Forsaken Island Read online

  “She’s not going to sink. Navar is a stenella, not a stone. You really haven’t gotten over your fear of the water, have you?”

  Fear? It was common sense to be intimidated by the vastness of the waves. I swung my arm outward. “All this emptiness.”

  “Exactly.” His teeth flashed in the darkness. “Space to breathe. To think.”

  My lips quirked. “You would look at it that way. And what grand thoughts do you harbor when you’re out herding?”

  Brantley grabbed my arm. “Hush!”

  I stiffened. Was he objecting to a little friendly conversation to pass the time?

  He sprang to stand, every muscle tight and alert. “Hear that?”

  Faint murmurs lifted from beyond the barrier of plants. Brantley crouched and tapped a silent signal to Navar. She eased closer to the island. A trilling laugh rose above the other sounds. None of the creatures in our forests made that noise. I leaned out, reaching toward the saplings. “It sounds almost like—”

  A piercing melody skipped up and down a scale, while a drum added a beat.

  “People!” Brantley gripped my shoulder so I wouldn’t topple into the water.

  We were drifting on a weary stenella, a half day from safety, with no way to retreat. Yet in spite of the way my heart pattered nervous triplets with the drums, I drew an eager breath. “We have to find a way through those vines.”

  The lithe trees along the shore braided around each other, interlocking roots disappearing below the shadowed surface. Was there truly no way past them? I eased onto my knees, then managed to stand on Navar’s back with precarious balance, fearful that in her weary state a sudden wave might make her flinch or rock, plunging me into the unending darkness below. My toes curled as if to dig in to her smooth hide.

  From deep within the island, another peal of laughter lifted toward the stars. I faced the snarl of trees, confronting the impenetrable barrier.

  Brantley drew his knife and grasped the closest sapling. “I’ll get us in there.”

  “Wait!” I grabbed his arm. “You can’t start hacking at everything.”

  “Why not?”

  I huffed. “Give me a minute.” I leaned forward and touched one of the trees, the trunk smooth and cool to my palm. A breeze tossed some of the willowy branches, and they brushed against my face and the bare skin of my arms. My nerves tingled.

  Brantley shifted his position and held my waist with one arm, steadying me. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “That’s helpful.” His sarcasm bit, likely stirred by frustration, so I forgave him. At least he fell silent.

  Eyes closed, I felt the pulsing of the roots pulling in nourishment, the swishing bend of branches, and the clenching grip of trees weaving around one another. If this were a rhythm played out in the center ground of Meriel, what would the dance pattern look like?

  Encumbered by my wounded leg and the limited space on Navar’s back, I began with a small gesture. I moved my free arm in sinewy shapes that curled over my head. Brantley gave me room but kept one hand on my hip to steady me.

  Like a heartbeat, the gentle thrum of life provided a rhythm for the barrier trees and for me. I joined their subtle swaying. Part of me was still conscious of my narrow perch and the warmth of Brantley’s body behind me, but I was also immersed into the foreign dance of this new world, as the trees played with the wind and rode the swells.

  Instinct guided me more than dance training. When I released the tree, I still resonated to the deep, inaudible rhythm of the forest. Continuing to sway, my arms carved forward and open, all without losing the tempo of undulating life.

  Before us, two of the saplings unwound and eased apart, revealing a mat of tangleroot. I smiled at the welcome and stepped forward. The rich, woodsy scent surrounded me.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” Brantley yanked me back, almost casting me off the far side of Navar. The trees wove in and apart uncertainly but continued to beckon us forward.

  “Stop that.” I found my balance and brushed his hands away. “I’m finding a way in.”

  “You mean your”—he flittered his fingers in a mocking gesture—“dancer stuff works way out here?”

  I pinched the space between my eyebrows. “I was about to find out.”

  “You can’t plunge in there without me.”

  “I wasn’t plunging anywhere. And there’s nothing to be afraid of. The trees are welcoming us.”

  He scoffed but tucked away his knife. “Let me go first.”

  “Maybe you should wait with Navar. You make it harder for me to concentrate.”

