The Hungry Isle

by Emily Rodda

  The little creature was so small, so charming and eager to please! It had been easy for Britta to forget that it could be far more powerful than she knew.

  But the goozli had been shaped from the rare amber mud in the heart of the Two Moons swamplands. It had been made by Thurl, leader of the strange tribe called the turtle people and heir to the ancient magic of the sorcerer Tier.

  Were turtles swarming now around the Star of Deltora because the goozli was aboard? If so ... Britta glanced at the curtained porthole. If so, there was a simple answer to the problem. Wait till night. Open the porthole. Throw the little clay figure into the sea. It would make only the tiniest splash. And perhaps, when she looked out of the porthole in the morning, the turtles would be gone.

  As if the goozli had felt her thoughts, it turned to look at her. Its tiny eyes were dull. Its mouth seemed to tremble.

  Yet somehow Britta knew that whatever she decided, the goozli would accept its fate. Before it had dried, when it was still soft and new, her fingertips had marked it, just as its clay had marked her brow with a stain that nothing would clean away. Bonded to her from its beginning, the goozli was hers to do with as she wished. She could treasure it or she could destroy it. Its destiny was in her hands.

  And for that very reason, she knew she could not do what cold common sense urged her to do. She could not sacrifice the goozli—especially on a theory that might not even be true.

  ‘You are mine and I am yours,’ she said to the little creature gazing up at her. ‘We belong together, and together we will stay, whatever comes of it.’

  That night, Jewel came in from dinner looking grave. ‘Wrack died at sunset,’ she said. ‘Kay did her best for him, but it was no use.’

  She knelt by her bunk and pulled her storage drawer out as far as it would go. She felt in the space behind it and drew out the knife and the leather pouch of spears that had been hidden there since the voyage began. Britta’s throat closed.

  ‘I swore to Mab that I would not go armed on the ship,’ Jewel remarked, calmly testing the point of each spear with her thumb. ‘Still, I think she will forgive me for breaking my oath as things are at present.’

  ‘Jewel—’ Britta faltered.

  ‘Trouble is ahead, Britta. I feel it, Sky feels it, Kay feels it and so does Hara, though he pretends otherwise. Vashti seems to feel nothing, but then Vashti lives in a little bubble of her own. As far as she is concerned, the men are just parts of the ship, no more human than the planks beneath her feet. She cannot imagine their being any danger to her.’

  ‘And—Mab?’

  Jewel took a cloth from the drawer and began wiping dust from the spear shafts, one by one. ‘According to Kay, Mab will be on deck at dawn for Wrack’s funeral, though she is still very weak. Mab says it is her duty, and feels her presence may calm the crew. Perhaps it will—we can only hope.’

  ‘I am the one the men fear,’ Britta found herself saying. ‘This is all my fault.’

  Jewel swung round and grinned at her. ‘I wondered when that was coming. Sky and I had a wager on it, in fact, and he won because you did not say it yesterday. Will you offer to throw yourself into the sea now, to save us all?’

  ‘No,’ Britta admitted, half angry, half laughing.

  ‘Then stop talking of fault. As Hara says, only an ignorant fool would believe that you could attract turtles to the ship or make us veer off course in the night. But Crow is an ignorant fool, and sadly he is also a bully who has the weaker men under his thumb.’

  Britta sighed. ‘It all began when the Keeper of Maris claimed to sense a fearful presence aboard the Star, and would not allow us to land. Even you were afraid then, Jewel.’

  A shadow passed over Jewel’s face. ‘I am still afraid. But I do not blame any person. I blame the ship.’

  ‘No!’ cried Britta in dismay. ‘The Star—’

  ‘Whatever Kay says, the Star of Deltora may be cursed,’ Jewel said soberly. ‘The rumour is that she has never been refitted. Except for the landing boat, which was missing and had to be replaced, this ship is the same, in every detail, as she was when Dare Larsett killed her first crew and set her adrift.’

  ‘Yes,’ Britta whispered, ‘but—’

  ‘And now Sky tells me that a metal box that once held the cursed Staff of Tier still lies in the cargo hold!’ Jewel bared her teeth. ‘Who knows what phantoms cling to it? I do not wonder the men have been hearing ghostly wails in the night!’

  Remembering what she had felt in the hold, what she had heard and seen looking down at the iron box, Britta could not answer.

