the waves slap relentlessly at the barren black beach.

  A black beach.

  I looked left and right at the black ground, trying to remember why I was on a beach and how I had gotten here. There was no foliage, no signs of life. Splinters of wood were scattered along the shore.

  A ship.

  My ship.

  My head throbbed.

  Shipwrecked.

  On a black beach.

  Mulan!

  “Mom! Dad!” I cried out, turning to the left and right. My eyes kept searching for them.

  Yelling caused pain and I grabbed at my side. Something was un- natural about the shape of it. I took a deep breath through the agony and felt it again.

  By this time, I remembered that my parents had been ship- wrecked—or lost at sea—a decade ago. I had come here to say good-bye. I could see by the landscape that even if they had survived the ocean swells and being tossed against the jagged black rocks, there would be no surviving on this island. Devoid of foliage, it offered no shelter, no sustenance. My mind reeled at the thought of their death on this terrible island—drowning, trauma, starvation, or dehydration. They were not here, at least not here and alive.

  Turning away from the beach, I gasped at the towering volcano behind me. Rising like an angry black monster, it blocked out the sky and belched puffs of ashy smoke.

  I sighed, putting my hand on my broken rib—broken ribs? Relaxing my hand at my waist, I felt coarse strands of a prickly rope. It had been tied around my waist. My hands followed it around, then down a tail that stopped at a knot by my mid-calf. The frayed end jutted out like three tongues sticking out at me.

  Joshua!

  Releasing the rope and grasping my rib cage again, I cried as loudly as I could muster. “Joshua!”

  The beach only bellowed back at me with each thunderous wave.

  I felt for the ring on my finger and was grateful to discover it was still there.

  Forcing my shaking, aching legs to move, I walked along the barren beach. Aside from the roaring, spitting waves, there were no other sounds. No birds, no insects. Nothing lived on this dreadful, rocky, volcanic island.

  The only living creature is me, and hopefully, my new husband—the love of my life. He is the only one I have left in this world.

  I continued on the uneven ground, past planks and shards of what was once the ship, shattered to fragments and thrashed into pieces on rock and sand.

  How had I survived? I wondered.

  There were very few spots of sand, and I had awoken on rock. How was I not crushed? I was a bit further inland from the immediate shore. Had the tide been much higher earlier? I looked around again, the wind whipping my hair in my face.

  I remembered standing on the bow, seeing the angry storm clouds thundering toward our tiny little ship. Then the waves rocked, tipping us to and fro. I had fallen into the water or been swept into it. I had pulled at the rope around my waist, but Joshua was already gone. I screamed for him, a futile effort as I could barely hear my own voice over the torrential rain, roaring waves, and booming thunder. He was already gone.

  Then something, someone was grabbing me, pulling me under. I saw the captain, thrashing with panic, near-drowning and struggling to keep her head above water. I gasped and choked and the next wave rolled over us. We were both swirling under the water, about to drown together.

  I shifted.

  Water had crashed onto the ground around us, and Captain Kale rolled off me. Kneeling on my hands and knees in the Marrington Castle Courtyard, I struggled to breathe, coughing out saltwater. The captain lay on her side, also gasping, but alive. I saw guards approaching in the dim light.

  Taking one last deep breath, I had shifted back into the ocean. I swam to the surface and continued my desperate search for Joshua. Another wave took me under, sweeping my strength away with it. Then darkness and hopelessness engulfed me. I could have transported myself back to Marrington again, back to safety, but to what purpose? What was the use if Joshua was swallowed by the ocean? Why not join him, join Paul, and join my parents? I had saved the kingdom, and if my only reward was losing the last person I loved, then life had nothing left for me.

  I remember giving up—surrendering to futility.

  Then I had recalled Joshua’s
words. Death was never the answer. I was about to travel back to the castle when something swam past me as it rose to the surface. I clutched some part of a large limb attached to a much larger body. I was floating to the top of a crest and higher. Rising above the tumultuous waves. I sputtered out saltwater and opened my eyes. Then a vision of iridescent scales was visible with each flash of lightning. Then, blackness.

  I kept walking along the beach, hobbling. Searching.

