Forsaken Island

by Sharon Hinck

  My eyes widened. “How big of a raft can you build?”

  He chuckled. “All we need to bring back are seeds and rootings. If the Order can find a way to steer our course closer, we could recruit every herder with a working stenella to make trips between—”

  A door creaked in the distance. Brantley put a finger to his lips.

  I hobbled behind one of the trunks, its bark as knobby as its fruit. Brantley, more able-footed, darted closer to the sound and ducked into the cover of shoulder-high ferns. A young man made his way down a winding staircase on the outside of one of the two-story structures. His long, fiery hair reminded me of my friend Starfire, though his plump physique bore no comparison to any dancer of the Order. He stretched his arms overhead with a generous yawn, then ambled toward the grove where we hid.

  Brantley glanced back at me. “A stray,” he mouthed. Then he signaled me to stay, as if he were directing his stenella.

  I wasn’t about to let him frighten someone who could be an ally. Instead I stepped from behind the tree. “Good morning.”

  The youth stopped several paces from me and tilted his head. “Bountiful day to you and yours.” His eyebrows gathered in an auburn bunch. “Have we met in this season? Be you recollecting?”

  He spoke our language, although with a lilt that forced me to concentrate to follow his words.

  “No, we’re visitors.” I glanced to Brantley, still crouched out of sight, his muscles tight and ready to spring. “Unsure of our welcome.”

  When the young man laughed, his cheeks rounded like ripe peaches. “Why unsure? Surely all be welcome. I’m Morra.” He presented one leg and leaned forward, flourishing with his arm.

  “I’m Carya of Meriel.” I copied his movement.

  That sent Morra into peals of laughter. Brantley eased to his feet, hand still resting on the hilt of his longknife. “We’ve come a long distance seeking supplies for our people.”

  Morra blinked at the sight of another stranger rising from the bracken but then grinned and bowed again.

  My companion only glared in response. Why was Brantley still on guard? This youngling was close in age to Teague, Brantley’s apprentice in Windswell. He was nothing but amiable. Certainly no threat.

  Seeming unaware of the tension, Morra plucked a lenka from a branch overhead and popped the small yellow fruit in his mouth. He picked a few more and tossed them toward Brantley. “If supplies be sought, supplies be found.”

  The fruit lay where it fell. Brantley narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying your village elders won’t mind if we gather fruit to take back to our people?”

  Confusion knitted the boy’s brow. “Why would they? There is always more.” Then his face cleared. “Ah, you be newly disconnected, yes? I’ve heard tell that the newly disconnected are sometimes bewildered.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but time was wasting. “May we speak to your elders? Do you have a matriarch?”

  Morra waved back toward the buildings. “Speak with whom you will. Elder or younger. Matters not.”

  Brantley rubbed his temples. “Who is your leader?”

  The young man barked another laugh. “Any and all. Any and all.” He sketched another bow and strolled away, singing a ditty of “any and all” over and over.

  Brantley gave a low growl.

  I bit my lip, trying to find something positive in the encounter. “Do you think we need to seek permission from everyone in this village? Whom do we talk to if there’s no leader?”

  “We need to find someone less addled.” Brantley picked up a few of the fallen lenka and handed them to me. “At least we won’t go hungry.”

  I stared at the unusual buildings and chewed thoughtfully. Tart juice trickled down my throat. My tongue worried the pit around my mouth, extracting every bit of flavor before I spat out the hard seed. “It doesn’t look like anyone else is awake. Maybe I should collect all the lenka and persea I can carry. We were given an invitation to help ourselves to those.”

  “And I’ll build the raft. We can take a load back today and let others know what we’ve found. If we can gather a dozen herders, each rim village can restock supplies before the lands drift too far apart.” Brantley dropped his pack, pulled the knife from his belt, and hacked at a few saplings and vines. Now that we were making tangible progress, his whole body radiated new energy. His strong arms swung with the confidence of skill, almost like a novitiate performing an oft-repeated pattern.

