The Hungry Isle

by Emily Rodda

  As if her final words had spurred her on, she started forward again. Britta was forced to walk with her, though she longed to shake off the bony hand that gripped her arm so tightly.

  ‘I am dying,’ Mab said abruptly. ‘Crow was right about that, curse him, just as he was right about the ship’s being off course. For two years I have known that all Kay’s skill could not slow the cursed disease that has its claws in me. Only a miracle can save me—and the Staff that cures all ills is that miracle. The Staff can heal me. I am not ready to die. Dare Larsett owes me a great deal. It is as simple as that.’

  As simple as that. Britta stared ahead, her mind numb.

  ‘I was perfectly prepared to distort the test results, if necessary, to make sure you would be a finalist,’ Mab added, glancing sideways at her. ‘But as it happened the tie between you, Jewel and Sky was the only real problem I faced. Sorrel took a fancy to you—and you are not without talent.’

  Perhaps she felt that this crumb of comfort would help. In a way, it did, though Britta despised herself for the small rush of pleasure it gave her.

  They stopped at the cave entrance. The whispers of the wraiths, heavy with longing, gusted through the mist of whirling, glittering stars. Britta could sense nothing of her father. She could only feel the magic of the Staff that had possessed him.

  ‘Dare!’ Mab called softly. ‘Dare Larsett!’

  Leaning heavily on Britta’s arm she took a step forward, into the mist. The cavern seemed to tremble. ‘It is Mab, Dare!’ she called a little more strongly. ‘It is Mab, the Trader Rosalyn. I have come to beg—’

  There was a brilliant flash of light and a hissing sound. With a scream of agony, Mab crumpled to the ground.

  The cries of Hara, Kay and the others rang in Britta’s ears as she fell to her knees beside Mab, the call of the Staff suddenly banished from her mind. The old trader’s eyes were closed. Her mouth hung slightly open. Her face was grey. There was a black, burned patch on her temple.

  ‘Leave her, Britta,’ a cracked voice whispered through the mist. ‘I have put an end to her. She had no business here. You are the one I have been waiting for.’

  Britta shivered all over. This was not the warm, rich voice of the father she had loved. It was rasping, as if it was seldom used. Worse than that, it sounded flat and dead. A stone statue made to speak might have had such a voice. And in that instant Britta knew that the mind behind the voice was just as changed, just as drained of humanity.

  The croaking being in this cavern was no longer the dashing Dare Larsett, no longer her laughing father. He was Larsett, Master of the Staff, Larsett, King of Tier.

  Mab had not realised that. For once, Mab had made an error. She had trusted in the memory of old friendship, and she had been struck down with the words ‘I have come to beg’ on her lips.

  I must not make the same mistake, Britta thought grimly, with the one small, cold part of her mind not paralysed by shock and dread. I must not trust in his love. I must not plead. Somehow I must find a way to bargain.

  She grimaced as words from A Trader’s Life floated into her mind, taunting her.

  You will make your best trades when you have taken the trouble to learn the strengths and weaknesses of your trading partner ...

  Weaknesses? What chinks could she possibly find in the armour of the King of Tier, Master of an ancient sorcerer’s Staff that could create and destroy, could grant eternal life?

  Then Hara was by her side, pushing her roughly out of the way, crouching beside Mab’s body. Healer Kay was close behind him. And as Britta scrambled to her feet, she saw that Jewel and Sky had also plunged heedlessly into the sparkling mist.

  In horror, she felt the cavern begin to tremble once more.

  ‘Do not harm them!’ she cried out, forgetting her resolution completely. ‘They are my friends!’

  The whispers hissing beyond the mist rose to a gale, and a desolate moaning began, dying away only as the ominous trembling ceased.

  The wraiths made him stop, Britta thought numbly. The wraiths care for me, and they made him stop! They have some power over him, then. They may be his slaves, but for some reason he does not want to upset them. That is a weakness.