  His teeth flashed. “You never mentioned that before.”

  Warmth flared across my face. I chose to ignore his teasing and stepped onto the waiting mat of weeds. The springy surface bounced, inviting me to join the playful actions of land and flora. In a few more steps, a cluster of saplings blocked my progress. I laid my hand on the smooth bark and listened again. Beneath the rhythms of living and moving, a deep and mournful voice called to me. “Forgotten.”

  I gasped and pulled my hands away.

  “What is it?” Brantley’s whisper sent his hot breath across my ear. He had joined me on the path.

  “Nothing.” I didn’t want to stop and explain. With most of my weight on my strong leg, I traced a new pattern, letting ripples roll through my torso and out my fingertips. More trees parted, and I limped forward. The tangleroot surface merged into a covering of dirt, and still I walked inland, Brantley a restless shadow at my back.

  Once more, laughter rang out straight ahead. Through the thinning branches, hints of light flickered. I rested timid hands on the trees again. The inaudible voice repeated a distant thrum: Forgotten, forgetting, forsaking.

  The ache of the Maker’s heart pulsed through me, and I curled forward. Perhaps Meriel was not the only world that had made Him grieve. What would that mean for our expedition? Had He brought me here for a reason beyond providing supplies? I tucked the notion away to ponder later.

  “What’s wrong?” Worry wove through my companion’s taut whisper.

  Why hadn’t he stayed with Navar? This wasn’t the time or place to debate about the Maker’s voice, so instead of answering, I crept ahead to a small gap in the underbrush. Brantley crouched beside me as we peered inland.

  Several huge bonfires crackled and poured light onto a wide clearing covered with daygrass—an area large enough to hold half of Windswell village. A huge kettle hung over one of the fires, and even from our distance I caught the spicy scent of herbs mingling with savory meat and sweet ocean water. Sizeable buildings, mostly two-story, rimmed the clearing. Built from twisting tree limbs, they rocked gently as waves rolled underfoot. Unlike the rim cottages of our world, these didn’t even creak from the constant shifts.

  Near one of the bonfires, music makers played wooden pipes and drums on a raised platform. One man embraced a carved frame strung with thin boughs like those that dangled over our heads, but stripped of their leaves and stretched taut. He plucked them in an ever-shifting harmony, the tone rising sweetly over the other sounds.

  My jaw gaped at the beauty and strangeness of the village, but the people themselves made me catch my breath. Men and women moved around the clearing in robes with wide sleeves that flared like wings. Golden embroidery caught the light and reflected against the rich crimson, azure, and emerald fabrics. No one wore the headscarf of a dancer, and their hair displayed a startling variety of shades and shapes. Elaborate braids framed the faces of many of the women, loops dangling down and pulled up again to pile atop their heads. A few children skipped around underfoot despite the lateness of the hour. Their cheeks were full and bellies plump, a startling contrast to the gaunt and weary faces we’d left on our world.

  The musicians paused to confer about their next piece, then struck up a new song. Beside me, Brantley’s fingers moved as if he were playing along on his whistle. The men in the clearing sang out, “No need for sadness, celebra
te gladness, create and savor, taste every flavor.” The deep voices made the whole forest resonate.

  Because of my years in the Order, music still overwhelmed me, and I pressed my hands near my ears, not wanting to miss anything, but ready to mute the volume if needed.

  A woman in the group selected one of the men and took his hands, her voice caroling above in an echoing descant. They moved in a mirror of each other, gliding to the side, circling, arms changing positions in unison. The wide, bright sleeves exaggerated the movement, creating the appearance of birds in flight. One by one the other men and women found partners until the whole clearing spun with glorious movement and song. I’d never seen anything like it. This chaos and color was a startling contrast to the white-clad dancers of the Order, who were carefully uniform. Nor was it like the gatherings in the rim villages, where the more daring indulged in a bit of playful music or dance.

  My muscles flexed, and my chest expanded. After watching their patterns long enough to remember them, every corner of my soul drew me with a desire to join in.

