Forsaken Island

by Sharon Hinck

  Then behind me, air stirred. A swish whispered a warning. But before I could even turn my head, someone grabbed me and jerked me back.

  “Why be you here?” a threatening voice growled in my ear, raising the fine hairs at the nape of my neck.

  I twisted away from the sour breath and confronted my captor, who loomed large in the small room. “Harba! You startled me.” I forced a smile and tried to free my arm from his grip.

  He didn’t let go. His furry eyebrows drew together in a fierce line. “You should be at the revel.”

  I floundered for a diversion. If I admitted I was searching for Brantley, that would only endanger him. I took a cue from the worry on Harba’s face. I lifted my chin. “Shouldn’t you be at the revel? Everyone is required to be there.”

  Color flared across his cheeks and bulbous nose. Then his broad shoulders sank, and he released my arm. “Please. Don’t be telling anyone.”

  I peered past him into the room from which he’d emerged. A cot rested in the shadows, and a form stirred. I pushed past Harba. “If you’ve hurt Brantley—”

  The person on the cot gasped and pushed up to her elbows. Not Brantley. A young woman with black hair tumbling around her pale face. Her limpid eyes widened at my entrance, her swollen belly at odds with her thin arms. She was with child.

  Harba trundled in behind me, wringing his hands. “You won’t be telling that she missed the revel, will you?”

  I shook my head. “Of course not. I grew weary myself.” I smiled at the woman. “I’m Carya.”

  She sat up with a groan, her round stomach declaring she was ready to deliver her child any day. “My name be Wimmo. And Harba fusses too much.”

  He knelt beside the cot and took her hand. Her delicate fingers disappeared inside his pudgy grip, and a connection flowed between them, infusing both their faces with adoration—and something more. An edge of yearning, desperation . . . fear.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked them.

  Wimmo caressed Harba’s cheeks, smoothed his bushy eyebrows, touched a tender finger to his lips. “This be a difficult time for a convening.”

  He kissed her hand. “We grew attached.”

  “We knew better.” She pushed to her feet, drawing the heavyset man up too. “Now, no more regrets.”

  With Harba’s arm supporting her, they walked past me.

  “Wait. I don’t understand.”

  Harba turned and blinked as if he’d forgotten I was there. “We be leaving for the convening. It’s time.” He waved to the window where morning light crept in and colored the walls, the floors, and the bedclothes.

  Wimmo gave Harba a comforting pat. “And we’ll enjoy our walk to the lake.”

  They left, and I walked to the window to watch them. Wimmo was in no condition to hike all day. And why did their love, or “attachment” as they called it, cause Harba so much distress? Was their match forbidden? An ache burned behind my eyes from too many questions, and I shook my head to clear it. Figuring out the culture of this village could wait. I needed to find Brantley. Soon.

  I cinched the belt on my borrowed robe and headed from the room to continue my quest.

  A quick search of the empty rooms on the first level revealed nothing. The upper floor yielded only increased throbbing in my overworked ankle. I left the central building and stood in the wide square. People had left the revel and were hurrying along the paths, dashing in and out of homes, tossing aside decorative robes, lacing shoes, and making other preparations for the day’s journey. A pang of anxiety contracted my ribs. Where was Brantley? What would I do if he didn’t return? Standing on this foreign world amid the swirl of activity, I’d never felt more alone and adrift.

  In the distance, a mournful howl bid farewell to the night sky. A welfen beast? How close did they come to the village? Had Brantley ventured into the inland wood? That would be just like him. Morra’s comment about bodies cleaned to the bone cast vivid horrors in my imagination.

  I bit my lip, lingering under the eaves of one of the empty shops. Brantley could be injured or worse. I had to find him. Too much had remained unspoken between us.

  I’d convinced myself that refusing his love was a sacrifice I must make to serve my world as a dancer. Yet he’d been a faithful presence almost from the time we’d met. He had resolutely and repeatedly rejected my rejection. And now as I opened my heart to the possibility of more between us, fear of his fate squeezed the breath from me. How foolish I’d been! I didn’t want to lose him. Not to my stubbornness, and not to this odd island so far from home.