  And as she tucked that scrap of knowledge away in her mind, she suddenly remembered that in fact the wraiths had never been the slaves of any person. The tales all made it clear that wraiths were the slaves of the

  Staff itself! They did her father’s bidding only because he had claimed the magic object that had enthralled them so long ago.

  And what had Sky said in the forest? Britta had paid no attention to his words at the time, but now they floated into her mind and clung there.

  Perhaps Dare Larsett’s mastery of the Staff is not as perfect as it might be.

  If this were true, it would explain the King’s caution in his dealings with the wraiths. Another weakness ...

  ‘How could you do this, Larsett?’ Hara shouted, looking up from Mab’s body, his eyes gleaming with tears. ‘She trusted you! You owed her so much!’

  ‘Ha!’ A grating laugh echoed through the cavern. ‘So here is another poor fool hypnotised by Mab! Another pet dog who has allowed himself to be used in return for crumbs dropped from the Trader Rosalyn’s table! Old Gripp was one such dolt. Trader Sorrel, too. And so was I—till I grew sick of my gilded kennel and took my fate into my own hands.’

  Larsett, sighed the wraiths. Larsett, Master of the Staff... The silver sparks swirling in the air shivered and danced madly as the cracked voice came again.

  ‘Mab never gave me the respect I deserved. She jeered at my dreams. She told me to stay in my place. But look at her now—a painted crone, dead by my will, while rubies pour from my fingertips and life surges within me as strongly as ever.’

  Hara made a strangled sound. In terror Britta saw his fists clench and the muscles of his arms and shoulders bunch beneath the fabric of his coat.

  Do not move, Captain Hara, she implored him silently. Do not give him any excuse ...

  Kay gripped Hara’s sleeve, whispering urgently. Hara seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then his shoulders relaxed.

  Britta breathed out, weak with relief. She heard Jewel sigh behind her, but resisted the urge to look round.

  Her companions’ safety was in her hands now. She had to concentrate on helping them escape the Hungry Isle. She must think of nothing else.

  Coldly, Britta cleared her mind. She put aside her horror at Mab’s death. She put aside her old, childish yearning for the father she had loved and lost. She put aside her shrinking at the thought of her companions learning who she was. She put aside her dread.

  ‘Have you nothing to say to me, Britta?’ the King of Tier demanded impatiently. ‘Has the story of my triumph turned even you against me?’

  His voice rose. ‘The puny minds of Del think ill of me. My name is cursed among the common herds of the Silver Sea. I have been aware of that for a very long time. But surely you know that I did only what I had to do, to rise to glory? After all these years, have you nothing to say to your loving father?’

  8 - Time to Trade

  Britta heard Jewel curse in shock. She heard Kay give a small, smothered cry. Sky and Hara made no sound at all, but she could imagine their blank, closed faces. And no doubt Vashti was crouched somewhere outside the cavern, her hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide with disgusted horror. The King had spoken quite loudly enough for the sound to carry into the clearing.

  So that is that, Britta thought. Now they know.

  Strangely, it was almost a relief.

  ‘It is hard to know what to say,’ she said steadily. ‘I thought I would never see you again. I did not expect you to send for me.’

  ‘I did not send for you!’ The denial burst angrily through the mist. The sparks of light spun and flashed. The wraiths hissed in agitation. Britta stood her ground, adding another scrap of knowledge to her small store.

  ‘I did not send for you, Britta,’ the
King resumed more calmly. ‘For the first time since gaining my kingdom, I ordered wraiths to bring me news of you, but that is all. Fate has brought you here—fate, and the noble Trader Rosalyn, who used you as a lure and a shield to force her way into my presence.’

  Again the stars danced madly as he struggled to control his anger. Again the wraiths sighed and moaned.

  ‘Oh, yes—I heard!’ he went on at last. ‘I heard what she said to you. But what does it matter? Mab has been punished for deceiving you, and you are here— the beloved daughter I thought I had lost forever.’

  There was tension in his voice. Britta could hear it plainly but she could not understand it. In fact, there were many things she did not understand. None of her father’s words rang true.

