Forsaken Island

by Sharon Hinck

  Rescue him, dear Maker!

  I gently touched his cheek. He hadn’t bothered to shave since we’d arrived on this island. His beard had passed the point of being bristly and was a light velvet coating on his jaw. I caressed his face once, then lowered my hand.

  His rigid shoulders softened.

  Only then did I speak. “Yes, I’m still here. We’re in this together, remember?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to push off thick cords of tangleroot. “I threw myself into the games. And I won most of them. But something . . .” His ribs contracted, the confusion swirling again. A boy sitting among the broken pieces of a favorite toy.

  My heart ached for his loss. I had to find a way to call him back. Perhaps his confusion showed a crack in the Gardener’s control. Perhaps I’d finally be able to reach him.

  I’d once tamed a forest hound simply by joining his movements, creating a new dance that soothed the dangerous beast. Drawing from that experience, I copied Brantley’s posture. He sighed, and I echoed the sigh. He took a few steps toward the lake, and I mirrored him. When he cocked his head toward me, I offered my hands. Frowning, he slowly took them. We’d danced together at the green village revels. I stepped closer into that comfortable posture. I hummed one of the melodies I’d heard many weeks ago in Windswell. Music had been forbidden to novitiates of the Order, so my throat rasped as I struggled to find the notes.

  The corner of Brantley’s lips quirked upward. His rich baritone took over, singing a lilting story of sea and herders and families and broad horizons. When he repeated the chorus, I joined in shyly. We began to circle each other. We pulled in and away, slid several steps to one side and then the other. He’d looked clumsy astride his pony, but now he moved with grace and confidence. Soon he scooped an arm behind my back and spun me off the ground in a wide circle that left me laughing. We abandoned the dances we’d performed at the revel. He guided me in movements that spoke of his village, his family, the years of striving, of celebrating, of community. The song he sang came from deep memories, rich with connections to all those he loved.

  As we danced, the tightness of his back softened. The light in his eyes grew more natural and familiar. Our movements built a new connection between us. Our hands linked. Our gazes joined.

  The song finished, and I leaned toward him, peering into his eyes, scarcely daring to breathe. Who are you now, my love?

  He shook his head, bemused, and released my hands. “Something has been . . . wrong.”

  I bit my lip. The coldness had left him. Did I dare hope? “Yes. Ever since the Gardener—”

  “The spores. The thorn.” He pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. “I fought it, but it swallowed me. As if I were drifting in the sea and there were no currents to draw me home.”

  Every minute of his inner conflict and suffering played across his face. My heart constricted for his pain. “And now?”

  He touched my face. His eyes brimmed with life again. A rueful smile tugged his lips. “You still have remarkable power in your feet, dancer.”

  I laughed. “And never a better reason to dance a change into being.”

  His eyebrows slid together. “Much is still foggy. Why did I leave you here? I remember someone saying cold and horrible things. Did I—?”

  I placed my hand over his and leaned into his palm that cupped the side of my face. “It matters not. Let it go. We have plans to make.”

  He gave me one, long searching look. “It does matter. I hurt you. The last thing I ever wanted to do. I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. The Gardener—”

  “Forgive me. Please.” Gravel rasped in his voice. He held me as if he couldn’t move until he had my absolution. I wanted to brush aside all the hurt without truly confronting it. How much of his indifference and coldness had come from some core inside him?

  I swallowed. “Yes. Of course. You’re forgiven.”

  He paused, measuring my sincerity. Then in that practical way he had, he nodded, completely trusting the matter was past. “You’ve learned how to get through the barrier trees?”

  I shook my head. “No, but the Maker wants me to prepare the way for Him to walk among the people of this world.”

  He scowled, and for a moment I feared he’d slipped back into the disdain he’d shown for me while under the Gardener’s influence. But when he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, I realized the scowl came from worry, not disdain. “Let me guess,” he said. “This will involve danger and sacrifice.”

  My lips twitched. “Your favorite things.”

