SHORE OF GRAVES
AINSLEY SHAY
MIRANDA HARDY
Shore of Graves
Copyright © 2017 by Ainsley Shay and Miranda Hardy
All rights reserved.
Shore of Graves is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the authors’ imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Quixotic Publishing
Shore of Graves / Ainsley Shay and Miranda Hardy. —First Edition
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The End of shore of graves
Also by Miranda Hardy
Also by Ainsley Shay
About the Author
About the Author
1
Another coffin washed ashore today. The death boxes have become a daily occurrence this week. A shudder runs through me as the wind sweeps past, and I wrap a shawl around my shoulders. Perched on the edge of my hut’s porch, I watch the sun peak over the horizon. Soft shades of blue with a burst of orange blossoms. Although I was born here, I’ll never tire of the sunrise or the salty smell of the ocean. It’s almost enough to forget the death lingering nearby.
My brother, Apela, and his minions run toward the coffin on the darkened, wet sand. A thin layer of foamy water sizzles at their feet. Their laughs echo down the beach, and their faces light up with excitement as they near it. The boys wield their prying tools. Bile threatens to rise up my throat, thinking about what they will do in the next minute.
“I hope the cheerful sun greets you warmly this morning, Alania. What do you think they will find today?” Inoa, my brother’s wife, slowly sits next to me while trying to steady a cup of black cocoa. Her swollen belly slows her down. We expect the newborn child within the month.
“Those fools are disrespectful.” I clench my teeth. “Robbing the dead. Don’t they realize whatever you do in this life will haunt you in the next?”
Inoa shrugs. “Yes, but if they don’t, someone else will. Besides, what will the dead do with the stuff?” If she wasn’t my sister-in-law, I don’t think we’d be as close as we are. She’s too easily influenced by my brother.
The waves become heavier, crashing against the sand, moving the dilapidated wood box farther up the shore, edging it to its final resting place. Salt corrodes these rickety homes of the dead. The stage of decomposition differs depending on how long the coffins float on the water. When the ocean’s calm, the corpses appear more bloated, and the stench is awful; but when the angry sea rises up, the bodies arrive with little or no decay.
Today’s coffin holds an adult. Occasionally a child-size box breaches our beach, and those are brutally hard to deal with. Even my brother doesn’t rush to them. Perhaps with Inoa’s pregnancy, he’s developed thinner skin.
The palm fronds float on the wind as the breeze picks up. My hair blows in my face, and I wrestle it into braids on either side, wrapping the ends with a piece of wheat grass to keep them in place. The cool reprieve from the hot temperature becomes a welcome distraction from the horror show preparing to play out before me. The wood creaks. A wave of disgust rolls through me. I close my eyes and imagine their prying tools wedged between the base and lid, their muscles taut as they apply the pressure needed to get whatever the dead should offer them. I turn, pulling myself up. “Whatever they find, I want nothing to do with it.”
Inoa looks up at me, sipping her cocoa. “Are you nervous?”
“Nervous?” I ask. A seagull squawks overhead. My eyebrows arch, but when I see her brown eyes rolled up at the top of her lids, I know what she’s asking. “About turning eighteen? Oh, no, I’m fine,” I lie. It’s been keeping me up at night, but she doesn’t need to know that.
Inoa laughs. “I was nervous, too. But, look at me now.” She looks down at her bulging stomach and rubs the roundness.
I force a smile. The last few weeks have been a blur, and now, in only seven days, the entire village of Molu will be rejoicing at my entrance into adulthood and witnessing my prearranged marriage. Some girls cherish turning eighteen, but I am not one of them. There was a time I looked forward to such events, but now I’m dreading it. Not only will my village be celebrating, but also the neighboring Lanui village will be joining us, as my future husband lives there. A boy my age, whom I’ve never met, will take me from the only home I’ve ever known.
“It won’t be as bad as you imagine, Alania. Being married has its benefits.” She caresses her belly.
“I said I’m fine.” Cringing, I turn from her, hoping to hide the disgust and strain ebbing across my face.
The boys holler. Apela runs toward us, his arms outstretched as he holds something in each hand. I look past him and out to the sea and wonder, as I always do, where the coffins come from. The other boys, Apela’s followers, start a fire: our way of disposing of the dead.
It’s been two years since Apela and Inoa wed, but he still looks like the immature boy who tormented me as a child. He still acts like it, too.
“Another stupid stick figure.” He throws it up on the deck, and it lands at my feet. Smiling, he says, “And, this.” He holds up the round, gold strand with a shell dangling from the center. Without using the stairs, he climbs up onto the deck. He kneels in front of his wife. “A beautiful necklace for a beautiful woman.” He places it over her head and kisses her cheek.
