Ferran watched her turn to go, hesitating before taking a step after her. His shoe hit something hard, and he looked down. The small item she’d dropped lay in the dirt. A pocket knife? He picked it up carefully, and as soon as its weight hit his palm, he recognized it.
“Are you coming?” asked Mira, turning to look at him. “Or do you have somewhere else to be?”
Ferran held up the closed pocket knife. “Where did you get this?” His heart flopped in his chest like a dying fish on the sand.
Mira tilted her head, birdlike. “I found it. Give it back.” She reached for it.
“Where did you find it?” He held it tightly, out of her reach. “I need to know where.”
“On the bottom of the bay,” she replied. “Give it to me.” There was a childlike insistence to the pucker of her chin, though by her height and voice, Ferran would have placed her closer to his own age.
“Was it . . . Did you find it on a body?” Ferran felt his throat begin to close up.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
She looked at him with confusion. “I’m sure. It caught my eye. There were a lot of other things . . . silver things. Sharp things. I liked this one, so I took it.”
Ferran felt his fear subside a little. “But there was no body?”
“No,” she insisted, lifting her chin. “Yours is the only body I have found.” She paused to study him. “What is it?”
“It’s just . . . it belonged to my father. I can only imagine it came from his cabin on the ship. If there’d been a body . . .” He trailed off.
“No,” Mira insisted. “What is it?”
“It’s a pocket knife.” He held it up, then worked the hidden mechanism to produce a three-inch steel blade from one end. The light caught it and illuminated her face for a brief moment; she recoiled a little and shut her eyes at the brightness of it. “See?” Ferran turned it this way and that.
“A pocket knife?” she repeated thoughtfully.
“Yes, you keep it in your pocket. It’s handy for when you need to open something, or cut something, and you haven’t got a real dagger on you.”
“Hmph.” Her grunt was noncommittal. “If it was your father’s, then I suppose it’s yours, now. I saw no bodies but yours.” Her eyes gleamed like the scales of a snake. Ferran folded the blade away and slid it into his pocket, though his hand remained clamped tightly around it. “Come, I’ll take you where you can rest and eat, and we’ll talk more.”
Ferran followed her further into the forest, his brow knit in a whirling cycle of thoughts. Maybe they washed up elsewhere on the island. Or maybe they drowned. My mother will notice we’ve not been in contact. What’s she going to do when she hears that we never arrived home? How could anyone find me way out here? I’m just glad that I’m not alone here. He was grateful that Mira did not speak again until they had reached their destination.
Finally, they came upon a clear spring with a pool deep enough to submerge in and a steady little creek wandering off into the woods from there. The trees and flora grew thick and lush around it, the ground soft with springy moss and lichens. As they approached, Ferran saw some kind of furry, small mammal dart away from the pool into the safety of the underbrush, while a large, colorful bird sat preening on a rock.
Mira gave a low whistle call, and the bird stopped its preening to whistle back, cocking its head at her. Then it ruffled itself all over and took to the air, gliding to Mira’s outstretched arm.
“Water! Is it . . . ?” Ferran’s voice caught in his throat, suddenly overwhelmed by thirst.
“Safe to drink? Yes. I imagine you’re thirsty.”
He was on his knees by the pool before he could thank her, his hands cupping the cool, clear water. Much of it dribbled down his arms as he tried to drink it up, until, after a moment, Mira appeared beside him, offering him what looked like a bowl with a brown and hairy texture to the outside of it. A coconut shell? Ferran had never seen one up close before.
Ferran filled the shell with water several times and drank so deeply that he inhaled as he swallowed, making himself cough riotously for a minute. The bird squawked and startled but did not fly off. Mira sat down on the soft ground several feet away, the bird moving up to her shoulder to pick affectionately at her tangled hair.
“Thank you,” Ferran mumbled at last, still somewhat dumbfounded to have been rescued by her. “I can’t thank you enough.”
