Forsaken Island

by Sharon Hinck

  “Wha-what be that monster stirring the lake?” Morra still cowered on the ground, peeking out through the fingers of one hand.

  I laughed. “She’s not a monster. We rode her here to the island. The same way you ride ponies.”

  He dared another look at her. “’Tis the sea lord! I’ve seen her image in our books. But the Every say she be a myth. Has she always been in the lake? Why has she not been seen at convenings?”

  “You wouldn’t have seen her because she lives in the wide ocean. The ocean you don’t believe exists.” I found my cloak and used it to gather the fish. “Come help me get a fire started. We’ll have a hearty meal.”

  Morra eyed the cavorting pair in the lake dubiously, then built a fire far from the shore. The scent of roasting fish eventually lured Brantley from the water.

  I brought him the sealed jar with my message for Saltar Kemp. “Can you direct her to return to Meriel? Will she find your apprentice? Do you think they’ll see this? Maybe we need something bright.”

  He actually quirked his lips at my breathless questions. “Yes, there’s a whistle to direct her, though she may be confused if I give that signal when I’m not on her back.” He brushed wet hair off his forehead. “Wait. I could strap myself to her back for the dive. Perhaps she’d carry me back to the ocean. What an adventure that would be!”

  Still no mention of home, no qualms at leaving me behind. But at least in his zest for risk-taking I saw glimpses of the true Brantley. Not that I’d let him try something so foolish. “It may have taken her hours to travel under the island. You’d drown in minutes. She couldn’t surface anywhere. Unless . . . could she fly out?”

  He scoffed. “She doesn’t fly. She can glide if she catches an updraft. You won’t find that here. Certainly not enough for her to coast overland all the way to the sea.”

  This time his disdain didn’t make me bristle. He was right. It had been a foolish thought. I tied our message to Navar’s halter, right on top where the bump would be obvious to apprentice Teague.

  “You best send her now. We have to find a safe place to camp in case the Gardener returns.”

  He picked up his knife belt, pulling out the blade and testing its sharpness against his thumb. “I’ll get the answers from him that you could not.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That didn’t work so well for you last time. Give Navar the indicator for home. If the saltars believe we’re lost, they’ll allow Meriel to continue on her way, and our mission will fail. They’re counting on us to bring back provisions.”

  Brantley threw me a sour look but unearthed his whistle and blew a sequence of clear notes. Navar’s neck stiffened, and she cast her wide-eyed gaze on me, as if to ask me to explain. I hugged the leathery coolness of her neck one more time and stroked her muzzle. “I know you don’t want to leave us. But you need to get our message to Teague.”

  A new worry struck me. “What if Meriel is already so far away that Navar can’t find it? What will she do?”

  Brantley shrugged. “Return to her pod?” He stood beside me and scratched Navar under the chin. She closed her eyes and gave a low chortle. A wrinkle creased Brantley’s brow, but the hint of concern fled so quickly I believed I’d imagined it. He turned and strode away without a backward glance.

  Navar made a low, plaintive sound. “I know,” I whispered. “He’s not himself. I’m working on it.” With a last hug, I stepped back. The stenella swam in a tight circle around the lake and then plunged into the depths and disappeared.

  Morra, who had stayed well away from the water since her appearance, walked up beside me. “Too bad I’m not being a weaver of stories. Would be quite the tale to share at the revels.”

  “Do you know if the Gardener comes here each night, even when it’s not time for a convening?”

  He scratched his head. “Maybe. Folks be coming here between if they be needing more peace.”

  Peace? Not what I would call it. I looked up the slope to the horses. Brantley was heading their way. “Morra, stop him.”

  The youth tilted his head. “How?”

  “Run. Tell him if he goes back to the red village, he’ll be mocked for losing the race.”

  Morra puffed out his chest. “That be true. I’ll be telling them all how the girl with the limp beat him by outriding him.”

