Tales of Noreela 04: The Island (28 page)

She dangled her ground rod in the water and closed her eyes, opening herself to the language of the land. What little she heard was confused. A vague shred of what she knew came through, but it was lessened by a terrible, growing distance. She attempted a light spark, the simplest feat of magic she could think of, but even that did not manifest.

“Nothing?” Kel asked.

“The closer we get to the island, the farther away the magic becomes.”

“Your shoulder.”

She touched the wound where the Stranger’s throwing star had hit her, shook her head. “It’s nothing. Your hand?”

Kel held up his left hand. The blood was clotting, the gash in his palm ugly but no longer bleeding.

“We should start rowing again,” he said. They did, and though the currents seemed to be nudging them southward, Kel did nothing to correct their course. The sea carried them away from the direct path between the island and Pavmouth Breaks, and though they could see no boats traveling between the two, that could change at any moment. If they were spied out there, there would be no escape. Namior did not think Kel could hold his own for very long against a boatload of those metal-clad Strangers.

Though her arms and legs were already starting to burn with the strain, Namior found the rise and fall of waves and the rhythm of their rowing soporific. All her life spent in a fishing village, and she had been out to sea only twice. Both times she’d not enjoyed the journey, and soon into the second trip she’d been sick. Fighting nausea and tiredness, determined not to let him down, she started talking to Kel.

“The Stranger, that metal armor. Have you seen anything like that before?”

“Never the armor. But the Stranger inside, yes. They’re people, but they have…Well, it’s strange. Gills on their necks. And those long things on their backs, like limbs or tentacles. We think they use them to communicate. They always reminded me of beetles.”

“I’ve heard about armor,” she said. Talking helped; the nausea was dwindling already. And she sensed that Kel knew more.

“Nothing like that, though. I’ve seen militia on the borders of the Poison Forests wearing armor of sorts, but it’s
heavy, unwieldy. That looked almost …” He splashed his oar in hard, taking out his frustration on the sea.

“It was like he was made of metal,” Namior said. “I thought that’s what it was when we saw him. A metal man. One of their steam machines.”

“Finely crafted, for sure. The joints were smooth; he could move well. Almost as if the suit was aiding him.”

“But you still found a way in.”

“Yes,” Kel said quietly. Three oar-dips later, he continued. “I think that was a lucky strike. Wedged between two plates, and when he turned his head aside, it pulled the sword in. Lucky. That’s all.”

Namior stopped rowing. The boat turned slightly, and Kel backed water to keep them bow on to the waves.

“There might be hundreds of them on the island.”

“We’ll look from a distance,” Kel said. “I’m not stupid, Namior. I’ve been doing this for a long time. I know how to be quiet, what to look for. I’m trained.”

She looked at him, seeing the man she loved and the man she had never known, and both of them stared back.

“So, the Komadians? The Strangers? Who are they?”

“The people I’ve been waiting for all my life.” He nodded at her oar, and they started rowing again.

“Maybe the Strangers are just their soldiers,” Namior suggested.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking. And if that’s the case, the armor shows they’re readying for a fight.”

Namior’s sense of adventure was quickly being overshadowed by fear. She had always wanted to travel, but her witch training had kept her at home.
Not too long
, her mother had said several moons ago.
A year, a little more, and you’ll be ready. But training half-finished can be dangerous. A witch knows from her ancestors what magic can do, and if you’re left with only that knowledge, and not the ability, it can torture you. So stay, be here with us while we tell you all we know. And then, if you must, you can go
.

Why didn’t you go, Mother?
she had asked.
And your mother, and her mother as well? There must be so much to see out there!

We did
, the woman had replied, surprising her. Namior had always imagined her family as bound to Pavmouth Breaks by unbreakable ties. The thought of them traveling, seeing the vastness of Noreela… it had opened her mind, but also unsettled her.

But you came back?

Her mother had smiled then, nodded, and looked across the harbor from where they sat.
When you see so much of the world that your sense of wonder becomes bruised, and your hunger for more lessens, home is always the best place to be
.

Namior had been unsure of what that meant, but rather than lessening her desire for travel, it had made her more ravenous.

At last the wider world was revealing itself. And it had teeth.

The sea lifted them gently up and down. Ahead of them, the sheer cliffs receded; the narrow beach at their base was little more than a white line of breaking waves. Along the shore to their left, Pavmouth Breaks lay nestled in the mouth of the River Pav. The damage was evident from there; areas of the village built on the hillsides were defined and sharp, while those close down to the sea appeared smudged and indistinct. The spikes of several large ships grew from the sea outside the harbor. They were too far away to see movement, but the village seemed dangerous to them, not like home at all. Namior squinted to try to make out her house, but they all blurred into one.

Kel rowed in silence. He was frowning, and he kept glancing over his shoulder at the approaching island. Namior could almost hear his mind working, and she kept quiet for a while, giving him space to think.

Her fear for herself was matched by fear for her family.
What she and Kel were attempting was painfully dangerous, but her mother and great-grandmother were at home in Pavmouth Breaks, still under the illusion that the visitors were benevolent. At least she and Kel knew the truth. They had come to Pavmouth Breaks, and they were building something beyond the village. The eventual outcome could not be good.

“There are settlements along the shore,” Kel said. “High cliffs, and low beaches. We’ll go around the southern tip, see if there’s somewhere more remote to land. Let’s just hope the tide and currents don’t carry us out to sea.”

“Oh, thank you,” Namior said. “How comforting.”

“Well, at least if they do, you’ll have your desire for adventure satisfied.”

“I’m rapidly starting to reconsider.”

They rowed together, shoulders and arms touching now and then, and Namior realized just how grateful she was to have him with her. They were heading into danger, but Kel had been there many times before.

THE CLOSER THEY
drew to the island, the more nervous Kel became. He rowed while trying to look behind him all the time, and his neck and shoulders ached. He was waiting to be seen, watching for the ominous signs of sails being raised and boats launching to intercept them, and for the first time in his life he was afraid of the sea. The sea’s depths became apparent; if they had to jump from the boat and swim, they would have no idea of what might be lying in wait below. The water could be a dozen steps deep, or six hundred. He had seen the prints of a sea wolf in the muddy harbor, and a disaster so great, washing scores of dead out into the sea, would bring many more carrion creatures. He’d heard countless tales of sea monsters over ales in the Dog’s Eyes, but until then he had regarded most of them as myth.

His weapons felt heavy around his body, but they were tied well. They made no sound. He had O’Peeria’s influence to thank for that.

The island was a rugged place, its haphazard coastline made up of jagged cliffs, steep inlets and low, rocky beaches. He could see signs of small settlements spotting the coastline, but Kel hoped that the farther they went around the southern shore, the more remote landing places might be available. It was hardly a plan, but it was all he could come up with just then.

He wondered what O’Peeria would do in such a situation, and he answered that thought in her voice:
Go to the island, find the bastards’ weaknesses, then contact the Core, however the fuck you can
.

“You’re sure we’re doing the right thing, Kel?” Namior asked, not for the first time.

“Yes,” he said. It was not the time for uncertainty.

Their little boat drifted farther south, and it started taking on water. He had been noticing it for a while, how the sloshing water in the boat’s base was slowly growing deeper, but he’d shut it out. One more thing to worry about. At last, it was becoming obvious.

“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.