by A. Evermore
‘Get to the Main Land…’ the being had said. There must be people still alive, probably never even knowing what had happened here. Ma said to get to the Main Land too. That is what she would do, apparition or no, dream or no, she had to get to the Main Land. Or die trying, she thought grimly. There was no future here and what if those beasts returned? The being said it wasn’t safe to stay, that they would return. And what if she accidentally used that awful magic again by mistake, they would come then for sure. She looked at her hands suddenly horrified by them. No, she wouldn’t do that again, not knowingly anyway.
Raw thoughts of her mother and fear of black Dragons drove her from the hard bed. Her whole body still ached but not as painfully as before. She hobbled on stiff legs over to the apples and made a breakfast out of fruits and jam crackers. As she ate she remembered the raven with a pang of guilt and sadness. It can’t have survived the Dromoorai. It had lost its life for hers; no animal she had ever known had done that. Why did the bird come to her? What did it mean? When she got to the Main Land she would find a wise woman or man to tell her. She bit firmly into the apple, she would get to the Main Land, all her hopes lay there.
Issa spent the rest of the morning opening the remaining crates and boxes whilst the sunlight filled the room. As she hefted the axe to wood again and again she made her plans to leave. What provisions to take, how long she might be at sea. She quickly realised it was going to be a very hard endeavour, especially for someone who did not know how to captain a boat.
By the time the sun was high in the sky and no longer streaming through the doors Issa had been through every remaining crate and barrel. She had found a thick pair of brown riding trousers, a wide blacksmith’s belt, and the smallest man’s shirt she could find, though it was still baggy and long and she would have to roll the sleeves up. The underlinens were also men’s but good enough for now. She had found a better leather jerkin that was too big but useful as another layer and maybe even some kind of armour, but she did not indulge the last thought for too long. She decided to try and wash before putting them on.
There was a box full of oiled fishermen’s raincoats that reached past her knees, waders that reached almost to her neck, galoshes big enough to fit both feet in one shoe and hats with long flaps dangling down to her chest; all nicely reminding her of an arduous and treacherous journey ahead. Still, she took two of each in the likelihood of bad weather at sea; at least she could keep warm and dry even if she looked ridiculous. Besides, she thought sourly, who would see her anyway?
Further meticulous searchings revealed no women’s clothes except a lined box with two heavily laced and frilly white wedding dresses. Luckily one was far too small and the other big enough to hide a horse. Her eyes travelled over to the opposite section of the building where the ceiling had collapsed and crushed the crates beneath. She sighed forlornly, that would be where the women’s clothes were.
She left her new clothes just inside the blackened doorway and rolled over two barrels that had survived her axe. She put food and clothing into them, using clothes to protect the glass jars of jam and pickles, and battered down the lid securely with the axe butt.
But what about tools and weapons? She went back downstairs and collected a spoon, knife and fork and two short paring knives, the largest she could find, from the box of kitchen items. She imagined brandishing her tiny knife up to the slavering Dread Dragon and swallowed hard. She picked up the axe again and instantly felt better, as if the axe could somehow defend her against a Dragon bigger than three houses.
If only there was a sword or bow, not that she knew how to use those either, they just seemed more menacing. Though blackened by fire the blade was still sharp and good, and would make an attacker think twice, she reasoned then gave a satisfied nod and clumped upstairs. She filled the lantern to brimming and tightly screwed the oil can closed, hoping it would be enough. The last thing she needed now was water.
She could not find any water skins but there was a horse’s saddlebag with a half filled water canister inside. She wondered who it had belonged too but when her eyes fell upon a pile of ash and blackened stirrups further to the back of the room she turned quickly away.
There were also large empty metal jars for holding fresh milk; she could fill them with water from the well outside. She stood in the shadow of the doorway, just out of the golden sunlight. Scanning the empty sunlit cobbled streets, her heart began to thud in her chest. The thought of stepping out from the safety of the storehouse filled her with dread. It wasn’t just fear of Dread Dragons in the sky hunting her but the silent streets devoid of people. To delay would be foolish; she would need water eventually anyway.