Mira did not reply, her intense green eyes fixed on him with something like doubt. Ferran stared back, unsure still of what she was thinking, still wondering who she was and where she’d come from. They sat in silence a moment while the bird clucked and muttered, ruffling its tail feathers as it fussed over Mira’s hair.
“Is that bird your pet?” Ferran blurted out. He felt scrutinized somehow, and did not know how to broach the subject.
“Pet,” repeated his strange-eyed rescuer. She narrowed her eyes a little. “What’s pet?”
Ferran swallowed. “A pet. You know. You take care of it. It belongs to you?”
Mira’s eyes widened and her expression shifted to one of confusion. “No!” Her tone was somewhat bemused. “How can I own something that flies and is free?” She nudged her hand under the bird’s large, dark gray talons and it climbed onto her wrist obligingly. It was so many more colors than Ferran had seen on most birds: red and blue and yellow and green, with dazzling speckles of gold hidden in some feathers’ sheen. It looked around with dark, intelligent eyes and had the curved smile of a beak meant for tearing and cracking things open.
“It’s beautiful. What kind of bird is it? Is it some sort of tropical eagle? It’s large enough to be a raptor, but the beak isn’t quite right.”
Mira stared at him.
Ferran fidgeted. Am I going to have to explain animal taxonomy to her? “Look, never mind, I’m sorry,” he babbled. “I just don’t . . . Who are you? How did you find me? Have you always lived alone on this island?”
The bird ruffled its feathers as Mira shifted it back to her shoulder. “I’m Mira,” she answered calmly, “and I found you floating on a piece of wreckage out near the other debris, in the bay. I pulled you to shore.”
Ferran furrowed his brow at her. “You pulled me to shore? All by yourself?”
Her eyes flashed. “I’m a good swimmer.”
Suddenly Ferran remembered the raft, the hot, bright sun beating mercilessly down, the squawking of birds. He remembered panicking, splashing—and a girl’s voice yelling for him to stop—vomiting seawater, and the shimmering mirage of his savior’s face with her bright green eyes and serious expression, and—
“You were naked,” he realized aloud, and flushed as pink as his mother’s rose garden.
“Ah, you do remember.” Mira’s tone was approving, not apologetic. “That’s better. It means you probably don’t have any serious damage up here,” she added, tapping her own head.
Ferran’s eyes dropped to his hands, his skin hot with discomfort and uncertainty. “I . . . thank you for pulling me to shore, I . . . apologize for . . .”
“For nothing,” insisted Mira with apparent bravado, though there was a hint of shyness there too, Ferran thought. “There is nothing to be sorry about.”
“It’s not proper,” muttered Ferran, even as he realized how silly it must seem to her.
Mira stood up abruptly, causing the bird to shuffle and flap its wings, taking off for another, more stable, perch in the trees. “It’s my skin,” she replied, with a touch of defiance. “I have nothing to hide.” She moved to take the coconut shell from him and fill it with water from the spring. She drank deeply and then tossed the shell back to him; he caught it awkwardly. Then she dropped to a squat before him, quite close, and peered into his face the way a predatory animal confronts a smaller member of its pack. “Now. Ferran. You will tell me the answers to my questions.”
Ferran swallowed his embarrassment and confusion. “All right?” he ventured, clutching the empty coconut.
“Neapolis,” answered Ferran, and his stomach sank a little deeper into himself. Though no more my home now than this strange island. I may never leave this place again.
“And where were you traveling? In your ship? What type of ship was it? Was it a submarinal ship as well as a surface vessel, or was it just a dirigible?”
Ferran blinked. “We were heading home. My sister was just married, and now lives in Tunitz, and—”
“Tunitz? This is in Afrek?”
“Yes.” Ferran looked surprised. “The northernmost country of Afrek. How did you—”
She flapped a hand impatiently. “And the ship?”
“It’s an Elemental Type 43-G luxury airship. It can sail on the surface of the waves but primarily serves as aerial transportation.” He furrowed his brow at the rapidly shifting expressions on her face. “Why? What does it matter what kind of ship?”