  “Not when I have to watch you face them. What are you supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Better and better,” he grumbled.

  “We can trust the Maker.” I stepped closer, resting my head against his chest, and welcomed the way his arms circled me. “If nothing is done, the people of this world will destroy themselves.”

  He squeezed me protectively. “Sounds like a problem for the Maker to solve. Why does He need you?”

  I smiled, drawing warmth from Brantley’s embrace. “He doesn’t need me. He offers me the gift of serving Him.”

  “He could pick someone else once in a while.” But there was no heat in the words. He gave me one more squeeze, then stepped back and scanned me. “This world has been hard on you.”

  I shrugged, hiding how warm his concern made me. I probably looked a mess, with twigs in my hair, dirt on my bandaged ankle, scratches on my arms from time in the underbrush. But he looked far worse—bruised, torn, and seeping blood. “You should talk. What brought you here? Did they run out of bandages in the red village?”

  He barked a laugh. “Something like that. They didn’t like a stranger winning contests. And a longing drew me.”

  “To be close to the only glimpse of sea we have here?”

  “That. And perhaps a deep part of me remembered the person I want by my side when everything goes wrong.”

  I blushed. “It’s good to have you back.”

  “What’s our next step?” His gaze skimmed our surroundings.

  “From what I’ve learned, all the villages will gather here at the next star rain. It’s called the Grand Convening.”

  “More of the same? Odd people doing odd things, but in greater number?”

  “Something like that,” I parroted him.

  He laughed again.

  I would happily spend the rest of my days making him laugh—however many days I was granted. “I made a camp just inside the forest’s edge. Hungry?”

  He rubbed his stomach. “Always.”

  I led the way, newly self-conscious of my heavy limp. I had managed to forget my bad leg when Brantley and I danced, but now my awkwardness shamed me again. His arm slid around my waist, subtly supporting me as we climbed the hill.

  The lean-to branches covered the nest I’d made with my cloak and pack. He immediately jiggled one of the supports, causing dried leaves and pine needles to shower down. “Carya, how did you expect to defend your position with this flimsy shelter?”

  I bristled. “I was trying to stay out of sight.”

  “This wouldn’t even protect you from rain.”

  I raised my chin. “I didn’t need protection from rain.” A careful spin and a flourish of my arm showed him I had my own way of dealing with problems.

  He grinned. “I forgot. And I didn’t mean to criticize.”

  “Oh, yes you did. You can’t help yourself. But I don’t mind.”

  And I truly didn’t. He could fuss all he wanted. Every tiny thing he did that once irritated me had become sweet as seawater and welcome as the morning suns.

  Instead of grabbing fruit, he immediately gathered more branches and shaved them with his longknife. As the suns heated the ridge, he tossed aside his vest and kept working. I sat in the shade and stitched the worst tear in the leather vest for him, while he built a sturdier campsite for us.

  When he was satisfied, he f
lopped down and accepted a juicy lenka from me. Staring out at the lake, he leaned forward. “How long have you been here?”

  “About three days, why?”

  “Any sign of Navar?”

  “No. I tried to make a whistle but failed.”

  “I’ll go to the water’s edge and call her.” He grabbed his whistle from his pack, then hesitated. “If you think that’s a good idea?”

  I smiled. “Absolutely. We’ll be able to see if the people of Meriel got our message.” A sobering thought hit me. “What if the jar and message are still tied to her? Would that mean our island is too far out of reach? That we’ll never get back?”

  “One step at a time,” he said.

  I nodded. As he set off toward the shoreline, I grabbed my walking stick and followed. After losing him for so long, I couldn’t bear to allow any distance between us. I joined him on the tangleroot, settling beside him and once again dangling my feet in the water. He stretched onto his belly and blew a call into the water.

  When he sat up, he pulled off his tunic. “Care for a swim?”

  He knew I feared the water, but here the vastness was contained. This part of the sea didn’t spread into the horizon. The border of tangleroot all the way around gave me a sense of safety. Until I thought of the unending depths beneath this lake. A shudder rippled through me. Still, he was a man of the ocean. To fully join him, I wanted to share his affection for the water. Or at least try. I wanted to show Brantley my love while I had the chance, because I suspected I might not have much time left with him.