She took a deep breath and stepped out into the sunlight and stopped, overwhelmed by the sense of vulnerability. She forced her feet forwards, her eyes locking on to the half crumbled well several blocks ahead. Her footsteps on the cobbles echoed through the streets, the only other sound was the blackened debris from boats bobbing gently up and down in the harbour creating the muffled sound of splintered wood scraping on the sea wall. There were no gulls calling or dogs barking. Issa swallowed hard against the fear, breathing fast and shallow. She could not help thinking that her feet would be the last to walk these streets ever again.
Focussing her mind on the task at hand, Issa pulled up the bucket chain with shaking fists. The wheel used to turn it was crushed and useless. The water that came up was surprisingly clear apart from a few bits of black wood, which she picked out. A tentative taste told her it was pure and untainted. She thanked the Goddess for the small blessing, realising again how little she had ever thought upon the Source of All, or given thanks for things which she had always taken for granted.
Issa splashed the cool water on her face and bared the cold long enough to wash her hair and body as best she could under clothes and without soap. As each smear of grime washed away she felt her mind being cleansed as well. With the water canisters full she struggled back to the storehouse and set them down next to the two barrels of her belongings. She peeled off the damp aprons and pulled on new clothes. With everything else done she moved on to the hardest task of all.
For some reason she had assumed there would be a nice small boat complete with sail and tiny cabin waiting for her, but as she surveyed the wreckage her heart fell. There was not one intact boat floating. She would have to do something she had been dreading: search boathouses. She looked up at the devastated city that stretched gently upwards from the harbour. It was as if a giant rolling pin had flattened the entire port, every house was either a crumbled building or a blackened scar or both.
‘I have to try,’ she said aloud, dismayed at the sound of her trembling voice. She swallowed down another lump. There would be bodies… but what if there was no boat? The last worried her far more. She picked up the small knife, slipped its leather sheath into the many metal rings upon her blacksmith’s belt, and grabbed the axe on her way out, gripping it tightly in front of her with two hands.
Her dread turned out to be unnecessary and her search fruitless. All the boats appeared to be in the harbour floating as debris or crushed under fallen roofs amongst the piles of black ash. She kept her searches to the front row of buildings, or what was left of them, any further away and there would be no way of getting a boat to the harbour, not even a small one. At least close to the harbour she could use the many ropes and pulleys tangled about the place.
As the sun began to sink in the sky her hope sunk with it. She slumped against the eastern harbour wall and rested her forehead against the cold hard stone. The constant scrape of wood against wall and the absence of any other sound ate at her. Surely there had to be survivors somewhere! She clenched her eyes shut against the tears and punched a fist against the rock, scraping the skin raw. She was never going to get off Little Kammy. The thought of leaving scared her but she shuddered at the thought of living out her life in the harbour storehouse.
Issa trudged up the steps to stand atop the eastern
harbour wall and walked along it out to sea. At its end she sat down and hugged her knees to her chest, staring north-eastwards at the horizon. The sun to her left was beginning to turn orange in a cloudless sky. It was going to be a fabulous sunset, which was why she turned her back to it.
The flat profile of Bigger Kammy was clear in the distance, all gently sloping green hills and white bays. Given only distance and without tide or wind she could probably swim the channel in a couple of hours, but with the tide she would probably never make it and only get swept out to sea. With a boat, even a small one, she could row across, with a sail it would be even easier. Island by island she could hop towards the Main Land, replenishing her supplies along the way. It would be a long journey but, who knows, maybe she would meet others, fishermen returning from months at sea or big merchant ships. Anything could happen if only she could get off Little Kammy.
Her eyes fell from Bigger Kammy, the land of hope, to the seaweed covered harbour walls. She jumped to her feet with a gasp. Just below the steps that led down to the beach was an over-turned boat, its hull of green paint the same colour as seaweed and it was half submerged which is why she didn’t see it before.
