by Bex Hogan
Stilling my thoughts, I listen carefully. The noise comes again and my heart pounds. It’s the sound of the ocean waking up. I don’t know how I know it. I just do.
I run over to Grace who’s helping Ana plug holes. ‘Something’s coming.’
Grace looks up at me in surprise. ‘What?’
But it only takes her a moment to read my face and know exactly what I’m talking about. She stands up and grabs my elbow. ‘What did you do?’ Her fear is alarming. I thought she’d be as excited as I am.
We can all hear it now, the ominous hum that thunders from below, and both crews are distracted by it, ceasing their fight against each other to identify the new threat. And then the skies darken, unnatural clouds forming to obliterate the sun, as all the birds in the ocean take flight, screaming out warnings to one another. The air turns cold, as if frosted by winter’s kiss, while the wind whips up from nowhere, the sudden storm tossing the ships around like flotsam.
I turn my gaze back to the sea, entranced. ‘They’re here.’
Grace clutches me tightly to her, simultaneously wrapping her arm round some rigging and shouting, ‘Brace for impact!’
There’s barely time for anyone to respond before a vast creature explodes up out of the water between the two ships, sending ours hurtling backwards. Waves crash over the deck as a water raptor shakes itself free of the ocean, extending its long neck high into the sky to taste fresh air for the first time in centuries, before unleashing a guttural shriek that sends most of the crew’s hands over their ears.
I’ve never seen anything like it; its body alone is bigger than the Maiden, every inch covered in black feathers that glisten with water. Lethal fins run down the length of its spine and on to the seemingly endless tail that disappears beneath the waves. On top of the elegant feathered neck the enormous head has a beak that could swallow an ocean, filled with teeth that would crush through bone effortlessly, and deep-set eyes that have seen all of time. At its side are two pairs of colossal webbed wings that it unfolds with a flourish, oblivious to the two insignificant ships beneath it cowering in fear.
Orders are being screamed, pleas are being issued, but I ignore them all, holding on to Grace as I stare at the water raptor in wonder.
‘They’re real,’ Grace says, her voice trembling with both fear and awe. ‘You summoned one.’ I’ve seen the look on her face before. When it was on Tomas’s face I felt ashamed. But now? Now I’m proud. I awakened the water raptor, and the sense of power is intoxicating.
And then a second water raptor rises from the sea, calling a greeting to its mate.
Our ship is thrown further away, like we’re froth on the surface and we crash back into the water, this time sustaining considerable damage.
A frisson of alarm shoots through me. If they destroy us before they destroy my father, I’ve summoned them in vain.
I try to reach out to the water raptors, to command them to attack only the Maiden. But they do not respond; they ignore every clumsy attempt I make to control them. And slowly it dawns on me that I have misunderstood exactly what I’ve unleashed, that even the texts I read were wrong.
They’re not a weapon – if they were, I could wield them as I would a sword. But they are as wild and raw as the magic coursing through my veins. Untamed and uncontrollable. Beyond my reach.
What have I done?
‘The hull is breached; we’re taking on water,’ Ana says, her confidence wavering. ‘Orders, Captain.’
I snap my eyes away from these vultures of the deep. ‘Give us whatever time you can.’
She nods, but I can tell it won’t be long. The ship is hanging together by a thread.
A cannon fires, followed by an ear-piercing screech that reaches deep inside me and burns so that I scream with pain.
Grace looks at me frantically. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Did we fire at them?’ I can barely say the words.
‘No.’ Bronn has joined us. ‘That was Adler.’
I grab Bronn’s arm to steady myself. I didn’t expect this. It’s as if there’s some connection between me and the raptors – my anger breathed life into them, and now we’re bound. As long as they’re here at my summoning we’re joined in life and death. And pain.
I hadn’t considered there would be a cost to using magic. I was so seduced by the power of it, I failed to acknowledge the sacrifice it required.
Now I know.
The water raptors don’t enjoy the pain any more than I do, and have their own, far more effective response to Adler’s attacks.