  I smiled, glad he couldn’t read my thoughts. Being compared to a dancer wouldn’t sit well with him. He’d thought of us as the vilest of enemies for too many years. With cause. I sobered. Even if I came to believe it possible, would he ever want to attach himself to a former dancer like me? I shook my head to dislodge the disturbing question and rummaged in his pack for a net bag to hold the harvest.

  A few light shakes of the lenka trunks released a wealth of fruit, and I scurried around, dropping them into the bag. The netting stretched, and still I gathered more. I glanced over to where Brantley was already lashing branches together with the rope he always carried in his pack. “Make the raft as big as you can. I’ve never seen such a huge supply.”

  Brantley laughed. “Orianna will love you forever when you bring lenka to Windswell.”

  I grinned. His young niece knew how to enjoy a meal. And lenka had been a rare delicacy in recent years. Too many trees on Meriel had withered as our island spun in place, their roots missing the variety of nutrients they once absorbed from traveling across the ocean. How long would it take for them to recover? I scrabbled beneath more of the trees and gathered a variety of seeds in a cloth pouch, which I tied onto the net.

  Brantley hefted the long, narrow base of his raft. “I’ll finish constructing this at the shore. Let’s bring what you’ve got so far.”

  I glanced again at the silent village, still nervous that someone would protest. “Good idea.”

  I dragged the bulging net of fruit and followed him as he made for the path.

  Brantley stopped short, turned, and scanned the clearing. “Where did we come in?”

  “On the far side of the largest bonfire pit.” I limped past him toward the edge of the clearing, then released the heavy bag. No opening appeared in the tight wall of saplings and vines. “The path was right here, wasn’t it?”

  Brantley left the partially constructed raft and stalked along the edge of the clearing again for good measure. “I can’t see a single opening now.”

  I placed my palms against two saplings that offered a space only a tiny child could squeeze past. “The trees must have reverted to their old places. Don’t worry. I’ll ask them for a new path.”

  After I pulled off my soft leather shoes, my bare feet embraced the warm earth. I closed my eyes, listening for the rhythm of waves rolling underfoot, branches bobbing in the wind, leaves rustling, and vines straining to hold the wall of foliage together. My toes flexed a few times in readiness. Despite my limp, my legs took up the swaying movement, and soon my arms repeated the languid pattern I’d used the day before. I smiled as I joined the dance of the forest.

  When I opened my eyes, a wall of dark green still rose before me. I tried again. I felt no resistance, no argument from the underbrush. Simply no response.

  A zephyr whispered across the back of my neck, sending a chill all the way down to my feet.

  Brantley stepped beside me and touched one of the trees. “It’s not working.”

  “I can see that. Give me space.”

  He lifted his hands and moved away. This time I danced with more force, praying with my side-to-side steps. Holy Maker, open a way for us.

  The Maker didn’t speak, and the forest continued to ignore me.

  “Are you done?” Brantley met my bewilderment with a firm thrust of his chin. “I’ll clear a path.”

  He hacked away several vines and bent smaller saplings to the side. At first I thought his efforts would work. We wouldn’t be able to squeeze the raft through the ope
ning, but we could at least return to the ocean rim. I picked up the net bulging with fruit, hoping I could maneuver it back to Navar.

  But before we could move forward, the saplings sprang back. New vines erupted from the ground faster than Brantley could chop them away.

  Sweat beaded his brow, and he tackled a new section. Please work. If he couldn’t clear the way, what would we do? I leaned forward, wanting to urge him to chop faster, but I held my tongue. He created a tantalizing gap, but then the same thing happened. Plants grew back before either of us could step forward.

  The chill running through my spine now wrapped cold fingers around my lungs and squeezed. “We can’t get out,” I whispered. “Could the forest be angry? I mean, you chopped down a lot of trees to build the raft.”

  Brantley swiped the heel of his hand across his forehead in an abrupt and irritated gesture. “Are you blaming me for this?”

  “I’m only trying to figure out what changed.”

  He gestured at the beginning structure of a raft. “Well, I can’t very well put limbs back onto the trees, can I? Maybe you shouldn’t have gathered all the lenka.”