  Ignoring the heaviness in my muscles, I planted my walking stick and limped at a near run, hurrying up and down each side street, peering into gazebos and shops. I knocked on cottage doors, stopped anyone who would pause in their preparations, and asked if they’d seen the stranger. No one shared my alarm, or even any interest in my search. I received shrugs and a smiling reassurance that everyone would be at the convening.

  Brantley had completely vanished.

  Panic swirled through my mind, ignited by exhaustion and an imagination far too vivid. I saw my entire life unspool before me without Brantley’s crooked grin, without ever again watching him ride Navar over the waves, without seeing him swing his niece in a joyous circle of laughter. I’d grown to accept his place in my life in the way I accepted air and sunlight. Without it, my life would be a suffocating darkness.

  I abandoned the village and aimed for the clearing. The bandage on my ankle unraveled, trailing in the dust of the path. I was forced to crouch down and secure it again. When I stood, I shielded my eyes against the primary sun, piercing the top of the tree line.

  “There you are.” Brantley jogged around the side of the musician’s platform. He was coated with dirt, and a new scrape marred his face. “I told you to wait for me by the stage.”

  He was alive! Living, breathing, and irritated. I threw myself into his arms, squeezing him as if I could pour my affection into him through my grip. “I thought I’d lost you.” I choked out the words, tears clogging my throat.

  After a startled moment, he embraced me, then set me back to meet my gaze. Understanding and a hint of male triumph sparkled in the depths of his sea-blue eyes. “You certainly pick your moments, dancer.”

  I offered a watery smile. “It must be the punch.”

  “We’ll have to ask them for the recipe.”

  Suddenly shy, I drew away, brushing mud and detritus from my palms. “What happened to you?”

  He dragged a hand through this hair. “The barrier of trees. Couldn’t go over or through, so I tried digging.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “And?”

  His grin faded. “Didn’t work. Maybe after everyone leaves, we can find some tools that would help.”

  “I thought we decided to go to—”

  “There you be,” Morra shouted over the clamor of preparations. “You will walk with me.”

  Brantley broadened his shoulders. “And if we remain here?”

  Horror stretched Morra’s features. “The Every must go.”

  A nearby woman overheard and sang out, “The Every must go.” Soon more villagers gathered near us, bags of provisions slung over shoulders, practical cloaks and shoes replacing their decorative attire. Some of the adults wore longknives and swords. They chanted a chorus that grew louder and louder. “The Every must go.”

  I leaned in toward Brantley. “This convening of theirs might give us answers. We should go.”

  “I don’t trust them.” He took in the scene around us and frowned. “But we are outnumbered by far. And I’ve run out of ways to attack that barrier.”

  I touched his arm, wanting the reassurance of his tangible presence now that I’d found him. “If this is our only course, then this path may hold a purpose.”

  He tilted his head, his gaze sharp and searching. His lips quirked. “You may be right.”

  My brows lifted. “What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

  He growled and pulle
d me forward.

  The group set out on the trail leading inland from the village. Singing and chatter continued as if this was a part of the revel too. As the subsun joined the primary in the sky, the trees and vines glowed in a thousand shades of green. The plants near the path included fruit trees, tubers, and colorful mushrooms. Daygrass spread between, nibbled by occasional grazing animals and providing a sense of spacious beauty. Now that we’d moved away from the oppressive vegetation of the barrier trees, the landscape felt more similar to Meriel, although healthier and more lush. I could imagine I was strolling down a trail from Middlemost or exploring the fields near Windswell.

  Morra strode alongside us, cheerfully grabbing persea, lenka, and kumquats from the trees and passing them to us. We ate as we walked.

  “How often does the village travel for a convening?” I asked.

  He tugged the neck of his tunic. It looked small for him, as if he were a child outgrowing his clothes. “We follow each green star rain, of course. You never told me. Which color be your village?”