  Her stomach lurched. Could it be that he was speaking for the wraiths’ benefit—saying the things they expected of him? The next words made her almost sure that she was right.

  ‘Tier has opened its arms to you, Britta. The wraiths of the island feel your bond with me, with the hand that holds the Staff of life and death. They want you here with us—and of course I feel the same.’

  ‘What of my companions?’ Britta asked. Behind her, Jewel and Sky tensed.

  ‘No human has ever escaped the Hungry Isle alive—you surely know that, Britta. Your companions can stay and join the wraiths in time, or they can try to leave and let their bodies feed the island. It is all one to us.’

  Swallowing the cry of entreaty that rose in her throat, Britta focused on those last words. It is all one to us. Not to me, but to us. It was a message, she was sure of it.

  ‘We sense that you are unhappy, my little Britta,’ the rusty voice croaked on as the wraiths moaned softly in the sparkling mist. ‘The wraiths are saddened and confused. They cannot understand why you do not feel pure joy in the presence of the Staff and your loving father. Will you tell us what is troubling you?’

  Britta fought down a wave of nausea. However changed her father was, he must surely know that the last thing in the world she wanted was to stay with him in this enchanted, timeless prison, watching her friends die.

  He did know it, perfectly well. The strain in the cracked voice told her that. So did his stiff, formal speech, so different from the confident, casual way of speaking that she remembered.

  But the wraiths were fretting because she was not happy. And the great King of Tier did not like to upset them.

  Very well, Father, Britta thought grimly. It is time for us to bargain.

  Deliberately she breathed out, willing her tense muscles to relax. ‘I am sad for my friends,’ she said, taking care to speak simply and clearly so the wraiths would hear and understand. ‘My friends did not ask to come here, and they have their own lives to live. I care for them deeply. I could never have another moment’s happiness if they died or lost their freedom because of me.’

  As this was the honest truth, it was not difficult for her to sound earnest. By the time she had finished, her voice was shaking. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she heard the wraiths sighing in sympathy.

  Good, she thought. They grieve for me. Surely now he will have to offer to let the others go, for my sake. She held her breath, waiting for the response.

  But when it came, it was not what she had expected.

  ‘I cannot believe that your sadness is only for your friends,’ the King hissed. ‘Speak your mind, Britta! Forget your trader’s tricks for once and tell me what you want for yourself.’

  Britta hesitated, her mind running in circles. Should she tell the truth? Would it harm her companions, or would it help them?

  She jumped as a hand touched her shoulder. Then Sky was muttering urgently in her ear.

  ‘He is looking for a way to let you go, Britta! Do you not hear it in his voice? He just has to convince the wraiths that he has good reason to send you away!’

  Britta felt the hot blood rush into her face. Was Sky right? Did her father still feel enough, still love her enough, to want her to be free?

  I did not send for you!

  The denial had been very fast, very abrupt, as if it had burst from her father’s throat on a wave of strong feeling. Remembering it now, it seemed to her that there had been a note of desperation in it.

  Perhaps it had been the only truly heartfelt thing he had said from the beginning.

  Britta felt her emotions see-sawing wildly. Love—hate, pity—rage, joy—grief, hope—fear, trust— suspicion ...

  Instinctively she glanced down at Mab’s body, cradled in Hara’s arms. Her heart leaped as she saw a bright gleam beneath Mab’s eyelashes. Mab’s eyes were open, though she was keeping them veiled. Mab was alive—alive and aware!

  Kay and Hara must know it by now. But they had not betrayed their knowledge by a single look or sign. They knew that while Mab was playing dead, she was safe.

  Like Captain Mikah, Britta thought suddenly, remembering the chilling message that had been found with the valiant captain’s bones on the drifting Star of Deltora. The Staff had struck Mikah down but he had survived—long enough, at least, to make sure that the truth did not die with him.