  I reached a small cove, where saltwater pooled and calmly rested, sheltered from the brutish ocean. Walking into the cove, I stared at the water reflecting the black from the rocks around it.

  I sat, clutching my side, and began to feel utterly alone. A cold engulfed me, which seemed odd sitting on molten rock with an enormous volcano rumbling near me.

  Then I saw a flash of purple and teal. At first I thought maybe my head had suffered trauma during the shipwreck. Looking carefully, I realized that a giant serpent lay before me—half in the shadow of the cove and half in the black sand trailing out to the beach. The crea- ture’s color was vibrant even with the sun blocked from shining upon its scales. I noticed feet, stocky like a salamander’s and webbed like a duck’s. Gills rested on either side of a wide mouth. A wide, smiling mouth. I looked again to ensure that it was a smile and not a mouth baring teeth and ready to chomp.

  “Andonius.” My breath escaped me. It was the only explanation.

  His smile widened. His eyes on the sides of his head blinked curiously. Settling his long, slender body down created a rippling effect in the black water. His narrow, eel-like tail flickered, reminiscent of the way a dog’s tail might wag in friendly invitation. I suppressed the urge to pet the large, shimmering serpent.

  “Thank you for saving me,” I said, certain now that the floating, lifting sensation I had felt last night was Andonius rescuing me from nearly drowning.

  I watched him watching me. He breathed in and out slowly with a fishy breath that I was incapable of finding offensive given his adorable appearance and the fact that he had saved my life.

  I rubbed a hand over my face and through my salty, matted hair. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen my husband—large, handsome brute with an easy temperament?”

  Andonius continued to smile.

  “I feel like I should have a fish or some kind of treat for you. I’m sorry I don’t have anything. If you were my horse, I’d give you a good scratch on the head.”

  His tail twitched again, causing me to wonder if he understood me.

  “Abbey!” a voice echoed.

  I looked at Andonius, startled to think he had called my name, but his gentle smile was unchanged. Hearing my name again echoing through the cove, I turned toward the entrance. A tall figure loomed.

  Joshua!

  I leaped up. Pain shot through my side. I gasped, faltered, and lost my footing on the rocks. Plummeting forward, I braced for a painful landing. Andonius moved with amazing fluidity, and I landed gently on his head. His scales felt cool and slick.

  I squeaked a grateful, “Thank you,” and stood up.

  Running to Joshua as fast as I could manage, I flung myself at him. I clung to him and felt his arms wrap around me. He buried his head in my neck, his warm breath spreading over me. My legs weakened be- neath me, and he followed me down into the sand on our knees. I felt my ribs and bruised body healing from the power of his stone.

  “Abbey,” his voice cracked between kisses. “Abbey, you didn’t go back. You should’ve gone back. You’re so stubborn.”

  I would not apologize for what I had done—or not done—nor would I stop kissing him long enough to speak. He was salty and smoky and woody all at once.

  I finally released him, and to my relief he held me just a few minutes longer. Kneeling together in sand, we looked at each other.

  For the first time, I noticed Arturo standing on the shore, keeping a respectful distance.

  “Captain Kale lives,” I called to him.

  He nodded, then asked, “Stic?”

  I shook my head, not knowing. I hadn’t seen him since the boat capsized.

  Then I turned and looked at Andonius. “I think he saved us,” I said.

  “Yes,” Joshua agreed. “Then he led me to you, which would have been a lot sooner if you hadn’t walked the opposite direction from me.”

  “I was looking for you,” I barked. “The beach was deserted. I had to pick one way or the other. I—” I stopped.

  Joshua was smirking, no doubt congratulating himself on provoking me once again.

  I stood, without much pain this time, and looked again at the ominous towering volcano.

  “Shall we?” he asked. I nodded. It was time to find the cave entrance to the volcano and return Malos’s scepter.

  “We’ll have to get much closer, then circle the base,” I said. A loud, slow voice boomed, “Is there something in particular you are looking for?”

  Joshua and I froze and turned to Andonius.

  The beast could speak.

  I don’t know why I was surprised, considering everything I had been through the past few weeks, but I was speechless. He had walked nearer to us and rested his belly back in the sand and his head on a nearby rock. His feet disappeared into the ground and he looked more snake-like.

