by Tim Lebbon
“Namior …” he said, but she already knew.
“I’ll bail, you row.” She knelt before him and started scooping handfuls of water out over the sides. He shifted along the seat a little, grabbed her oar and started rowing again. They moved slower, but at least the water level soon seemed to drop.
They were south of the island by then, and Kel was quite certain he could see no signs of habitation there. So he turned the boat’s side to the waves and started rowing against the currents and tides. His earlier joke about drifting past and being carried out to sea came back to haunt him.
The rowing was hard work, and with the sea battering the craft side on, looking back at the island was more difficult. Namior glanced up now and then, looking for him. “Closer,” she said every time. “Getting closer.”
He could feel the weight of the island at his back, a dreadful gravity pulling him in. If he stopped rowing, it would work with fate to draw him on. They were set solidly on their course.
“We’re almost there,” Namior said at last. “Let me help again, we need to find somewhere to land.”
Kel shifted along the seat and glanced back. That part of the coastline was heavily wooded, almost down to the shore in some parts, and there seemed to be no easy places to land a boat. That was probably why there were apparently no settlements there, and it would work to their advantage. He saw beaches of rock, mud and exposed tree roots, and Kel wondered what the island’s constantly shifting placement would do to its geography. He had no comprehension of the mysterious forces involved in shifting something so huge, but the rough and random shorelines must be part of the result.
“It won’t be easy.”
“Sea’s not too rough close in,” Namior said. “We should spot the place we want to land, then try to row against the current for a bit, let it guide us in.”
“So is this an expert talking?” he asked, smiling.
“No. Common sense.” She grinned, and a wave broke against the boat, sending spray across her face. Spitting, Namior settled beside Kel and they started rowing again.
They saw a place where the spray seemed lower, and the waves less violent when they broke, and decided to head for there. Kel thought Namior’s idea was a good one, so they turned the boat and struggled against the waves striking the island at an angle. After an exhausting time edging along the coast they turned again, giving their stern to the waves and trying to control their route with the oars. They managed to maintain their aim, and the craft rose and dipped sickeningly as it began to hit the breaking waves.
Kel looked to shore, scanning the tree line, searching the shadows beneath for glints of metal or pale faces. They still seemed to be alone.
At last they beached on a spread of muddy sand and tangled tree roots. They hauled the boat up the slope, out of the surf and away from the prying eyes of anyone sailing by. They had to move along the beach before they could drag it in amongst the trees, turning it so that the bow was aimed at the sea. Then they both collapsed onto the soft ground, gasping, sweating, and finally hearing the roar of the sea without suffering it.
Kel kept alert, listening, scanning the undergrowth, smelling the air. There could be anything here, he thought. It’s a new island, a new world… anything. He stared into the tree-tops and saw no monstrous forms lurking up there. The trees themselves did not seem overtly alien, though he could not identify the species. Birds sang somewhere out of sight, and something scratched a constant song behind them in the jungle. It sounded loud and large, but it reminded Kel of the small, finger-length hoppers on Noreela that could make so much noise with only their hind legs.
On Noreela… The phrase sent a shiver through him.
“We’re somewhere else,” Namior whispered. She sat up, scooped a handful of wet, gritty soil, and sniffed at it. “Smells the same.” She picked a frond from a low fern. “Feels the same.” She stood slowly and looked around, staring up the gradual slope where the beach gave way to wild growth. “But it isn’t the same.”
Kel stood as well, so close to Namior that their arms touched. “No. Not the same at all.”
There were no signs of habitation anywhere, current or historical. There was movement and noise, but the sounds of nature seemed undisturbed by their presence. Kel rested a hand on his short sword, but right then it was not needed. Nothing came at them from between the trees, no one called. They were alone.
Namior took out her ground rod and pressed it into the sandy soil. She knelt beside it for a beat, eyes closed, then looked up at Kel and shook her head.
“There’s nothing,” she said. “Not even a background whisper. It’s as if magic never existed.”
“Only here,” Kel said, because he could see how disturbed she was. Her eyes were wide and her face had paled, and she looked left and right. “And we won’t stay for long. Come on. We’ll be careful, but we have to move. Along the coast, I think. Staying close to the sea until we reach one of their settlements, then we’ll hide out for a while and watch.”
“Are you going to try one of your Core communicators?”
He shook his head. He only had two left, and they were too precious to waste. Noreela will depend on one of these sending its signal. He touched the small bag in his pocket and felt less at ease than ever.
THEY MOVED UPHILL and inland, because the ground close to the sea was wet and boggy. Spray from breaking waves washed through the air, and occasionally a larger wave would surge higher than normal, sending a small swell of water up into the woods. The ground vegetation at the shore was sparse, and the few hardy plants that survived there had thin leaves and thick stems. Their stems were spotted with white boils, and Kel guessed it was salt absorbed through their roots.