  I bit back an annoyed response and took a deep breath. “Let’s not panic. Morra said we were welcome to the fruit.”

  Brantley directed his focus upward. The wall of trees was as tall as the Order with its many floors of dormitories, but he’d scaled those walls to rescue his niece. “Help me untie my rope.” He slid a branch free from the frame he’d been creating and began to unwind the cord he’d used to bind the wood together.

  I pried another knot free. “Are you seriously planning to climb? We don’t know how stable those thin trunks are. And we’ve seen them shift position. What if they move while you’re up there?”

  His hands stilled, and he looked at me with one of the smiles that sent heat throughout my innards. “Are you worried about me?” His eyes warmed with understanding and affection. “I’ll make you a deal. If you stop being overprotective, I’ll do the same.”

  I returned a reluctant grin of acknowledgement. “We do tend to worry for each other, don’t we?”

  Still crouched across from the broken-apart raft pieces, he reached out and tapped my nose. “It’s what folks do who care about each other.”

  Now the heat spread outward to my skin, and I dropped my gaze to the stubborn knot. I needed to set him straight. Our relationship held no future. But this wasn’t the time for a heartfelt discussion. The fibers loosened, and I unraveled another section. “The Maker’s letter reminds us to not give fear a place to bloom.”

  He chuckled. “Not bad advice, wherever the words come from.”

  As soon as the length of rope was free, he coiled it neatly and approached the nearest tree. “I’ll climb to the highest point I can and see if I can find another path to the sea.” The drooping branches were soft and pliable, making it difficult to toss the end over anything secure. Eventually he targeted a sturdier limb, caught it, and eased the free end down. He used the doubled cord to help him shinny halfway up the forest wall.

  I held my breath as he gathered the rope and took aim at the treetops. Beneath my feet, a stronger wave rolled under the surface of the land. Brantley clung like a dragonfly on a wind-blown reed. Once the latest rocking eased, he climbed farther.

  Dizziness swirled like star rain inside my head as I watched him. There were times I admired his boldness, but other times I wanted to scream at the risks he took. Yes, I worried about him. It’s what folks do who care about each other, he’d said. How much did I care about him? Clearly too much. The Order had taught me that attachments were intrusions that hindered our work. Was that why my movements this morning had been ineffective at creating a path? Was I becoming too distracted?

  “Do you see a way through?” I called to him. Did he intend to make his way across the upper canopy all the way to the ocean? What of me? With my wounded leg, I couldn’t climb there.

  He worked his way down to the end of his rope, then pulled it loose and prepared to continue the rest of the way to the ground. A gust of wind rocked the trees, and he fumbled for his grip. I hissed in a sharp breath, then held it until his arms found a sturdy trunk. When the movement slowed, he resumed his descent, then dropped to the earth and dusted off his hands. One of his palms was bleeding from all the sliding and gripping—or perhaps some of the vines hid thorns. Unconcerned, he blew over the tear in his skin, then shook it.

  “Stop that. You’ll make it worse.” I pulled off my headscarf and wrapped it around his hand, securing it with a tiny knot.

  He grinned. “Will you kiss it and make it better?”

  I stepped back and crossed my arms. “Other than risking your life, what use was that climb?”

  He tilted his head, brow wrinkling at my irritated tone. “It was worth checking for another path. Nothing the way we came in, so we’ll need to search along the sides of the village. Let’s avoid being seen by anyone else. We can look on the far edge of—”

  Behind us in the village, a door slammed open. Two children raced from one of the houses into the clearing, then saw us and skidded to a stop. A large-boned woman stomped after them, then noticed us and backpedaled. She called to the row of buildings, and several other doors opened. More and more villagers emerged. A heavyset man in wide-legged trousers and an impractical gauzy cloak waddled toward us. His expression held much less welcome than Morra had offered.

  A woman leaned out a window and shouted to her neighbor. More voices rose in a buzz of discussion that sounded hostile, even from our distance.