“I have never seen one so close to us before. Usually they fly or sail past our island and never notice that we’re here. Occasionally, they sink out beyond the bay, far beyond, but within view. Yours is the first ship I have ever seen so close, which is why I was able to bring up some of your debris, and find you afloat.”
“Debris?” Ferran stared back at her. “You mean when you found the pocket knife.”
“Oh, yes, and more,” she told him. “Several trunks I pulled out of the sea. I have not opened them.”
“Trunks?” Ferran felt his heart beating. There could be anything in them: clothes, food, supplies, one of the Mandolinani wireless devices which could be used for contacting a rescue party . . . “Where are they?”
“The trunks? I’ve hidden them.”
“Take me to them! I can help you open them. Please!” He instinctively reached for her hand, but stopped himself some inches from her actual skin. She did not flinch as hard as she had the first time, but she eyed him. “Please, Mira. It could be important.”
“Fine. But you tell me more.” She got to her feet and, after a moment, he followed. “You tell me about your world. Is Neapolis near Roma? What is it like in the mountains? Have you ever been to Troia? Landon? Gudafesct? Are these great cities as full of towering walls and elegant spires as they say?”
They walked swiftly through the woods, and Ferran huffed as he tried to keep up with Mira’s long, certain strides. It was a level of activity Ferran was unused to.
“Who’s they? As who says?” He felt thoroughly baffled. “Are you not native to this island?”
“No,” Mira threw over her shoulder at him as they walked. “I was born somewhere else, and my father and I came here when I was very small.”
“There’s others on the island?”
“Just three of us,” said Mira, and Ferran heard her tone grow darker. “My father and I . . . and a monster.”
* * *
1862
Mira lay on her back on the soft moss near the clear spring, listening to the birds in the trees and the sound of trickling water. A gentle breeze played at the leaves overhead, and all was calm and quiet. Several feet away, Karaburan lay dozing on his own patch of moss, curled up like a dog at the foot of his owner’s bed. Her father was elsewhere, busying himself with his study of the island’s native plant life, no doubt. All was well. The island was safe, and she was free to do as she pleased, even at that young age.
A voice like silvery light dancing on water whispered to her from somewhere above as the late afternoon light grew more rosy and golden with every moment. “Mira,” whispered the voice. “Mira-child. Come and let’s play a game! Come and let’s have a chase.”
Mira opened her eyes with a smile and sat up, her long, honey-brown hair spilling down her back. “Aurael?” she called softly. “Where are you hiding?”
“Come and see, come and see,” chimed the unseen spirit, teasingly plucking at different tree branches to make the leaves rustle.
“Come out!” she laughed, both charmed and annoyed. “I want to see you!”
“Now, now, my girl, you know I can’t do that. Be patient; someday when you’re older you’ll see me face to face. What games shall we have? A hunt? A chase? I’ll be the fox and you’ll be the huntress. Or you’ll be the mermaid and I’ll be the sailor.”
“It’s too warm for chasing,” answered Mira, smiling at the sunlight on her face through the canopy of trees. “Come sit and tell me stories.” She patted the moss beside her.
The cool breeze ruffled her hair and her dress, torn from wear and rearranged to accommodate her growing form. She laughed softly, and the breeze curled up on the moss beside her like a cat. She could almost see the silver-blue outline of it, its round shape, its pointed ears and bright round eyes staring up at her. Mira reached over and stroked it, causing it to purr softly.
“What stories would you have, my mistress?” asked the translucent cat in the same breathy, shimmering voice as the wind.
“How long have you been on the island?” she inquired, still stroking the cat’s lighter-than-air fur. The cat stared up at her for a while before it answered.
“Probably as long as you’ve been alive,” replied the cat, shimmering in the light.
“If that’s so, why can’t Karaburan see you? He’s been here that long himself, he told me so. We’re the same age.”
The cat did not turn to look over at the sleeping Karaburan, but its eyes narrowed a little. “Karaburan is not special. He’s not like you, Mira. You’re the blessed one who found me in the tree, remember?” It butted its head against her hand, and she smiled.