  Brantley’s hand on my shoulder tugged me back; I’d begun to inch forward without realizing it. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

  I dragged my gaze from all the beauty and crouched beside him again. We had no plan for this. We’d expected to gather a bit of food, load a raft, and bring it back to Meriel. “Let’s go ask them for help. Clearly their world provides them with plenty.”

  Brantley snorted. “It’s been my experience that those with the most wealth are least likely to part with it.”

  While we argued, the song ended. Laughter broke out, friendly embraces ensued, the musicians left the platform, and adults swept the few children into their arms and headed inland toward the tall buildings. A lanky man scooped remnants from the large kettle, while a woman banked the fire, leaving the last logs to glow and crumble. The tang of woodsmoke tickled my nose and stirred memories of camping in the midrim while fleeing the Order. The villagers’ flickering torches illuminated teasing glimpses of their homes inland: gilded carvings, winding staircases leading to upper stories, hints of paths and gardens.

  I straightened. “We’re losing our chance.”

  Brantley yanked me down. “We’ll wait until morning.”

  “Meriel is drifting farther away. The odds of finding our way back grow slimmer by the hour. And you want to delay? That’s ridiculous.”

  “We don’t know what weapons they have. We don’t know how they’ll respond to outsiders.” His grip on my arm tightened, as if trying to infuse me with his memories of attacks and swords and death.

  “Whatever we’ll face, waiting won’t help us.”

  “Navar needs rest. If we have to escape, we need her to be able to outrun any pursuit.”

  His worries coiled in my stomach and slithered up my throat. “Do you think these people ride stenellas too?”

  “We don’t know. That’s my point. In the morning we’ll be able to watch them and decide how to approach. Follow me.”

  He strode back the way we’d come, leaving cool air to swirl around me, raising goose bumps on my arms. I cast one last rebellious glance toward the fading flickers of torchlight and the villagers settling into their homes. His arguments were logical. Frustratingly so. I scampered to catch up to him. “Promise me you’ll let me approach them in the morning. You’re too . . .”

  “Confident? Persuasive?” he asked helpfully, a swagger in his steps.

  I fought back a grin. “I was thinking tactless and intimidating.”

  He scoffed but held back a low branch so I could duck through. “We’ll stay on Navar for the night.”

  My shoulders slumped. Every muscle ached from riding all day, and the back of my ankle pulsed as if shards of glass slid back and forth across my tendon. “Couldn’t we make camp on the—”

  The howl of a creature overhead rose and then fell with gibbering cackles. My lips pressed together. No more arguments from me. I hurried after Brantley and scrambled onto Navar’s back, tucking a hand under the harness. We would face the unknown when the primary sun appeared.

  “You plan to sit like a High Saltar at the head table all night?” Brantley’s husky voice indicated that he had settled close behind me.

  I relaxed my spine a bit, keeping my death grip on the harness strap.

  He wrapped his arms around me, coaxing me to lean back. His chest welcomed my body with more comfort than a mattress ticking, and his warmth surrounded me.

  What was I doing? I shouldn’t encourage our growing closeness. He was an untamed rimmer who had spent his life herding fish. I had grown up as a novitiate in the Order, perfecting my skills as a dancer and pledging to forsake all attachments. He was bold and brazen. I was trained to follow instructions without question. Our one common bond had formed when we agreed the Order had become corrupt, but even then we’d pursued different paths to bring change.

  Yet, sinking deeper into his arms, I felt a rare sensation of belonging. A happy sigh escaped my lungs, even as my eyelids drooped. Dearest Maker, please, if there is a way to make this work . . .

  The strange noises from the island, the gentle rocking movement of Navar, and the scent of sweet ocean and unknown vegetation all combined into a disorienting lullaby. A soft smile curved my lips.

  Brantley adjusted his grip on me and rested his chin against the top of my head. “I wish I’d brought more weapons.”

  Weapons? I bristled. More proof that our approaches to life were incompatible. After watching the villagers dance, I was positive the people of this island were friendly. Tomorrow I’d prove that to Brantley.