  Back on Meriel, I’d given my life to the Maker’s purposes. Although I still wasn’t clear how to prepare the people of this world for His visit, the Maker had warned there would be a cost. I suspected it would take sacrifice—an ultimate sacrifice. I wouldn’t speak of that to Brantley. Not yet.

  “I’d love a swim,” I declared, enjoying the surprised lift to Brantley’s brow.

  We frolicked like two copper fish. The water welcomed and supported me. When a surge of current rose from the depths, I rode it with laughter rather than screams of terror. Although our swim was lighthearted, Brantley kept a careful watch on me. Once, when I choked on a swallow of water, he was beside me in an instant, guiding me to the tangleroot edge and pounding my back.

  Besides helping us feel clean and refreshed, the swim had an added benefit. The healing water washed blood from Brantley’s leg bandage, and no more seeped through. The persistent throbbing in my tendon also eased. We shared more fruit and lingered at the side of the lake, watching for a ripple to announce Navar’s arrival.

  When the primary sun sank behind the ridge, we retreated to our camp. Brantley stoked a small fire, even though we didn’t need the warmth. “How long before this Grand Convening you’re waiting for?”

  I bit my lip. “I’m not sure. Back at Meriel, I never noticed a pattern to the star rains’ arrivals or kept count of days. I’d know it was nearing time when stars swelled in the night sky. Sometimes I’d taste it in the air.”

  “The tang.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, bracing his back against a tree. “Once I was a day’s journey out on Navar when star rain fell. The taste in the air is even stronger out at sea.”

  My spine melted into Brantley. I could stay here forever in this warmth, sitting by his side, studying the tiny flames and watching the subsun settle toward its bed. “One day when this is all over, I want to watch a star rain out at sea, with you by my side. Do you think such a thing is still possible?” Or would my assignment on this world rob us of that chance?

  He angled his head toward me. “Before we met, I’d have said the odds against us are stacked too high.”

  “And now?” I searched his gaze, so near. So confident.

  “Now I know better than to underestimate your ability to leap over all the stacked-up odds in your way.” Brantley’s lips found mine, gently speaking his love through his touch. When our lips parted, his breathing was ragged. “Oh, dancer . . . how could I ever have forgotten loving you?”

  I wrapped my hands around the back of his neck and answered with an enthusiastic kiss of my own, but he jerked away. Had I done something wrong? Was I supposed to feign reluctance?

  “Hear that?” He sprang to his feet.

  Still muzzy from our embrace, all I heard was blood rushing through my ears. I reached a hand toward him, wishing to coax him back to my side. The air felt suddenly cold without him. But he misunderstood my intent and pulled me to my feet. Frowning, I wobbled. “What are you—?”

  He clamped his palm over my mouth.

  Over the rustle of a rodent deep in the underbrush, a rapid pounding sounded nearby. Brantley silently smothered our small flame and drew me deeper into the shadows.

  Every muscle clenched as I braced my hand against a tree and squinted toward the sound of pounding feet. Brantley squeezed my shoulder—whether in comfort or as a reminder to stay still, I couldn’t tell. Not that a warning was needed. This world had deepened my instinct for caution. If we stayed here much longer, I’d be as alert as Brantley.

  A wave rolled beneath the island, stirring the trees. At the trailhead a short distance from our camp, a man stumbled as the hillside bobbed. He caught himself and continued his awkward jog toward the lake.

  “It’s Morra,” I whispered.

  “What’s he doing?”

  The young man who had once welcomed us amiably to his village now paced the shoreline, tugging at his hair, beating his chest, and muttering to himself.

  I sighed. “Looks like his quest failed.”

  “What quest?”

  “He went back to the green village to win the heart of a girl. Not an easy task here.”

  Brantley cocked an eyebrow. “I can relate.”