  Memories, she told herself. Only memories trapped in the ship’s timbers, like the memories in the stone of Bar-Enoch’s cavern. But somehow she was no longer so sure.

  ‘It is not phantoms we have to fear at present, however.’ Jewel turned back to her work, pushing a clean spear back into the pouch and selecting another. ‘Best you stay dressed tonight, Britta, in case of trouble. But rest easy. Sky is on the alert, and no one will get to you while I am here.’

  No doubt Jewel meant well, but nothing she could have said would have been more likely to rob Britta of sleep. Having climbed to her bunk, pausing only to shed her boots, she lay awake hour after hour, jumping at every sound.

  She thought of the man Wrack, his body no doubt already sewn into a canvas shroud, waiting for the dawn when it would be given to the sea that had been his life.

  She thought of Healer Kay, watching over Mab, and Captain Hara standing grimly at the wheel, guiding the ship through the sullen night.

  She even thought of Collin and Vorn, the Illican runaways whose escape had caused her present trouble. By now their tiny, doomed craft would be lost in a wilderness of sea. She imagined them clinging together, asleep beneath the blanket of cloud, snatching a few moments of forgetfulness.

  In the early hours of the morning her thoughts drifted to Jantsy, to Captain Gripp, who had put her name down for the Rosalyn contest, to her sister, Margareth, and her mother, Maarie. But the images of these people—the loved, familiar faces, symbols of home—were vague and shadowy. The city of Del seemed like another world, like a place she had once seen in a dream. Reality was this dark, stifling cabin where she lay in dread, listening to Jewel’s quiet breathing and waiting for an angry pounding on the door.

  3 - The Demand

  As feeble light began filtering through the porthole curtain, as she heard Jewel sigh and swing her legs to the floor, Britta knew that her long watch had been for nothing. The night had passed without alarm. Wearily she closed her eyes and fell into a light doze. She half-heard Jewel moving quietly about, and after a while the door opened and clicked shut.

  She has gone to Wrack’s funeral, Britta thought. Everyone will be present, except me. But no one would want me there in any case—Wrack least of all.

  She was too tired for the thought to give her pain. She turned her head on the pillow and drifted back to sleep.

  This time her sleep was deep. She did not stir as slowly light strengthened behind the porthole curtain. Dreams eddied through her sleeping mind, one dream merging into another. She was in Del, in the hidden cellar of the potter Sheevers, whose treasures were packed in a long metal box. She was on the isle of the Keeper in Maris, trying to read some misty words on a smooth rock wall ...

  And then she was behind the counter at home, in the little shop in Del. She was telling her mother that she had brought home a surprise. She was dipping her fingers into her apron pocket and pouring a handful of sunrise pearls into the cash box. But instead of smiling, Maarie began to scream in horror, and Britta realised that what she had thought was a counter was the shell of vast turtle.

  The turtle raised its head and stared at the mark on her brow with unblinking amber eyes. The cash box slid to the floor and the precious pearls spilled out, rolling under the door into the street, dropping through gaping cracks between the floorboards. And still Maarie screamed and screamed ...

  Britta woke in terror, her hea
rt racing. She lay panting, her mother’s last scream still echoing in her mind. It was only a dream, she told herself furiously. A stupid dream ...

  Then the scream came again—high, piercing— not in her mind, but from somewhere above her head.

  She threw herself out of her bunk, half-sliding down the narrow ladder. The memory of her nightmare still clung to her, but now she knew that the screams her mind had woven into the dream’s fabric had been real. They were what had woken her.

  It was Vashti who had screamed, Britta was sure of it. Mab would not scream like that, nor Healer Kay, nor Jewel. What had happened to make Vashti lose her perfect control so completely?

  Shadows flickered in the corners of Britta’s eyes as she thrust her feet into her boots and blundered out of the cabin. In the corridor she stopped, listening. The screams had stopped, but a rumble of voices drifted down the steps that led up to the main deck.

  ‘Drop your weapons!’ someone bawled suddenly. ‘Drop them, or his death will be on your head!’

  There was a heavy clatter, then the sound of thudding footsteps.

  Britta stole to the stairway and began creeping up. She had taken only two steps when she froze. Someone was standing by the head of the stairs, framed against the weird yellow glare of the clouded sun. Slowly Britta made out a pair of tall boots and brown legs bound with strips of leather ...