Issa ran down the steps to where it bobbed in the water and scraped the pebbled shore. Rope tied it to a large metal ring in the wall, keeping it from floating away. It took some effort to untie the heavy wet swollen rope and in the end she had to cut it. She heaved the boat inch by inch onto the shingle. It took all her strength and several tries to right the boat. She collapsed down next to it panting and crying in relief on seeing the boat was whole and not splintered. It was very small, only big enough to fit a couple of fishermen with a full net of fish and there was no sail. But then again she could not manage a bigger boat. The oars were gone but they were in abundance floating in the harbour.
Issa smoothed back her hair and grinned, suddenly smelling the fresh ocean air filled with the scent of freedom. She retied the boat to a ring further up the shore and headed back to the storeroom, catching the last glorious red rays of the sun as it finally slipped into the ocean. In the fading light she salvaged three small oars from the harbour, one for a spare, and left them on the cobbled stones. She would rise at first light, roll her belongings into the boat, and set off forever.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Colour Of Magic
The dawn came filled with rainclouds, marring Issa’s mood and dampening her spirits. She stared up at the thick grey clouds, the kind that hung around for days with not even a breeze to blow them away. It would make for calm seas though. The thought brightened her mood. One thing was for certain; she was leaving here whatever the weather. She could get to Bigger Kammy at the very least.
It took some time to roll her barrels across the harbour, heave them up the steps with rope and lower them, step by step, down the other side. Sweat rolled down her back by the time the last barrel was in the boat and a cold drizzle had started. She pulled on her fisherman’s coat, waders and galoshes. The cold material stuck annoyingly to her damp clothes and body, making her sweat even more under the layers.
Feeling thoroughly uncomfortable, Issa dragged the boat inch by inch across the pebbles to the water’s edge. Gritting her teeth and growling in annoyance at the weather, her damp clothes, and the damnable heavy boat, she pushed and pushed with all her strength until it finally began to lift in the water. One more push and it was free of the shore.
She jumped awkwardly, falling half in half out the boat. Heaving her legs over she landed in a heap beside the barrels as the boat rocked violently. Wiping strands of sweaty hair back from her face she grabbed two oars, stuck them through the oar hoops, and began rowing away from the shore and harbour wall. It was slow going since she didn’t know how to row.
‘Bloody oars!’ she cursed when they kept slipping in the water and her barely-recovered shoulders had already begun to complain. Lodging her feet against the barrels she shifted around trying to find a more comfortable position. Issa had watched fisherman row past the cove she swam in many times and she tried to mimic them.
After a while she found a rhythm that was slow enough not to tire, though she had to ignore the ache in shoulders. She also discovered how difficult it was to row whilst facing backwards but soon the distance between her and Little Kammy began to increase.
Half an hour later Little Kammy seemed far away but when she looked over her shoulder, Bigger Kammy was just as far. She sighed, it looked so close on land, but in the sea the distance seemed much further. Still she had to keep on rowing now and thank the Goddess the sea was calm. Issa tried not to think upon how far her journey was and how hard it would be to get to the Main Land.
After another half-hour or so, the drizzle turned into sheets of rain so thick she could no longer see either island except for brief glimpses between the curtains of water. The boat was steadily filling with rainwater but she refused to let it worry her just yet.
‘The rain won’t last,’ she said between gritted teeth. But it lasted longer than she had hoped, forcing her to use the bucket she had grabbed on her final walk through the harbour. Bailing it out and scrabbling with the oars to maintain course was almost impossible.
Finally the rain became a soft drizzle and breaks of lighter coloured cloud brightened the day. Issa stared over her shoulder trying to make out where she was. Despite being little wind the tide was strong, as it always was between islands, flowing ever northwards. She had moved from her intended course and now Bigger Kammy was appearing over her left shoulder and not behind her. She had intended to row along the southern side of the island but had been forced to the north. Still, perhaps the current was less strong on the northern side and at least she wouldn’t get pushed onto rocks, she thought.