  I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “You won my heart long ago. It’s not my fault you forgot.”

  Morra plopped down at the shore and stared toward the last rays of the subsun as it brushed the treetops. Sitting cross-legged, he began to sway in the strange movements his people had used in the convening.

  I grabbed my walking stick and hurried down the slope. Brantley dogged my heels. “What are you doing? Don’t get close to the lake now. It’s almost dark.”

  Brantley had every reason to fear the Gardener and the damage he could cause, but we had enough time to coax Morra away from the shore. I couldn’t leave the youth there to conjure an extra dose of the Gardener’s “gift.”

  “Don’t call him!” I shouted to the young man.

  Morra sprang to his feet and delivered a formal bow, one leg stretched in front of the other. I rose to my toes and lowered. He offered a friendly smile, until he remembered his purpose. Then a scowl scudded across his brow. “Don’t interrupt. I need the Gardener’s help.”

  “That’s just it. You don’t. The Gardener is only here because people traded away their ability to love long ago. The Maker gave me a vision and showed me the time before.”

  Morra snarled. “You don’t understand.” None of the friendly greeter remained in his visage. Rage hardened the pudgy lines of his face, just as it had before he’d attacked a man at the revels.

  “Carya, back away.” Brantley stepped closer, hand to his weapon.

  I blew out a sharp breath. “No. Give me space.” I eased closer to Morra, copying his posture. Dance had cleared Brantley’s mind. Could it work again with Morra—at least to deter him from his purpose? His shoulders hunched forward, his lips formed a tight line. His arms wrapped his stomach as if he’d eaten spoiled meat. The youth’s suffering was easy to read. Gently, slowly, I lifted my shoulders and watched as his moved a fraction. I reached out to him, and he loosened his grip around his middle to take my hand. Cloudy eyes met mine, and I swayed with soft waves tickling the earth beneath us. As if I were teaching a second-form novitiate, I coaxed him to mirror my movements. Inch by inch, I eased him from the water’s edge where the Gardener’s vines had enmeshed the people who called for him.

  Brantley’
s posture was less soothing. He snapped his head side to side and glared at the tangleroot. As Morra and I moved up the slope, Brantley backed away from the lake, protecting us. “Hurry,” he urged.

  Morra stopped, our connection wavering. “What are you doing?”

  I threw a frown toward Brantley for interrupting us, then gave a comforting squeeze to Morra’s hand. “I’ve learned so much about your world. Come up to our campsite so we can talk.”

  I’d once watched my friend Starfire coax a honeybird to her finger. Any flinch would startle the creature to flee in a frantic flutter of feathers. I sensed the same tension now. One wrong word or move could send Morra back to his original purpose. I kept our progress careful and deliberate. Violet tinted the sky. A forest hound howled. From across the lake, the throaty cackle of a welfen beast threatened all in hearing. Thankfully, Brantley didn’t interrupt our slow process again.

  When we reached our campsite, I coaxed Morra to sit, his back to the lake. He pulled his hand free and rubbed his eyes. “It’s dark.”

  “It’s all right.” I settled across from him, relief turning my body limp as blood rushed back into knotted muscles.

  “But the Gardener . . .”

  “You decided not to call him tonight. He’s not there.” I glanced at Brantley.

  He leaned out and scanned the entire shoreline, then nodded. “No sign of him. Thank the Maker,” he added under his breath.

  I blinked. Had my companion actually invoked the Maker’s name in gratitude instead of irritation or accusation? I tucked the moment away to think about later.

  “Morra, why were you so upset when you arrived?”

  His fist clenched over his heart. “I tried to remind Crillo of our pact, but she no longer cares. I need the Gardener to erase the pain.”

  I shook my head. “It’s the convening that makes her unable to love. I don’t know her true feelings for you, but I know that erasing your ability to care is not the answer.” I explained every detail of my vision outside the blue village, and also the hints the Maker had given me about my purpose here. For once Morra didn’t automatically dismiss my words. He scrunched his forehead into tight puckers.