  Arturo came closer, intrigued.

  “We are looking for the Amber Cave,” Joshua said.

  “And what business do you have with the resting place of Evil’s scepter?” His tone was calm, non-accusatory, and the words were slowly and carefully pronounced. “It is not there, you know.”

  “We are here to return it,” I explained.

  He looked back and forth from Joshua to me. “That might prove difficult since you don’t seem to have it.”

  “You are here to protect the island,” I said with realization.

  “I am physically here because it is where I can survive. I need the waters—warmed and acidified by the volcano that extends beneath the surface. But this is hardly an island that needs protecting.”

  “Do you know where the cave entrance is?” I asked. “It would save us from spending a lot of time searching.”

  “I might know … if I can be assured of your intentions.”

  I knelt before him. “I am Abigail Cross, the Avant Champion. I defeated Malos and I must return the scepter so it will be protected until he rises again.”

  He blinked several times, the first at the mention of my name. Unexpectedly, he began to laugh, a deep, hearty laugh. “I believe you, strange woman, but never has a human knelt before me. I am a serpent, not a king.”

  I stood, unashamed of my humility. “You have the heart of a king for saving us and now for helping us. Please, let me repay you somehow, Andonius.”

  He pondered this offer for a moment. I held my breath, hoping it was something I could accommodate.

  “First, call me Andi. Secondly, I would very much like ... coconut milk.”

  “Co-co-nut milk?” I slowly repeated.

  “Yes,” he sighed. “A ship wrecked here a hundred years ago carrying drums of coconut milk. It was quite delicious. As you can see, I have no coconuts.”

  “Okay.” I looked at Joshua who shrugged and nodded.

  I turned to Arturo. “May I take you somewhere?”

  He nodded slowly, looking around the island. “’Ome,” he said, solemnly. “I much wannabe ’ome.”

  “Home.” I nodded. “Envision your home, and I will take you there. It may be better to be on the outskirts of home or directly inside your house since our appearance may startle people in a crowded town.”

  “Okay, Ab’ay.” I kissed Joshua on the cheek.

  Walking to Arturo, I placed a hand on his forearm and closed my eyes.

  I knew little of the Hunju territory south of the Optato desert. I recalled there being one main city where most of them lived. I had seen a drawing once of their city filled with tall, slender, cylindrical buildings that looked like four dozen clay stalagmites stretching toward the sk
y. They had looked like massive structures built by massive hands. While architecturally intriguing, it was not aesthetically pleasing.

  Instead, we appeared where Arturo had taken us, which was not a city. Rather than seeing the great Hunju columns from books in my pre-collegiate societies class, I found myself looking at some fairly unremarkable rolling landscape that appeared to be where the desert ended and first signs of floral life began.

  I squinted against the bright sun and looked around us. “Is this your home?” I asked.

  “Ya, dat be right,” he replied. “They don be lettin’ Mixers in da big city none, Ab’ay. Wey only be gettin’ ta live in da Mixer Zone jus’ by da desert. Wey camp together out ’ere and train. It make a quiet ’ome.”

  I nodded with a frown. Segregation seemed a barbaric thing. In Marrington, Waterton, Taxco and Comteville, one could find a mix of all the populations, and it was no cause for alarm. The Hunju, though, were not known for higher intellectual thinking, so perhaps they could not see their own barbarism.

  Training?

  Then I recalled the Queen’s guards were Hunju Mixers. Arturo must be referring to their training camp here. Had he been a guard to the Queen at one time? Was he a skilled fighter? I didn’t remember him from the battlefield, but there were a lot of distracting elements then. In any case, these were all questions for another time and place.

  “Is this spot all right? Are you going to be all right?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I be good, Ab’ay. Me ’ome is just a few miles away. I be seein’ ya at ya weddin’.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks for all of your help.”

  He nodded as I faded.

  I appeared in the courtyard, surrounded by the marble Champions. The sun shone brightly, declaring it to be midday, something I hadn’t been able to appreciate on the desolate island shrouded in smoke. There were people of the Queen’s court mulling about who were startled by my sudden appearance, or perhaps by my disheveled, shipwrecked attire or both. Ignoring their stares, I walked to my chambers and opened the doors.