A torrent of burning water blasts from their mouths, which pours wildly in all directions. We dive for cover, and I feel drops of it burning through my clothes, hear the screams of those who’ve been covered in the acidic poison. Men and women plunge into the sea, desperate for relief from the venom, but there is none. The skin peels from their bodies and their screams increase before dying away for ever.
Screams of accusation. Because their agonising deaths are my fault.
Deafened by guilt, I’m dimly aware of the Maiden retreating, as the female water raptor flaps her four wings and attempts flight. Through our connection I can tell she cares nothing for our battle, for sides, for duty or morality – she cares only for freedom. As she lifts from the ocean two long legs emerge, followed by clawed toes. Massive talons fasten on to us and she lifts the ship up with her as she pulls free from the water.
I snatch at anything and everything not to get thrown off as she flies clumsily through the air, crushing the Avenger in her grip, before crashing back into the water, her first flight failed, her wings still weak from her long sleep.
There’s nothing left of the ship, only shreds, and I clutch to planks of wood keeping me afloat in the sea, staring in horror at the carnage I’ve unleashed.
‘Bronn! Grace!’
I search for them, but they’re nowhere to be seen. I call out again and again but no answer comes.
Other voices reach me, though, other crewmembers struggling to stay afloat in these unexpectedly icy waters, and I push my concerns for Bronn and Grace aside. Biting my lip to stop shivering, I assess our situation. The water raptor has brought us a lot closer towards land and for the moment she’s creating a barrier between us and my father.
If we don’t get out of the water, we’ll all die from the cold, so there’s only one thing for it. We need to brave a Western Isle.
‘Get to land.’ I’m struggling to breathe, let alone project my voice, and the words come out far too quietly. I try again. ‘Swim ashore!’
I’m so close to my nightmare coming true. I can feel the ocean’s grip tighten round me, claiming me as its own, but I fight back. There simply isn’t time to be afraid right now, so I force my reluctant limbs to move me towards safety, trying not to look at the lifeless bodies still clinging to flotsam, nearly choking when I see Rynce’s partially melted face staring blankly at me from where he lies draped over a barrel.
So many deaths and no one to blame but myself. And my arrogance.
It soon becomes clear the force with which we were dropped has scattered debris over some considerable distance, so it’s more than likely there are survivors heading for the next cove further round the island. Bronn and Grace must be with them. They must.
And then I see it – the Maiden limping towards the island, her damage obvious even from a distance. She may not have been demolished like the Avenger, but she won’t be able to get far in her current condition. Which means it’s only a matter of time before my father and his crew head to the Eighth Isle too, seeking means to repair.
Right towards where I’m certain my friends are.
The shores of the Eighth Isle sparkle. Light reflects off what looks like crushed diamonds in the sand, which dazzles all the way to the dune forest where giant marram grasses tower ten feet high and stretch like a jungle as far as the eye can see, until imposing snow-peaked mountains dominate the skyline.
Though I feel more tired than I’ve
ever been, though I’m bruised, bleeding and afraid, I cannot get over the beauty of this place.
When I first collapsed on to the beach I’d sunk my hands deep into the sand, its grains so tiny and shimmering that they looked like shards of luminous glass, and my fingers tingled with an unnerving familiarity as I felt the texture on my skin. Like I’d been here before. Like I’d been summoned back by something. Or someone.
Now I’m running through the forest, trying not to read anything into that unexpected first impression, or into the tangible sensation that I know where I’m going. I don’t stop to think – I can’t – I’m just following a path that should take me close to where my father will land.
I’m trying not to think about the rest of the Avenger’s crew. A few other survivors were scrambling up the sands as I’d left, and I’d checked they were OK before leaving them. I’d avoided the bodies that had washed up on to shore before I arrived, the tide carrying them quicker than it carried me. I’m certain Bronn and Grace must be alive; they’re indestructible. And Harley? Nothing could stop her, surely. What about Ana? The panic and guilt rise and I run faster. I have to find them before my father does.