  He galloped up the hill and stopped Brantley from untying one of the horses. While I watched their argument, a movement caught my eye from the green village trailhead. A large figure emerged, barrel chest slumping and heavy steps plodding. When he lifted his chin enough to stare at the lake, I recognized Harba. I waved a greeting, and he clomped down the hill toward me. His arrival must have stirred Brantley’s curiosity, because he and Morra left the horses and approached as well.

  Harba reached me first. I rose onto my toes and lowered. “I’m so glad to see you. How is Wimmo? And the baby?”

  He offered a half-hearted flourish with his bow. “The babe did be arriving.”

  I caught my breath. Had they abandoned the infant somewhere? “Is the child safe?”

  “Yes. It be a fine girl, and Wimmo be wanting to hold it all the time. But Wimmo be having no remembering of me—of how we were.”

  My heart squeezed. “And you still care.”

  He shook his head sadly and rubbed a spot on his barreled chest. “The ache. It be throbbing. I hear her laugh. I think of her smile. I be attached. ’Tis wrong. I be desperate for help from the lake tonight.”

  I grabbed his shoulders. “No. Harba, listen to me. Don’t stay here. You don’t want to deaden that love. Wimmo needs you. The baby needs you.”

  “This be hurting.” He rubbed his chest with a meaty fist.

  Brantley reached us, cutting a cold gaze my direction. The ache behind my own ribs throbbed each time I looked at the man who had once loved me. “I know,” I told Harba. “But we mustn’t give up. Some things are worth the pain.”

  “Speaking of pain,” Brantley said, “have you figured out what you’re doing next? So I can go the opposite way?”

  I lifted my chin. Until now, I hadn’t thought much beyond sending a message back to our home island. Since that was accomplished—at least that was my hope—my next goal was to find a way to get Brantley back to his right mind.

  “You don’t want to go back to the red village right now. You’ll lose status when Morra tells them I won the race.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” He threw his cloak down on the shore near the water’s edge. “You do what you want. I’ll spend another night here.”

  “No!” My shout was so emphatic that Morra and Harba drew back in surprise. I crossed my arms. “We’ve got the ponies. We can reach the green village shortly after dark. Now that Wimmo had the baby, Harba needs help reminding her to care for it. And maybe we can help her remember she cares for Harba.”

  Morra brightened. “Can that work? Could someone’s attachment reawaken?” Then he blushed and rubbed a hand over his mouth, clearly embarrassed to be speaking so openly about a taboo.

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But I know we can’t stay here at the lake. If the Gardener returns tonight, he could numb your soul to nothing.”

  All three men stared at me blankly, and I wanted to knock their heads together. “Morra, think of the tale you could share among your people. They’ll love hearing about the stenella.”

  The youth straightened and nodded toward Harba. “It be true. A creature with the body of a fish and the face of a pony did be swimming in the lake.”

  Harba shot him an incredulous look. Then he studied the lakeside. “I suppose . . .” he said slowly. “If you can help Wimmo, I can wait for my peace.” He rubbed his breastbone again.

  “Besides, there’s always the Grand Convening. Should be soon.” Morra grinned, obviously glad someone was making a decision that would take him back to the girl he admired.

  “Thanks to the Every.” Harba twirled his hands overhead.

  Morra grinned. “Thanks to the Every.”
Then he ran up the hill to fetch the ponies.

  A cloud passed over the primary sun, and a chill brushed my skin. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  Brantley shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll have ample opportunity to learn about the Grand Convening. Enjoy your stay with these folk who have nothing between their ears. I’ll return to the red village.”

  My hurt and fear coalesced into a hard ball behind my sternum, then burned until I could taste bile in my throat. I couldn’t stand seeing this strange version of Brantley any longer.

  “Fine. Leave. Go play games like a child. Forget your mother and Brianna and Orianna. Forget Windswell and all the others in your village who rely on you. Go off alone. It’s what you always do anyway.”

  Irritation drove away his disinterest for a moment. Then he shook his head and gave a dark-edged chuckle. “Safe journeys, dancer.” Every bit of scorn with which he’d ever spoken that word filled his tone. He strode up the hill, mounted his pony, and rode off down the red village path.