  Jewel.

  Britta breathed out, and took another step. The legs shifted, very slightly, and she knew that Jewel had heard her. Jewel’s hand appeared, holding a crumpled ball of paper. The long fingers relaxed, and the ball of paper dropped onto the top step and rolled down to the next.

  Britta reached for it and flattened it out. As she read the words scrawled upon it, a red mist began to gather before her eyes.

  Captain Hara —

  We accuse the female Britta of witchcraft.

  Here are some of the many proofs of her sorcery.

  * She can see through walls and see in the dark. This is proved by the way she flits around the ship as if she has known it all her life, though this is her first voyage.

  * She is in league with the Two Moons turtle people, who worship the sorcerer Tier. This is proved by the mark of Tier on her brow. Also by the fact that she found a sunrise pearl.

  * She cast a spell on a man of Illica to make him abandon his bride on the eve of his wedding, and go to a certain death.

  * Since Trader Mab angered her by forcing her to give up the sunrise pearl, she has caused Mab to sicken.

  * She caused a tempest that nearly sank the ship, and saved herself by magic when she fell overboard.

  * She has raised spirits in the belly of the ship to howl in the night.

  * She has caused the wind to fail and called the turtles of the sea to steer the ship off course.

  * She caused the death of our crewmate, Wrack.

  She is the evil the Keeper of Maris felt. She threatens us all. We demand that she be set adrift and left to her fate. If our demand is not met, we will be forced to take matters into our own hands.

  Her mouth dry, Britta let the paper fall. The goozli stirred in her pocket as if it could feel her terror. Shadows twined feverishly around her, but for once she was able to ignore them, for what was there to fear in echoes of the past, compared to the dread reality of the present?

  ‘Did you get it all, Bolt?’ she heard Crow’s voice bawl.

  ‘Aye,’ Bolt shouted back. ‘Spears an’ knife, both.’

  ‘Right, Jewel, or whatever your unnatural name is,’ Crow sneered. ‘Fetch the witch up an’ be quick about it.’

  Jewel’s body tensed, but she did not move.

  ‘Do it, you witch-loving savage!’ Crow bellowed. ‘You know what’ll happen if you don’t!’

  It was enough. Britta stumbled to the top of the steps. She forced her way past Jewel and turned to the crowded stern.

  The first person she saw clearly was Vashti, cringing by the rail, her hands pressed to her mouth. The second person was Mab, looking like death. And the third was Captain Hara, standing as still as a statue, with Crow’s knife at his throat.

  Crow was sweating. His bloodshot eyes were hot with a strange, fearful excitement. When he saw Britta, he bared his teeth like an animal.

  ‘So, you’ve decided to show yourself,’ he growled. ‘Well, don’t try any of your sly witch’s tricks on me! The Captain’s dead if you do, an’ every hand here’ll bear witness that it was no fault of mine.’

  ‘This is mutiny, Crow!’ Hara growled. ‘I warn you—’

  ‘You warn me?’ Crow almost squealed, pressing the knife closer so that Hara’s head was forced back to avoid the point of the blade. ‘No, I warn you, Captain! I warn you to stay still an’ keep your gob shut. I’m master on this ship now, an’ you’ve only got yourself to blame. Isn’t that right, men?’

  A rumble of agreement rose from the crew ranged behind him, though some men looked frightened or ashamed as they spoke, and a few, like Grubb the ship’s cook, did not open their lips at all. Little Davvie, crouching to one side with the cat Black Jack clutched in his arms, was plainly terrified.

  Britta searched for Sky and suddenly caught sight of him lounging against the mast a little behind Davvie. Sky looked perfectly relaxed, but she knew him too well by now to be deceived. He met her eyes, his long fingers playing absently with one of the charms tied in his braided hair.

  As if it was the most important thing in the world, Britta strained to see if the charm was the little boat that was supposed to ensure safety at sea or the dagger that gave protection from enemies.

  ‘All you had to do was bow to our fair an’ just demand, Captain,’ Crow went on in a hectoring tone. ‘It was fair an’ just, wrote down on paper as is proper, an’ to which all hands agreed, being in dread fear of our lives. An’ what did you do but screw up what we wrote an’ chuck it away like it was a piece of rubbish!’