The forest is just as mesmerising as the beach; thick dunes anchor the giant grasses that, now that I’m close up, look more like bamboo, the gentle breeze causing them to sway so they emit a hollow ring that dances on the air. The forest floor is carpeted with lush foliage, and flowers sprout up through the sand, none of which I can name, all of which entrance me. But as I continue to run, the pretty tune in the wind begins to sound like an eerie drone and I realise the impressive marram grass could be providing dense cover for predators. I’ve yet to see any wildlife, but am aware of its presence, have heard the scuttles as creatures flee my approach.
A striking blue plant catches my eye and I skid to a halt. I’ve passed it before. I’m sure I have. Panting hard, I look round and my heart sinks as I recognise the terrain. The gnarled marram plant to my left, with its stem peeling away. The broken cane up ahead, snapped in two, which I jumped the last time I went this way. How is it possible to have gone in a circle? There’s nothing for it but to keep going, but when I pass the distinct foliage again I scream out loud with frustration. I don’t have time for this.
Abandoning the path, I weave my way through the grasses, sprinting towards the cove, but it doesn’t take me long to realise the sound of waves breaking on the shore is growing quieter, the smell of salt fainter. I’m heading away from the sea.
My sense of direction is not this bad. Something else is happening.
But I’m not abandoning my friends, so I press on, running until my chest burns and my legs barely support me.
I’m truly exhausted by the time I push through some dense thickets and see five wooden huts perfectly concealed by the forest. I’m hit by an immense wave of clarity: that I’ve finally reached where I’m supposed to be. The air in the clearing is sweeter, the smells sharper, the light brighter. It is familiar and strange all at once, as if a fragment of a forgotten dream. All the immediacy of danger is gone, replaced with a peculiar serenity.
Lost in a trance, I hardly notice at first when the door of the nearest hut opens and a woman emerges, her shawl pulled up over her head.
Skin creased with age, back stooped from withered bones, the woman is clearly old, but her opalescent eyes are bright, burning with a keen intelligence as she fixes her gaze on me. She’s pale, so very pale, and I wonder when she last saw the sun. Maybe the last time her grey wiry hair saw a comb. I recognise her, though I can’t possibly, and for a moment I’m too startled to speak. Then I collect myself.
‘Please, can you help? I need to get to the beach.’ But even as I say the words I feel no urgency to them. They don’t belong to right now.
She raises a bony finger to her lips, before pointing at me and beckoning me closer.
She’s been expecting me.
Perhaps trusting a stranger is the last thing I should do, but somehow it feels the most natural thing in the world. She gives me a knowing smile as she turns to hobble back into her hut and after a moment’s hesitation I follow.
The hut smells of earth and moisture, and another sickly scent I can’t identify. A small fire burns in the corner, the pot hanging above it boiling. The old woman staggers over to it, removes the pot and pours its contents into two filthy mugs before handing one to me.
A cloying sweet smell is emanating from the concoction, and the last thing I want to do is put this in my mouth, but the woman ushers me on, gesturing with her hands that I should drink up. Taking a deep breath, I pour the rancid liquid down my throat. It leaves a foul aftertaste, but warmth spreads through my aching bones, the crushing weariness slowly melting away. The old woman watches me with a penetrating gaze and I thank her as she refills the mug.
There is little furniture in the room, but every inch of the walls is covered in shelves, filled with row upon row of old jars containing dried plants, fragments of bone, scraps of pelt, among other less desirable contents. Even from a distance I’m sure I notice hearts and eyes preserved in some, and animal foetuses in others. Everything’s covered in layers of dirt as if it’s not been touched in years.
‘Please,’ I say. ‘Can you help me?’ Even as I say the words, I’m not sure what kind of help I’m asking for. I know there’s something I have to do, somewhere I need to be, but my thoughts are lost behind a veil.
‘More than you know.’ With difficulty she lowers herself on to the floor and only when I settle opposite her does she continue. ‘I know your face.’