It was no real coastline. There were no defined beaches, no dividing line between types of vegetation, and the trees close to the sea had their great root networks exposed by water action. The roots looked fresh, and on their way in Kel had seen the water muddied each time a wave struck the shore. It was a new coast, formed days ago when the island first appeared. Perhaps older coastlines had been buried beneath the sea. The idea that the island was shrinking with each movement or manifestation was troubling; Kel could understand how desperate the residents of such a place would become.
A hundred steps from the sea, in amongst the trees, the slope of the land lessened, and the air was free of spray. They headed east, back toward Noreela and the part of the island where they had seen settlements along the shore. Kel went first, senses alert, mouth slightly open to aid silent breathing and good hearing. If one of the metal-clad Strangers came at them, at least he knew what they were, and where lay the weak spot in their armor. If more than one came at them …
The reality of what was happening struck him, so hard that the breath was knocked from him and he went to his knees. Namior was beside him, holding his shoulders, asking what was wrong. Kel held up his hand.
“I’m okay,” he said. “Thinking.”
Thinking about his time in the Core, all the training, the scant information about Strangers passed down from generation to generation, the threat the Core believed the Strangers posed, the theories about where they had come from and why they were in Noreela, the long periods of waiting and the brief moments of excitement when a Stranger was discovered, tracked and killed. O’Peeria, and her strange Shantasi ways. She had been a very soulful woman, but brutal when the need arose, and she grabbed life by the hair and whipped it around to her own liking. There he was, discovering the Core’s greatest fear, searching an island of Strangers and invaders for he knew not what, unable to contact and mobilize the Core because magic had been put to sleep … no one had ever expected that, nor anticipated it, because magic had been with them for so long, ever since the Year of the Black sixteen centuries before. It was as much a part of everyone’s life as breathing.
For every Stranger they had found and killed, there must have been more that somehow returned to the island, bringing with them everything they had learned o
f Noreela, and all the vulnerable points that could aid invasion. We rely on magic so much, Kel thought. And it’s the first thing they take. He realized that, much as the Komadians seemed to rely on whatever strange power drove their machines, to do what they had done must take some far greater magic than he or Namior could hope to understand.
Once back on Noreela he had to get away, and see if the abuse of the land’s powers extended beyond the Komadians’ beachhead.
“Kel?” Namior said again.
“We’re at the center of everything,” he said. “You and me, we carry so much weight. Can you bear it, Namior?”
“Together we’ll have to.”
“Yes, together.” He thought of O’Peeria, and wished she were still alive. Her death had been his fault, and he would never convince himself otherwise. But if he failed Noreela, that death would have been in vain.
“We’ll be fine,” Namior whispered into his ear, and she kissed him on the neck. How she knew what he needed, how she was so attuned to his moods and thoughts, he did not know. But he was glad.
They moved on. Kel found new confidence in his step and new purpose guiding his thoughts. He was Core again, enemy of Noreela’s enemy. And he had already drawn blood.
THEY CAME TO a small ravine, cut into the land by a stream gurgling down from inland. There was a gorgeous array of red, purple and yellow orchids there, as well as rushes that swayed and hushed with the water.
Kel paused in the tree line for a few beats, concerned at the open space they had to cross. It seemed silent enough.
“Good job,” Namior whispered. “I’m really thirsty.” Kel was going to protest at drinking water from an unknown land, but if the water was dangerous to them, then the air would be as well, and the gentle touch of plant fronds, and they would already be doomed. Besides, the thought of a drink was good.
They climbed down the ravine’s side and approached the stream.
Namior froze. “Do you see it?”
Kel crouched and drew his sword, left hand hovering close to a throwing knife on his belt. He looked around quickly, but he saw no danger.
“What?”
“The stream. Something… strange.”
He looked at the stream and all he saw was the running water, sunlight sparkling from its surface, flies darting to and fro above it, and lush grasses and reeds growing in clumps along its banks. Some of them swished in a gentle breeze. None of the flies spotting the air were larger than his little fingernail. Nothing else moved.
“I can’t see,” he said, frustrated now. “What is it?”
“Part of the stream isn’t flowing.”
“How can—?” And then he saw. Twenty steps from them, a stretch of the stream seemed painted and motionless. It was maybe eight steps in length, and above and below it the water surged and splashed, moving quickly in its race for the sea. It was like a painted version of the scene, perfect in every way, yet home to neither movement nor sound.
And then it did move. The stretch of water shifted sideways, revealing the true stream underneath. As it shifted it changed, transforming from the texture and color of water to the spiky, sharp edges of lush green grass. Still eight steps long, it seemed to flex across the ground and whip through the grass like a gentle wind.
“What in the Black is that?” Namior muttered.
Kel saw the eyes opening. Small, black, they appeared at the front of the shape, piercing through the image of motionless grass. They were lifeless and emotionless, and he had never seen their like.
“Namior—” he began, but then the thing opened its mouth. The growl was unsettling, a low rumble that Kel felt in his stomach rather than heard.
It came at them, the images across its body flickering as it passed grasses, ferns and stones. Its mouth hung open, red and deep and spiked with long, sharp teeth. It had no need to camouflage its insides, nor its intentions.