  The knife jerked in his hand and the point pierced Hara’s skin. Hara made no sound as a thin rivulet of blood began trickling down his straining neck to pool on the white collar of his shirt.

  ‘Bolt!’ Crow roared. ‘Lower the landing boat! These Rosalyn witch-lovers an’ their fancy are going over the side—the whole lot of them.’

  ‘No!’ Vashti screamed, as Bolt and a few other men scuttled to obey the order. ‘No, no, no!’

  There was only one thing to be done. Britta could see that as plainly as she could see the blood staining Hara’s shirt, the deathly pallor of Mab’s skin and the superstitious dread on the faces of the crew.

  ‘Your quarrel is with me, Crow,’ Britta heard herself saying. ‘Do what you like with me—I will not try to stop you—but let the others be. They are not to blame for trying to defend me. They have nothing to do with this.’

  She heard Jewel mutter her name. She saw Sky slowly push himself away from the mast.

  ‘You heard her!’ Vashti cried wildly to Crow. ‘Do as she says! She is nothing to us! Spare me and my parents will reward you richly, I swear it!’

  ‘Might be best, Crow,’ mumbled Grubb. ‘Getting rid of the witch is one thing—like you say, no one can blame us for that. Getting rid of the others ...’ He shrugged uneasily.

  Crow scowled. ‘No,’ he spat. ‘I don’t trust them. With them aboard, ten to one I’ll wake up one night with a blade in my guts. Besides ...’ He ran his thick tongue over his bottom lip and his bloodshot eyes glittered. ‘Besides, with this lot gone, the ship’s ours—ours for good.’

  ‘Crow, you cannot do this!’ Healer Kay cried. ‘Mab is ill! It is murder!’

  ‘Button your lip, Healer!’ Crow spat. ‘You can’t scare me with talk of murder. Putting you off in a seaworthy boat isn’t the same as killing, so long as we give you food an’ water. As for the old woman—well, she’ll be serpent bait soon whether she stays or goes. She’s been ailing since we left Del harbour—anyone with half an eye could see that!’

  He gave a violent start as Mab raised her head and stood upri
ght, pushing away Kay’s hand.

  ‘Your note to Captain Hara claimed that Britta was killing me by witchcraft, Bosun,’ Mab said, in a warm, amused voice that was in startling contrast to her haggard looks. ‘Now you are saying that I have been dying all along. Which is it to be? You cannot have it both ways, you know.’

  4 - Black Jack

  A few of the men ranged behind Crow chuckled uneasily. Recovering from his shock, Crow hunched his shoulders and glowered at Mab. ‘Who are you to tell me what I can have an’ what I can’t, old woman?’ he blustered.

  ‘I am the Trader Rosalyn, the owner of this ship,’ Mab said, with a slight smile. ‘I am the one who offered double pay to all members of the crew who remain loyal until we dock in Del. And I am the one who will see to it that this promise is kept, if I am allowed to reach Del myself. Despite what you say, Bosun, I am not quite ready to feed the serpents yet.’

  Again there were chuckles from the men, and a few admiring guffaws as well. Hope fluttered in Britta’s chest.

  Crow’s mouth twitched, and a nerve began jumping beneath his left eye.

  ‘You are putting yourself and the other men in the wrong for no good reason, Crow,’ Mab went on, letting her gaze wander to the faces of the crew. ‘I quite understand how you have come to feel the way you do, but you are mistaken. In fact, the only danger you face is the danger of becoming outlaws, hunted through the nine seas for the rest of your lives.’

  She was magnificent! The only sign of what the performance must be costing her showed not in her face but in Healer Kay’s tight mouth and Kay’s arm, tensed to catch her if she fell.

  But Mab did not fall, nor did she falter.

  Behind Crow’s back, the men were gazing at her as if hypnotised. And as for Hara ... sweat was rolling down the Captain’s brow but his eyes, fixed on Mab, glowed with naked devotion.

  Crow licked his lips. ‘The witch—’ he began in a high voice.

  ‘Britta is no more a witch than I am, man,’ Mab said, with a touch of amused contempt. ‘She is merely a clever little minx who can persuade people to do things she wants them to do, and will steal when she can. I daresay she has been creeping about the ship by night, prying into its secrets and causing some of the noises that have robbed you of sleep and made you prey to accidents. But all that is over now.’