“It’s wonderful.” Inoa holds the shell between her fingers and lets it rest on her chest. “But, what did you have to promise the goons to let you keep it?” She points to the other boys on the beach.
He shrugs. “Nothing.” He leans toward me. “What’s wrong with you?”
I ignore his question. He knows how I feel about his treasure hunts. I pick up the discarded wooden figure and trace it with my finger, one long straight line down, and one tied across it.
“What’s wrong with her?” he asks Inoa since I didn’t answer.
“Oh, you know…nerves. Let’s go home. She will need to start her chores soon.”
He takes her hands and pulls her to her feet, leading her down the steps and leaving me to my own thoughts.
The tied pieces of twigs perplex me. Often, they are tucked into a pocket, or held in between dead, cold hands. What do they mean?
“Are you going to stand there daydreaming all day, or are you going to help me?” Kahanu raises an eyebrow at the bottom of the steps, her hands on her hips and her long, silver braid hanging over one shoulder. Usually, her swishy skirt lets me know she’s nearby, but I was too lost in my own head to notice today.
“I’m coming.” I run into the hut and place the sticks on top of the other one.
“We don’t have much time left to be together.” Kahanu smiles and places her arm around me.
“You’ve reminded me every day for the last month.” My fa
ke, thin smile doesn’t fool her.
“I don’t think I’ll like the boy for the simple fact he’s taking you from me.” She teases, releasing me. The sound of clanking erupts around the camp as the village occupants greet the morning. Fires crackle to life, bringing the promise of a warm meal.
“Why did Haku pick someone from Lanui village for me? Why not a boy from our village? A boy I know?” The question I’ve wanted to ask for some time now escapes my lips. I’ve never heard anyone question the choices Haku, the village leader, has made. It’s an unspoken respect we have each come to know.
Honestly, I’m not ready to marry anyone, and the boys in our village are as annoying as Apela, but I also don’t want to leave my home.
We near Kahanu’s hut before she answers. “Think of the adventures you’ll have, girl. A new place to explore and new people to help. I’ve heard they need a new healer. The one they have is along in years. That’s why the match was made. That, and the fact we are running low on eligible matches here.” She starts the fire while I bring the pot over. She’s right, as usual. Our small village has few my age.
“They could have trained one of their own. Don’t we need another healer here? What will you do without me?”
“Are you saying I’m old?” She smiles, pointing to a bag sitting on the sand.
“No.” I retrieve it for her, and she places the contents in the pot. I inhale the fragrance of lilies and aloe. “Burn ointment?” Lilies mask the aloe scent but not completely.
“The sun seems to be angry these days, or perhaps, people don’t have the sense to stay in when it’s at its peak,” she says.
Kahanu always has a way of putting a smile on my face. She has taught me well, but I fear I’ll never have her humor. She puts people at ease when they are hurt, taking their minds off their pain.
We spend the rest of the day treating minor cuts and burns, but nothing else too serious enters her hut. It’s too bad her hut is so far from mine, but she needs to be in the center of the village. Her hut is the largest, and holds eight beds for the occasional guests, although no one wants that honor.
My hut sits on the ridge, overlooking the ocean, the one closest to the water and farthest from the center of town. Mother loved the solitude and I’m grateful for that. We once shared our home, but my parents have passed on. My mother died from snakebites, and my father of a broken heart.
That day was the worst of my life, one I’ll never forget. I had loved swimming in the ocean and watching the underwater world unfold with my young eyes. The fish would sway with the movement of the waves moving, dashing in and out of colorful coral. I’d tickle the antennae of the lobsters and see them shoot backwards so quickly. Apela would try to catch them, but they were too fast. I had swam too far out that day and the earth shook underwater. The snakes slithered up through the cracks, more than I had ever seen. I screamed and floundered in the water, causing the usually docile snakes to become agitated. My mother reached me, cradling me in her arms as she swam to shore, but not before being bitten by two of them.
The venom spread quickly and there was nothing Kahanu could do to save her. She died on the shore. My father gripped his heart and fell straight to the ground beside her, never to regain consciousness. Guilt creeps into my heart thinking about it. Soon after, Kahanu told me she refused to lose another family member and began training me to heal. I never went into the ocean after that day.
After the long day helping Kahanu, the privacy of my own hut embraces me. Warming by my own fire, I sit on the deck and watch the villagers gather on the beach.
Haku sits by the center, near the community fire ring, and begins the night’s tale. The children sit wide-eyed and ready to hear what strange story he will tell. I’ve heard them all, but I still enjoy listening occasionally. He throws salt into the fire, and the children gasp as blue flames flare toward the sky.
He stands and moves his arms through the air, his long silver ponytail swinging around. The children laugh, and I know he’s telling them about the flying machines that once inhabited the skies. Sometimes, I think even he believes his wild tales.