  Morra brought me my mount. “Harba and I will take turns on my pony. Shall we go?”

  I held my pony’s reins and stood, paralyzed. Should I follow Brantley? I couldn’t give up on him. Watching him disappear was like feeling my grip slip from a last strand of tangleroot while ocean waves tugged me under. Morra settled onto his mount, and Harba trudged alongside as they headed to the green village trailhead. Wimmo’s baby needed protection—from the disinterest of the villagers and probably from her own parents. If I could help Morra and Harba resist the effects of the convening, perhaps more people could break free.

  I walked gingerly to the edge of the lake and scooped up a drink of water. I had a third choice. I could wait here and confront the Gardener.

  Harba and Morra disappeared into the woods. I had to make a decision. The effort tore at my heart. Loving Maker, what should I do?

  You call on Me, but will you hear? The voice came not from my own mind, yet not quite riding waves of sound in the air. Stronger than a thought, softer than a voice, woven within my heart, yet also beyond me.

  Joy tingled throughout my body. I could bear anything with my Maker present. I sank to my knees, settled back on my heels, and scanned the lake, the slopes of daygrass, the forest’s edge. Would He come as a pillar of light? Would he hover over the water? Awe and longing swirled together. “Where have You been? I’m so alone. Even Brantley can’t help.”

  I am here.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “I see danger, I see choices that rip me apart, I see a barrier that traps me. But I can’t see You.”

  A sigh rustled the upper branches in the trees at the top of the rise. The people of this island can’t see the ocean. Yet they are carried by it.

  I uncurled my fingers where they rested on my legs and lifted my palms. “Open my eyes.” Like the scattered illumination of star rain, pictures tumbled through my mind: Windrider’s smooth gait, Morra’s youthful laughter, Wimmo’s gentle smile, Trilia’s herbs, Navar’s chortle, Jalla’s conversation. Blessings and allies. Gifts to ease my path.

  “Thank You,” I whispered. “You are here. Will You help me? I think I should go to the red village. I have to be with Brantley when the effects wear off. They will wear off, won’t they?” I clenched my fists and looked up to the trailhead.

  You’ve chosen a course and want Me to bless it.

  I was glad He understood. Certainty built. There was really no other choice. Love was guiding me, and love was always the right course.

  You call on Me, but will you hear? He asked again.

  My certainty crumbled like a day-old salt cake. “I should go back to the red village, right?”

  No.

  “You want me to go to the green village instead?”

  No.

  A cold dread looped around my stomach. He truly wasn’t remembering how frail I was. “You want me to stay here and fight the Gardener?”

  No.

  I pressed the heels of my hands against my forehead. This guessing game frustrated me. “Then what? Those are my only options.”

  Can the One who created all worlds also create a new path? But will you hear?

  “Why do you keep asking me that? If You will guide me, of course I’ll listen.”

  The blue village needs to hear truth. The path begins near the large pine on the opposite rise.

  “The blue village?” I lurched to my feet. “Why would You want me to go there?”

  The impression of a gentle smile wafted through my heart. How eager you are to hear My guidance.

  My shoulders slumped. I longed to trust Him fully, yet my first reaction was to resist His path. “I’m sorry. If that is where You send me, I’ll go. But Brantley isn’t in his right mind. Shouldn’t I help him first? If I go to the red village, he can work with me. This mission is more likely to succeed with the two of us.” I realized I was bargaining, but surely He would understand.

  Release him.

  No, no, no, no, no! How could He ask that of me? Didn’t He care? I had waited my whole life without even knowing it to be connected to someone like Brantley. And now . . . “You can’t want me to forget I love him—like the people here do after their convenings. That isn’t Your way. You’ve only recently shown me it isn’t wrong to care.”

  After a quiet moment, He spoke again. I don’t ask you to give ground but to give way. Release Brantley to My care. Trust that I love him—even more than you do.