  With our backs to the impenetrable forest, Brantley edged in front of me, hand resting on the hilt of his longknife. Dozens of strangers advanced toward us, and we had no way of escape.

  The largest man elbowed past the others and stomped past one of the charred fire pits, his florid face glowering. “My favorite mug be missing. No doubt you be the thieves.”

  My eyes widened. The other villagers held back, but hostility painted their faces under the low angle of the morning rays. Brantley still stood protectively in front of me, but I sidestepped and put my hand on his fighting arm. A calm explanation could still diffuse this situation. I kept my voice level. “Morra said we could gather fruit. We’re no thieves.”

  “Fruit?” The man’s hairy eyebrows jutted outward like two alarmed hedgehogs. “It’s me mug I’m missing.”

  Beneath my palm, Brantley’s muscles tightened. “We had nothing to do with that.” His arm flexed, and he slid his knife half free of its sheath.

  Leaning into him, I whispered, “Sometimes bracing for battle can cause the battle.”

  He scoffed but pushed the knife back into its sheath.

  A woman caught up to the man and put a hand to his arm. “Harba, it’s too early in the morning for this bellowing. What be your concern?” Her soothing voice contrasted with her sharp features. Angular eyebrows, painted black, jutted down from the border of her white-blonde hair, which was cut in a jagged pattern around her face. A sky-blue robe enveloped her thin frame and trailed on the ground. A breeze riffled the fabric, and the tall trees behind us whispered.

  At her touch, Harba transformed from snorting bull to placid lamb. He rubbed his belly. “Weren’t finding my mug. Head hurts, and these be strangers.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Your mug be where you dropped it in the dirt after the revels. And your head hurts because it’s nearing time for the convening.”

  His expression brightened. “Be there punch to tide me over?”

  “Of course. Go ask someone.” She gestured to the cluster of villagers. Most had turned back to their activities and resumed their conversations, with only a few studying us from beyond the empty fire pits. How odd that strangers should rouse so little curiosity.

  Harba toddled off, seeming to forget us. The woman stepped closer, one dark brow lifting. “You must hail from a far village?”

  I offered a tentative smile. “Actually, we’re from another—”

  “Village
,” Brantley said loudly. “As you already guessed. Our stocks are low, and we’re seeking food.” Why had he interrupted? I could see no harm in explaining that we had come from a different island world. They would surely be as enthralled by the discovery of us as we were of them. My companion’s goal might be to gather resources with as little interaction as possible, but encountering people on this foreign world was too remarkable for me to ignore. I longed to share knowledge, experience—friendship—with the people here.

  “My name is Carya. I’m pleased to meet you.” I balanced on my good leg and attempted a small bow, imitating Morra’s earlier greeting.

  The woman’s dark eyebrows disappeared upward under her fringe of white bangs. Apparently I’d used the wrong sort of gesture. She rose up on her toes, then lowered. “And I’m Trilia. You must gather at the red or blue convening. I don’t be recalling meeting.”

  I was dizzy from my efforts to understand these people and their unfamiliar terms, from trying to avoid any offense, and from keeping Brantley’s hand off his knife. Guessing at the best course to take, I copied Trilia’s movements.

  The moment my heels touched the ground, her expression cleared, and she smiled. “You’ve journeyed from beyond the lake, then?”

  Brantley and I exchanged a look, and he shrugged.

  “We’ve come a long way,” I said. “But now we need to find a way back to the sea. Is it all right if we take home fruit to share with our people?”

  The zigzag fringe of her hair shifted around the woman’s face as she frowned. “You lack food? How can that be? Be you remnant?” She spat the last word as if it tasted vile.

  Brantley likely didn’t want me saying too much, but a bit of truth wouldn’t go amiss. “Some of our trees have fallen ill,” I said, hoping my tone reflected need but not desperation.

  “Yes, of course. Take all you can use. But . . .” She glanced toward the orchards of fruit trees ranging inward from the edge of the clearing. When she looked back to us, her lips formed a circle of worry. “Could this illness be spread? Must we fear the Grand Convening?”