I examine the two stick figures by the light of the fire. With little effort, I’m sure I can create one of my own.
The sky booms. The starless night looms above us. Black clouds blanket the full moon, starving the light. Instantly, the clouds burst, releasing the fresh water in streams of madness. The villagers grab the hands of children and race to find cover from the angry sky.
The bushes near the hut shake, and twigs snap. Expecting to see an animal emerge, perhaps the masked bandit who loves to steal our village food, I turn. Blinking, I take in the silhouette of two creatures huddled together.
“Help! Please, my brother needs help,” a large, brawny man pleads, holding up another. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. The two faces are the same.
2
Lookalikes haven’t been born in centuries. The rain falls harder and faster, and my quickening heartbeat matches its rhythm. Panic grips me, but the urge to help the injured man overcomes it. I rush to them.
“Here, let’s bring him into my hut.” I grab the other side of the hunched-over man. He weakly moans as we hurry him into my home. He’s heavier than I realized. Using all of my strength, I help place him on my bed. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I’m so sorry, brother.” The well man kneels down and lowers his head to his. His voice breaks. “He’s got the sickness.”
“Sickness?” I rush to get a fresh cloth to wipe the wetness off the sick man’s head. I focus on treating the patient. “Sickness from what? Has he been bitten by something? Stung? Stepped on anything?”
He shakes his head. “No, none of that.”
“Excuse me?” I motion with the cloth, and he moves back. I lean down and dab his face. His forehead burns, and he blinks as he looks up at me. Laying my head on his chest, I hear the crackling and bubbling noises in his lungs.
“Are you an angel?” his raspy voice asks softly, followed by a deep coughing fit.
“An angel?” I smile and shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Can you help him?” The well man asks with concern on his face.
“We need to get the fever down.” I move toward the hut’s entrance. “I need to get some supplies, and then I’ll return.”
“Wait. Shouldn’t we get him in the water? He’ll feel better in the water.”
“No! He mustn’t. Just stay here with him. I’ll be right back, I promise. Do not move him.” I dash through the rain to Kahanu’s hut. She’ll have what the man needs.
“Kahanu?” I burst through the door, wiping my face, water puddles under my feet on the wooden planks.
Kahanu straightens up, holding her chest. “Child, you scared the spirit out of me.” A man groans in the bed she was leaning over seconds ago.
Rushing toward her, I say, “Sorry, Grandmother.” I exhale. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Catching my breath, I blurt out, “Some strangers—in our village—one is sick with fever and his chest bubbles.”
The bedridden villager vomits on to the floor. Kahanu clicks her tongue. “You’re cleaning that up when you’re well.” She places a cloth on his forehead and turns toward me. “Strangers you say?”
“Yes, I’ never seen them before. Maybe they are from Launi.”
“Very well. You know what to do.”
I point to the man on the bed. “Poison stomach?”
“The damn fool comes in like this every time he eats the fish in the shell, but it doesn’t stop him from indulging.” She holds his head up so he can sip from a steaming cup. He winks at me, and I grin.
“I need to get supplies and get back to the strangers.” I cross the room to the cabinet with the herbs and other supplies. “Indigo, silver, and garlic,” I repeat the familiar remedy.
“Why didn’t you bring him here?” she asks.
“He is too weak to walk.” I’m not sure I would have, even if he could move. In less t
han a week, I won’t have her to run to for help. I need to prove I’m worthy of taking the healing position in Launi.
“It must have a strong hold of him. No time to waste. Get moving.” She shoos me away with her hands.
My hand pauses on the door. “I think he’s delusional.” I recall his odd question. “He asked if I was an angel.”
“Angel? Interesting.” She smiles, her cheeks glistening in the dark.
“Aren’t mythical angels supposed to be beautiful, according to Haku’s stories?”
“So he says.”
“One more thing…the strangers have the same face. They are brothers. Identical brothers. What are they called?” I ask.
She half inhales and half gasps. “Twins.”
“Yes! Twins.”
Her smile disappears.
“Is that possible?”
“Are you certain?” She clutches a handful of her skirt.
“Yes, exactly alike. I’ve never seen such similar faces before. So, those stories are true? Brothers born at the same time?”
Her patient bends over and hurls the last of his stomach’s contents on the floor. His urgent movements rip her from the spell-like trance. “Unbelievable,” she says under her breath. “I’ll be over first thing in the morning.”
Dashing out into the storm, lightning streaks across the sky as I race to my home. When I reach the hut, the healthy brother tries to support the sick one as he leads him out into the rain.
“What are you doing?” I yell as I climb the stairs.
Shore of Graves (Underwater Island Series Book 1) Page 1