‘I’ve never been here before,’ I say. ‘I’m from the Eastern Isles.’
She chuckles to herself, though I fail to see what’s funny. ‘You think I’m old, but I don’t forget.’
She must be wrong, our paths cannot have crossed before, and frustration makes me irritable. ‘I don’t have time for riddles.’
The woman considers me for a moment. Then she struggles to her feet and makes her way to her shelves. ‘Impatience is your enemy. You must listen if you are to defeat him.’
That gets my attention. ‘You mean my father?’
The woman considers me for a moment. ‘You plan to kill the Viper.’
The flicker of hesitation is unmistakable in my gut. ‘Yes.’
‘And yet you’re reluctant.’
I sigh, swallowing a mouthful of foul fluid to avoid answering. ‘I want to preserve life, not end it. You’re a healer, surely you feel the same?’ It was the answer I always used to give. I can’t remember when it stopped being true. It certainly feels a long time since healing was what I loved.
She gives a wry chuckle. ‘I never said I was a healer.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Esther. And your presence here is no coincidence, Marianne. It’s been many years, but finally you’ve returned.’
I swallow hard, now certain I’m in the embrace of magic. It brought me here and since I entered the grove I’ve fallen under some kind of bewitchment, one that’s stilled time. Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that Esther knows my name.
The foul jars. The potions. The enchantments. I’d assumed all the Mages were dead and gone. And yet here I sit with one. The magic I’d unleashed inside me the moment I’d called forth the water raptors claws its way up to my chest and rests there with a sense of expectation. Like attracted to like. And for the first time I see Esther properly. She is not as old as I thought; time has simply been unkind to her. Or magic has altered her in some way.
Or disguised her.
If Esther senses my magic, she gives no sign. Instead she takes something from the shelf and passes it to me. My heart skips a beat. Even filthy, this brooch’s similarity to my compass from Grace is obvious. And when I rub it clean it reveals the same pink scallop and cowrie shells set in gold, the ‘V’ embroidered in what was clearly once the finest thread. They’re too alike to be coincidence.
‘She wore it every day.’
It suddenly occu
rs to me that when she said she knew my face, perhaps she meant she knew one similar to it. My heart begins to race with excitement as I think of my mother.
‘Did this brooch belong to someone who looked like me?’
‘Yes. I took it from her body before I buried her. Your mother.’
As quickly as my heart had raced it now stops, crushed by the weight of unexpected grief, and for a moment I can’t breathe. I hadn’t realised how much I’d hoped my mother was still alive until confronted with her death again. It was the best part of believing Grace’s story and Esther’s words have extinguished my dream entirely.
‘Will you tell me about her?’ My voice is small. Like it doesn’t belong to me, but to the lonely child I once was, who wept at night aching for her mother’s safe embrace.
Esther’s eyes glisten with sadness. ‘She was kind. A heart full of love. Especially for her child.’ She nods towards me. ‘She was my friend.’ She sighs, a sound that shakes with sorrow. ‘She lived here. Now no one does. She was scared. So scared. She was right to be afraid. I found the bodies.’
‘Bodies?’ I’m confused.
‘She was murdered.’ Esther gives me a look filled with pity. ‘I’m sorry, but the truth will bring you pain.’
I clutch the brooch tightly in my hand. Pain is no stranger to me. The truth is.
‘I need to know.’
Esther nods. ‘They lived in the hut next to mine when they first married. Not long after, the baby arrived. A beautiful little girl. And they were happy.’
She pauses, and I wish with every fibre of my being that she could finish there, but know there will be no happy ending to this story.
‘The first trip to the sands is an important moment for any island child,’ Esther continues. ‘All islanders must learn to hear all that the land and sea have to say, but this was more special as this was no ordinary island child. They laughed a lot, the baby’s parents, happy as they made their way home from the sands, playing as they took the winding path through the dune forests. The towering trees made for perfect hiding places and the man would run ahead to conceal himself while the woman asked the girl where her father had gone and when they came upon his tree he would jump out, causing the child to giggle with relief.