  The primary sun drew streaks of amber and mauve across the ocean, illuminating the trees and vines. What had appeared menacing the night before now seemed lush and inviting with its varied shades of greens and browns. Navar stretched her long neck upward, then swiveled to blink at me.

  “Good morning to you too.” I stroked her sinewy neck and offered my palm. She nuzzled my hand, her skin cool and smooth as leather. Then she chortled a greeting toward Brantley.

  He groaned and rubbed his back. He couldn’t have slept much, sitting upright on a stenella all night. Even so, his eyes brightened as he looked inland. He rummaged in his pack and handed me a saltcake. “No one attacked us in the night. That’s a promising start.”

  I frowned at him as I chewed. “Why do you insist on expecting the worst?”

  He reached down and scooped up a drink, then wolfed his saltcake in a few bites. “Expect the worst and you’re ready for anything.” Dusting crumbs from his tunic, he launched to his feet on Navar’s back with the smooth balance born of a lifetime of riding the waves. Sunlight glinted off the pale stubble on his jaw, and he grinned. His hand slid reflexively to the longknife in his belt.

  I rose awkwardly to my feet and faced him. “Or imagine the best and do all you can to make it happen.”

  “Sounds like one of the Order’s proverbs.”

  The rebuke pinched. Had I really not shaken off their indoctrination? “I’m not in the Order anymore.”

  He pulled his gaze from the mysterious island and studied me. “I don’t suppose you’ll wait with Navar while I go in and scope out the situation?”

  I stepped to the nearby tangleroot rim, grasping one of the saplings by the path for support. “You suppose correctly.”

  Instead of further argument, he laughed and joined me on shore. The trees had not knitted back together. They remained drawn apart far enough to provide a narrow path, although if they decided to close again, we’d never find a way back to the sea. Plant life barred us in every direction save this one, oppressive, humid, unyielding. If green had a scent, this was it. Rich, heavy, and salty, as if the plants were sweating. I quickened my steps to reach the clearing.

  We stepped into the open field, expecting to greet those we’d seen dancing there the night before, but were greeted by silence. I took a few tentative steps toward the remnants of a bonfire. The sharp odor of burnt charcoal lingered
. “Where is everyone? The primary sun has been up for a while.”

  Brantley scanned in all directions, even examining the sky above the distant buildings. “Maybe no one wakes until the subsun rises.” He pointed to a grove of persea trees lining one side of the clearing near us. “At least there’s fruit to gather.”

  I crossed my arms. “They don’t belong to us.”

  “So what’s your plan, dancer?” He rubbed the back of his neck, then rolled his head to one side, small bones cracking in protest.

  I could show him a dancer exercise that would ease his stiffness, but I doubted he’d appreciate my suggestion. Instead, I waved toward the houses. “You wanted to lurk and observe, but there’s nothing to watch. Let’s walk to the buildings and look for a matriarch’s home. We can introduce ourselves.”

  He grasped my elbow and drew me into the shadows under the persea trees. “If they react badly, we will be outnumbered . . . and surrounded.”

  “So what’s your plan?” I shifted my weight to my good leg and jutted my chin at him.

  He waggled his eyebrows. “Watch for the stray that leaves the herd.” His eyes held the gleam of a forest hound on the hunt. I’d seen this man whittle toys for his niece, agonize over the wounds of his stenella, and tenderly embrace his mother. Yet the untamed wildness of his nature never fully left him. I shivered, unsure whether it was with fear or attraction.

  He snatched a low-hanging persea, pried away the bumpy skin, and offered me a piece. Despite my earlier scolding, I was sure the villagers wouldn’t begrudge visitors one little fruit. I savored the creamy texture on my tongue. The rich flavor was familiar, but an astringent aftertaste lingered that reminded me I was on a different world. “It tastes . . . younger.”

  Brantley swallowed his bite and met my eyes. Laugh lines deepened. “Look.” He gestured past the first rows of trees. Stretching inland, every fruit-bearing tree I’d ever seen—and many I hadn’t—flourished. Their limbs bent with bounty. Neglected fruit even littered the ground beneath.