  I gave a noncommittal shrug. Morra was too engrossed in peeling a persea to challenge my vagueness. What he said about star rain intrigued me. As much as I loved the star rain, I’d never categorized them by color. Thinking back, dominant colors did flare in their displays, a convenient way to mark time. The star rains kept to a somewhat regular schedule. They usually came every few weeks, but occasionally closer together. I could tell when we were due for one by the swelling and pulsing of stars, and sometimes the taste of the air.

  Not far ahead, Crillo, the girl that Morra had danced with, stopped to adjust her shoe. He ran ahead, crouched beside her, and offered her a choice fruit. Her warm smile sent a blush across his cheeks. They whispered to each other, but when they stood, they pulled apart. The girl hurried on ahead, leaving Morra slumped, his easygoing grin washed away.

  Brantley and I caught up to Morra. “You can walk with Crillo if you’d rather,” I offered. Was it my own newly awoken heart that made me want to encourage their young love? Or just compassion for the pain I saw on Morra’s face?

  He shook his head. “We’ve grown too attached.”

  Like Harba and Wimmo. Clearly there were restrictions in this world that I didn’t yet understand. What would happen if these people realized that Brantley and I had a deep bond, newly acknowledged and potent?

  I glanced at Brantley, but he’d strayed away, still hunting for an escape path. I stayed close to Morra. “Tell me about yourself. You were so kind to welcome us when we arrived, I’d love to know more.”

  The young man turned his attention my way, then pointed to my walking stick. “Give that to me.”

  I stopped and handed it to him, balancing on my good leg. He pulled out a knife and with swift movements reshaped the top. Then he handed it back. “I create beauty from wood and reed,” he said. “And when needed, I be making a few practical things as well.”

  I tested the smooth grip he’d created, which better bore my weight. What talents these people had! “Thank you.”

  We strolled forward, keeping the bulk of the villagers in sight ahead of us. I wanted to glean information from my young friend but was distracted by checking on Brantley’s progress. After my earlier panic, I didn’t want to lose sight of him. “The people of your village have amazing talents. Do your parents live here, too?”

  Morra shook his head. “You and your friend speak strange words. I once visited a village beyond the lake, and they were not like you.”

  Should I explain we were from a completely different island? Would that put us in more danger, or enable us to get the help we needed? I wanted Brantley’s input, but he was poking into the underbrush several yards off the trail. He abandoned that effort, jogged past us, and darted into the trees on the other side of the trail. Where did he get his stamina? He paused in his search to check on me. Sunlight glinted from his hair, but shadows carved gaunt lines in his face. He was worried. With cause. When we hadn’t returned to Meriel, had Saltar Kemp directed the dancers to keep our island in sight? Or had she consigned us as lost? Had our world already ridden the currents away from this one? How long could she wait for us?

  I didn’t believe Brantley’s efforts would yield anything as we moved inland, but I was grateful for his dogged determination. In the meantime, I made my own efforts to find out what I could.

  “Morra, the tall trees and vines around your village. They seem impossible to penetrate.”

  “That be the edge,” he said. “You be slowing your steps. Do you want a second stick? We must keep up with the rest.”

  “I’ll be all right.” I quickened my pace. “So, has anyone tried to go through the edge?”

  Morra chuckled. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Curiosity?”

  Now his face puckered, incredulous. “They be trees and vines. What would stir interest?”

  “Well . . . what lies beyond?” Getting information from the man could drive me to madness, but whom else could I ask?

  Morra shook his head. “You be full of worries and longings. Good thing it be convening time.” He pulled a lenka from his pocket and popped it in his mouth.

  “Can you tell me more about the convening? Why is it so important?”

  Morra spat out the lenka pit. “Surely you know.”

  “Pretend I don’t. Explain it to me.”

  His expression lifted. “Like a game?”

  I nodded.

  “We be makers.” He cast a sideways look at me. “I’ve seen another village, and surely our people be the finest.”