  How strange that the mighty Master of the Staff should make the same mistake twice! He had left the Star of Deltora believing that he had killed everyone aboard, but later he must have realised his error. He claimed to have known for a long time that his name was cursed in Del and throughout the Silver Sea. So he must have realised that someone had survived to tell of what he had done—for how else could the story of his guilt have spread?

  Yet still he took it for granted that Mab was dead. Still he did not doubt his power to kill outright when he chose.

  Britta’s scalp prickled.

  ‘Well, Daughter?’ the cracked voice demanded impatiently. ‘Will you not answer me? What do you want for yourself?’

  Fighting for calm, Britta clamped her trembling hands together. She had to speak. But what should she say? Mab’s eyes widened very slightly, and Britta caught another brief, bright gleam, directed straight at her.

  Trust your instincts ...

  Carefully expressionless, Britta looked up and stared blindly into the starry mist. ‘I am still young,’ she said slowly, ‘and I feel that my real life, the life I was born to lead, has only just begun. I have always longed to be a trader—to sail the nine seas, to see new places and meet people who are different from the people at home.’

  ‘I remember,’ said the King of Tier, a strange note in his rasping voice. ‘And as I recall, I told you that when the time came I would help you do it. Are you saying that you wish to hold me to that promise, Britta?’

  Whispers gusted like a gentle wind from the depths of the cavern. The silver stars circled and spun before Britta’s eyes.

  Her throat tightened. ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘If I could choose, I would choose to be free. The—the world is wide, and full of wonders.’

  She waited, her whole body throbbing with tension. She could feel Jewel and Sky behind her holding their breath. Beside her, Hara, Mab and Kay were as still as stones.

  ‘Then, Britta, we will make a trade,’ the King said, so quickly that she was certain he had been waiting impatiently for his chance to say the words. ‘My part of the bargain is something that only I can give you— your freedom, and the freedom of your companions.’

  Britta dug her nails into her palms to force herself not to speak. There was a dull roaring in her ears. Her head was spinning with a confusion of shock, dread and piercing joy.

  ‘Your part is—’ the ruined voice trembled, paused, then went on more strongly, ‘—your part is something that only you can give me.’

  Instantly, Britta thought of the goozli. Perhaps the wraiths had brought news of it to the cavern. Perhaps the Staff had sensed its presence. And of course the King would want it. It had been made by the ancient magic of the turtle man Tier, who had created the Staff, who had made this island live long ago. Of course ...

  She touched her pocket and felt the goozli stir beneath he
r hand. The warmth of the little creature’s loyalty and trust flowed through her fingers. She was bonded to the goozli. Fate had delivered it into her hands, and she had kept it by her through all her troubles. But if it was the price of freedom for her and the others, she would have to give it up. Of course she would, though the very thought wrung her heart.

  But as she opened her mouth to make the offer, familiar words from A Trader’s Life made her think again.

  Do not show your hand too soon. Make your trading partner state what he or she wants of you, or you may find yourself offering more than you need to do ...

  ‘What is it, that only I can give you?’ she made herself ask.

  She had braced herself for the answer, but when it came it was so unexpected, yet at the same time so entirely what she should have expected, that her knees seemed to turn to water.

  ‘I want to hear you call me “Father” once more,’ the creaking voice said softly. ‘I want your farewell kiss, to comfort me in my loneliness. And then, Britta, however hard it may be, I want you to turn away without another word, and forget me.’

  ‘Forget ...’ Britta echoed through dry lips.

  ‘You and your companions may go only if you swear this, on your life. You must forget whose daughter you are. You must forget what has passed between us this day. You must put me out of your mind, and never speak my name again to any living soul. This solemn promise, made on your honour as a Del trader, must be part of our bargain, for without it you will never be truly free.’

  The wraiths sighed in loving, mournful pity. Larsett, they whispered, like dry leaves rustling. Larsett ...

  ‘Do we understand each other, Britta?’ asked the King of Tier. ‘Do we have a bargain?’

  Britta was trembling all over now. She felt very cold. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  Feeling the eyes of her companions boring into the back of her neck, she stepped forward. The starry mist thinned and vanished.