  As gently as it had arrived, the sense of the Maker’s tangible presence withdrew. He wouldn’t force me. He gave me room to set my course.

  I turned to face the trail that would lead me back to Brantley. Windrider perked up her head and sniffed the air.

  I checked the saddle and mounted, then rode to the top of the rise. I reined her in to a stop, and she strained against the bridle. She had a mind of her own, just as I did. Gathering the fragments of my love and obedience, I turned her head and rode her slowly to the path the Maker had indicated.

  “What will the blue village be like? What will I find there?” I whispered. “And will You promise me that Brantley will not be lost to me forever?”

  Silence answered.

  I guided Windrider past the tall pine and into the woods. Shadows reached their fingers toward us. I squeezed my heels against her sides, and we settled into a canter. If the blue village was a similar distance as the others from the lake, we’d have to hurry to reach it by nightfall.

  From the day I entered the Order as a youngling, I followed a set course. My goal was clear, and every ounce of energy focused on that goal. I advanced through each form as a novitiate, longing for the day I would dance in the center ground as a true dancer of the Order. My drive allowed me to ignore the signs of darkness around me—the cruelty and lies that crept through the Order like cracks in the stone walls. From the time I fled those walls, that clear, direct course was lost to me. I’d run from soldiers, ridden the shore from village to village, and wandered through midrim towns. The Maker led me on a path that wound in inexplicable ways.

  As a novitiate, I understood that each exercise, each class, each pattern had a purpose. Now the Maker asked me to trust Him when I couldn’t unravel a purpose. Why had He allowed me to be hobbled, yet still asked me to dance for Him? Why had this island drifted into view? Why hadn’t He stopped the Gardener from tangling Brantley in the numbing vines? And why was He now sending me to the opposite side of the island from the man who needed me so much?

  As the primary sun lowered, Windrider slowed to a walk. With each clop of her hooves, the questions pounded into my heart. The Maker’s love had opened doors in my soul that I’d never dreamed possible. But could I follow Him now, when nothing made sense? I wanted to. I wanted to give back a fragment of the huge love He’d given me. My trust could be my gift to Him. But offering that faith was so hard.

  “Help me,” I whispered, realizing the irony. I needed to ask His help even to love Him.

  A cool breeze tugged my hair, and I tasted
the citrus tang of the ocean. We were nearing the rim. Perhaps this village wasn’t blocked from the shore by barrier trees. My heart quickened. Maybe that was why the Maker had sent me here. To show me the way of escape.

  I squeezed my legs and leaned forward, and Windrider bounced into a trot. We emerged from the wooded trail on a slight rise that gave me an instant view of the town.

  Cottages and shops, platforms and stairs, all connected into a mass of shapes and forms with moving parts. I slid from my pony, shook my legs to ease the stiffness of a day of riding, and blinked several times.

  My eyes traced a windmill that clacked as it spun, pulling up well water that traveled through wooden pipes and into a trough on the opposite side of the town. How strange. Why hadn’t they simply dug a well at the far end of the village if they wanted water in that location?

  I draped Windrider’s reins over my shoulder, clutched my cane, and walked slowly into town. Whirring, tapping, and clicking sounds assaulted me, and the scent of burning oil hovered in the air. The primary sun’s rays faded, but torches lit the circular paths and bolstered the pale light of the subsun. A woman stood behind a table in an open-sided store, her shirt puckering with plackets and pleats. I wandered closer, trying to gauge her mood. “Greetings. I’m Carya of Meriel.”

  She looked up, and her eyes flashed white. She clutched the collar of her tunic, pinching the row of buttons and a second row of hooks and eyes that seemed to serve no purpose. “How dare you!”

  I took a step back. Was she upset by Windrider’s presence? I should have tied her outside the village. “I mean no offense. I’m a visitor—”

  “Hush!” She pointed to the table and a carved shape burnished with the copper coloring of a fish. The object looked like a hollow sheep’s horn, attached with thin wires to a matching one. She picked up one end and glared at me.