“I’m not that special,” she told Aurael, shyly. “I’m just lucky, I think.”
“You’re very special to me,” insisted Aurael the cat, purring harder.
“Where’s Karaburan’s mother?” Mira asked, her voice softening. “Whenever I ask about her, Karaburan cries and won’t speak. He misses her very much. And what about his father?” Aurael did not answer, and looked as if he had not heard. Mira scratched the cat under the chin, tipping its head up to look at her. “Aurael? Where are Karaburan’s parents? Are they dead?”
“Yes,” said the cat, and its voice sounded unhappy.
“Did you know them?”
“I knew his mother,” said Aurael a little too quickly. He paused, and then went on more slowly. “She got ill and died.”
“Here on the island?” Mira looked alarmed. “But I’ve never been ill here. Neither has Father.”
“Your father . . . your father’s love protects you. You are safe from much the world has to offer in the way of harm. You see? You are special.”
Mira considered her next question carefully. “And where is my mother? Did she die here, too?”
“No, child. She died before you got to this island. Your father says she was very fragile. I’m sorry,” the cat added, closing its eyes. Mira did not feel sad about this for some reason, and continued stroking the cat in silence, wondering why she was not mournful the way Karaburan was whenever his mother was mentioned.
“Where was I born?”
“I don’t know,” said the cat, looking at her again. Mira stopped petting it and swept her long hair over her shoulder with both hands, picking out the tangles that had accumulated from the wind blowing and from swimming in the sea. “Why all these curiosities, Mira? Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”
“I’m not a cat,” said Mira seriously, “and neither are you.”
“No, indeed. That’s true.”
“When am I going to see you, Aurael? Really see you? I like having you as my invisible companion, and I like pretending you’re different animals, but I want to see what you really look like.”
“You know that’s not possible,” the cat said, standing up and curling its tail in frustration.
“Why not? We are sheltered here. Safe. I will love you no matter what you look like. Karaburan is ugly as a spinefish and it doesn’t matter, I still care about him. That’s what
friendship is. Please, Aurael, show me.”
The cat walked away from her, and after several steps, disappeared completely. “Your father forbids it, Mira. He has decreed that I may guard you as your friend, but not ‘til you are older will you see my face. As for Karaburan, I know not. Your father is careful with his belongings and does not like to share.” His voice had an edge to it like the sharp rocks that sometimes cut her feet in the shallows of the lagoon. “Alas, my dove, your present company leaves much freedom to be desired,” sighed the breeze over her shoulder.
“Karaburan is asleep. He won’t stir. Come sit with me and let me see you!”
Aurael did not reply at first. When he did, his voice was low and close and wary, tickling her shoulder. “He cannot see me,” warned the spirit. “You know the rules.”
“Rules are silly and boring,” chided Mira boldly. “It doesn’t matter what Karaburan sees, he’s completely harmless. And who cares what Father says? This island is our home! Our safe place. No harm can come to us here.”
“I cannot,” groaned the invisible spirit longingly. “I am yours alone, and if he sees me, it will not end well.”
Mira frowned, her expression folding neatly into a dark furrow of frustration. “But I want to see you,” she insisted.
The spirit sighed noisily. “All right. For a few minutes. What other shape shall I take? A girl? A boy? A bird? A dog?”
“Just be you,” she insisted. “Show me what you look like.” Again, Mira was puzzled by Aurael’s long silence and turned her head, listening and looking for him in the long afternoon shadows. “Please, Aurael,” she added softly. “We’ve been friends for so long.”
There was no answer. Mira sat very still, listening to the sounds of the late afternoon waning on: the cicadas hidden in the trees above the clearing and the little brook bubbling away from the pool of fresh water. She sighed and lay down on the moss again after a time. She thought about her mother, whose face and name she could not remember, and about her father, who seemed happy enough on the island, but kept to himself during the day. I wasn’t born on the island, she mused. So there really must be other things out there beyond the water. I want to know what they are. My father knows; he must know. He has books that tell of it, I’m sure.
On the Isle of Sound and Wonder Page 10