  “What does that have to do with the convening?”

  He paused and took a swig from a leather flask. “Else how could we bear our gifts?” A dark thread colored his tone, and a tendon flexed in his neck. “The ceremony frees us from pain.”

  “Pain?”

  “The pain of love, of longing, of attachment. With those erased, our making thrives.”

  I struggled to understand. My brain throbbed from the long night of revels, but even so, his story felt wrong. “How do you know that?”

  He faced me. “Everyone knows.”

  “But how? What happens if you don’t go to this convening? Did someone teach you this?”

  “The Every knows.”

  His resigned proclamation reminded me of the Order. The rules I’d grown up believing, the facts everyone knew, had been false. A shudder jostled my core. “I believe our gifts come from the true Maker. The Maker of all. And they are just that—gifts.”

  Morra didn’t seem to hear me. He stared ahead at where the girl he loved disappeared around a bend. “We mustn’t grow attached.”

  Like a lens turning in a telescope, I glimpsed the lines of this world more clearly. The sadness that hid behind the laughter. The lies beneath the surface. “Who says so?”

  “This game be no fun. Find another.”

  “Who says you can’t have attachments?”

  “Did you not hear me? Everyone.”

  “Sometimes what everyone believes is true is still wrong.”

  As I was speaking, Brantley rejoined us, overhearing the last part of our conversation. “Morra, if you call a tail a leg, how many legs does a hound have?”

  The young man brightened. “A better game. Five!”

  Brantley shook his head. “Four. Calling a tail a leg doesn’t make it one.”

  Morra barked a laugh. “That be good.” He ran ahead and clapped a man on the back, repeating the joke.

  I leaned heavily on my stick and trudged forward. “Find anything?”

  Brantley rubbed the back of his neck. “No. Learn anything?”

  In spite of the languid air, chill bumps rose on my arms. “Enough to know that this convening sounds like a bad idea.”

  Both suns burned overhead, unrelenting in heat and unyielding in their watching. I trudged forward, each step a small stride followed by a painful limp. No matter how many times I repeated the process, I never seemed to get anywhere. Step, limp
. Step, limp. More trees, more undergrowth, more trail trodden by all the villagers. Unending. And every bit of progress took us farther from possible escape. The thought of retracing this route after the convening provoked shuddering muscle spasms in my weary, wobbly legs. I shut out that dread and focused on the will required for one more step.

  I stumbled. What now? No root rose above the path. No stone. No rut marred the way. Nothing. I was tripping over my own feet, my dancer-born determination no longer enough to overcome exhaustion. Nor could it stop the new waves of pain spiking through my leg. Fresh blood seeped through my bandage, leaving an irregular trail of red behind me. Ginerva, my attendant back home, would be furious at this latest setback in healing. But what choice did we have? We’d tried every possible way to reach the ocean. We were committed now. Determined to reach the lake and find answers—all while avoiding the dangers raised by these people and their confusing customs.

  Speeding my gait, I stumbled again.

  Brantley caught me. “Let me carry you. Please.”

  I shook my head. I was already too much of a burden, and I was determined to hang on to whatever independence I still had. My pride wouldn’t let me be carted around like an infant, no matter how many times he offered.

  Brantley slipped an arm around me, taking some of my weight. Even so, our pace dragged, placing us in a group at the rear. The old man from the revel limped slowly but with fierce determination. Harba and Wimmo waddled just ahead of us. She pointed out a gossamer insect flitting near a tree. He laughed and plucked a pink wildflower from the side of the path and presented it to her with a bow and flourish. They seemed determined to savor this time together. Crillo had hurried on ahead with the bulk of the travelers, leaving Morra moody and scuffing the daygrass as if it had become the target for all his frustrations.

  Emerging from a bend in the trail, Trilia walked against the flow of travelers to check our progress. She frowned at my hobbling gait. “Stop. Sit a moment. I can help.”

  I sank onto a fallen log at the side of the trail. The relief was so exquisite, I feared I’d never convince my body to stand again.