Issa altered her course and angled back towards Bigger Kammy, hoping to spend the night on Little Kammy’s bigger sister. But as the rain stopped a northerly wind picked up. It was a mixed blessing for whilst the clouds began to scatter and breaks of sunlight dried out her boat, she could not row against wind and tide to get nearer Bigger Kammy. The island kept moving further away despite her struggles. She moved slowly along the northern coast and out to sea.
‘Argh,’ she cried and slammed the oars into the boat. Gripping the fisherman’s jacket she wrenched it off and threw it down too. Lashing up the oars she renewed the effort, heart pounding with exertion and sweat rolling ceaselessly down her face and stinging her eyes. Half an hour later her arms were burning and her back cried out for rest.
‘Come on!’ she cried, trying to calm the assailing panic. ‘Come on!’ but Bigger Kammy only bobbed up and down moving further into the distance. She yanked on the oars but they slipped suddenly in the water and she slammed back into the hull. ‘Please!’ she cried, sobbing into her hands. She kicked the side of the boat until her foot hurt, the ravaging frustration rolling through her exhausted body.
Annoyed with the tears, she finally sat up. Bigger Kammy was now further away than it had been when she was on the shores of Little Kammy. She pulled the oars into the boat and sat there drifting. If she could not beat the tide on a calm day then there was no beating it, she reasoned.
Issa opened the food barrel and pulled out a plum. It tasted dry and sour but she forced it down needing the energy and with it came a sense of helpless calm. She laid her head on her arm and watched Bigger Kammy slowly fade upon the horizon until it was a thin grey sliver of land. Soon that too vanished and hope with it.
The wind blew stronger and then faded away, the rain came again and went, but Issa did not move, not even to put on her raincoat, and instead sat in the new pool of water in the bottom of the boat. She drifted in hopelessness, somewhere between sleeping and daydreaming.
The warm sunlight falling upon her turned slowly from yellow to orange. Her clothes and the pool in the bottom of the boat had now dried out a little. There came a strange sound from far away but she ignored it. The sound of wood scraping on stone came again and she realised it was that and not
the changing sunlight that had brought her round. Thinking it was her imagination she ignored it and carried on staring blankly out to sea. And then it came again, a bump followed by a scrape that definitely was not her imagination. She lifted her head. Bump! She sat up, her back creaking painfully as she did so, and turned around.
Her jaw dropped as her eyes fell upon the smooth grey boulders that the boat was rubbing against. Following the boulders, around to the right was a tiny sandy cove, no bigger than two lengths of her boat, beyond which were tall sea grasses and stubby green trees, much like those upon all the islands round here.
Issa thought of the maps at school and remembered trying to count the hundreds of tiny islands dotted all around the Isles of Kammy and beyond. Most were tiny, little more than clusters of rocks, and very few of them were inhabited. There was definitely no other populated island anywhere near the Isles of Kammy so this must be a Wild Island as they were called.
The raucous cacophony of sea birds settling down to roost told her that this was probably so. She lay back with a smile; the sound of living creatures breathed life into her weary bones. The presence of birds told her that the Dread Dragons had not come here, and that thought alone brought the tears again. The whole world had not been destroyed and somewhere out there people carried on living normal lives.
The sun disappeared behind a cloud and she shivered in the sudden cold. It was getting on towards evening. She would spend the night here and work out what to do. She grabbed the oars and eased her shoulders into rowing towards the cove. Once there she jumped out, splashing noisily in her galoshes, and dragged the boat up as far as she could onto the shore, using the rope tied at the bow to secure it to a tree stump.
When she was done the sun came out again, big and orange and low on the horizon. She fathomed there was about an hour until it set completely and maybe another half before complete darkness. Issa scanned the tree line. On the smaller islands there were sometimes lighthouses or basic huts, though a lighthouse would be visible from here. Still, it was worth looking for a simple shelter that might be better than sleeping in her raincoat.