Namior jumped to one side and Kel stepped into its path, launching a throwing knife and plucking another from his belt as the first struck home.
The creature roared and veered away, climbing the ravine’s side and hanging there. It merged with the bare earth and occasional mosses, invisible but for the protruding knife and the blood flowing from the wound. Kel could hear its breathing, fast and heavy. He held the other knife at the ready.
“Let’s go,” Namior said.
“I should finish it off.”
“It’s a wild thing,” she said. “And amazing!”
“And if it follows, it’ll creep up on us amazingly quickly as well.” He plucked the small crossbow from his belt, primed and loaded it, never taking an eye from the creature hanging on the ravine wall. He could just make out where its head was turned back, deep black eyes staring into him.
He aimed the crossbow between those eyes. The thing did not seem to flinch.
“Kel,” Namior said, but she sounded resigned.
“We can’t take the risk.” He fired the crossbow. The animal shrieked, the bolt disappeared, then the creature slid slowly to the floor of the ravine, claws carving deep gouges in the earth and rock wall. As it slid and died, the colors and textures of its skin changed rapidly, passing through several states before resolving into an even, dark green.
“There it is,” Kel said. “Would you really want that thing following us?” Dead, the creature was revealed. It was a long, wide lizard, almost twice the length of the tallest man. It had vicious-looking claws on strong legs, and across its back were hundreds of spiked, bony protrusions. Kel’s throwing knife stuck from a fold of skin behind its head, and there was a wound just above its left eye where the bolt had penetrated. It had swirls and angular patterns on its sides, and they could have been painted there.
“Do you think it was wild?” Namior asked.
Kel moved closer, bending to look at the markings. It was difficult to tell whether they were naturally formed. “Don’t know. We should move on quickly, just in case.”
“Just in case its owner is out there somewhere?”
After Kel retrieved and cleaned his knife, they climbed the other side of the ravine and slipped between trees, continuing their journey toward the part of the island facing Noreela.
Kel tried to see everything differently. A branch swayed in a breeze, leaves fluttering shapes and colors down at him, and he paused, trying to discern the shape of the creature hanging there. But it was just a branch, and they were only leaves.
Namior said she was hungry, but though there were bright red fruits hanging from one particular species of tree, Kel did not want to risk eating any. He’d spent enough time traveling in Noreela to know that sometimes, plants gave out attractive signals to intentionally kill potential predators. In a strange place, caution was essential.
After seeing the lizard-thing emerge, they had not even dared drink from the stream.
“Are you keeping track?” Namior asked. “If we have to come back this way in a rush, will you be able to find the boat?”
“No problem,” Kel said. “The Core—”
“Is there anything they didn’t train you to do?”
“Wood carving.” Kel grinned, as much in pleasure that he could still joke, as in response to Namior’s own smile.
WHEN THEY HEARD the first voices, they were passing through a glade of pink-and-white flowering trees, the colors and hues seeming to affect the air itself. The grass there was long and soft, the trunks smooth and slender. Kel was looking for trees that were not trees, but he saw only beauty. An irrational anger simmered beneath his appreciation of the place. His friends were digging in mud for their dead relatives, yet on Komadia there were places of such splendor and peace.
The voices came from ahead of them, low and unconcerned. Someone laughed. Kel fell to his knees, trying to locate the exact direction of the voices, looking around to see where they could hide. Namior was down beside him, pointing away between the trees at a movement she had seen. She moved close to Kel and cupped her hands around his ear.
“
I’m sure they’re moving away.”
Kel nodded, because he thought so too. He stood and ran, crouched down, to a thick-boled tree at the edge of the glade. He heard Namior following him.
Through the trees he saw four people walking along a path in the forest. The path had been worn down over time, a wide, smooth spread of dry soil, broken here and there by protruding tree roots. It must have been used frequently.
Two of the people were Komadian, indistinguishable from those who had stepped ashore in Pavmouth Breaks. Their clothes were similar, their faces pale, hair long and tied by several metal clips down their backs. Another had dark skin and short hair, and intricate black tattoos swirling across her bare shoulders and down her arms. She was quieter than the rest and walked with a graceful purpose.
The fourth person was blue.
Kel squinted, in case the sun was dazzling him and confusing his vision. But the sunlight was filtered by the many leaves and blooms above, landing around his feet in softened, gentle tones. And he heard Namior’s gasp as she saw the short man.
His skin was a very light, pale blue, his hair blond and long, and he walked with the same casual gait as the rest. He laughed, talked, gesticulated with his long arms. He was not ill at ease, and the others treated him like one of their own.
But blue skin… I
Nothing else about him seemed so peculiar. He was shorter than the others, though not surprisingly so, and lightly built. He gestured at the air as he spoke, as though painting shapes on the atmosphere of the forest. Kel could hear his voice, and it was deep and melodious, the sort of voice that would attract attention around any campfire—
But his skin is blue.
Kel and Namior watched the people disappear along the path, drawing farther away with every step, then passing out of sight behind a fold in the land.
“We’re imagining the same thing,” Kel said. “We must be. No one has blue skin.”
