The Island of Excess Love (4 page)

In spite of the layer of filth, the missing teeth, and the beard he's grown, obscuring most of his face, I recognize him. It's Merk.

Though Merk saved my life more than once, he's still part of the pain.

He was best friends with both my parents but slept with my mother just before she married my dad and got her pregnant with me. My dad accepted me, Merk's child, as his own but banished Merk from our lives. Then Merk went to work for my dad's enemy, Kronen the Giant maker, the mad scientist whose world-ending experiments my father was trying to expose.

Merk must be the one who brings us food and supplies but I still don't fully trust him. Seeing him now it's clear why. He looks like this one actor I remember from Then who played the crazy in all these movies. He had this ragged grin and these eyes that just pinned you down dead-butterfly-under-glass style, and even when he seemed calm you didn't know if he was going to snap and go off on someone, spittle flying.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, pulling my shirt tighter around my body.

“Is that any way to greet your father?” Merk says. His voice is slurred and I wonder if he's drunk. “Your gift horse.”

“You scared the shit out of us. Why couldn't you have knocked?”

He raps his knuckles on the kitchen table and Argos lets out a ferocious bark that makes my ears ring. Our little watchdog hasn't really stopped with the low growl this whole time.

“Can you call off the dog, there? Jesus.”

I squat down and whistle for Argos to come to me. Ez, Ash, and Venice are in the room with us now. There's a large sack on the floor and our eyes wander to it; we're all wondering if Merk brought us food. I can almost hear the collective growl of our stomachs. Only Hex and Argos don't seem to be thinking about breakfast—they haven't taken their eyes off Merk for a second.

Merk opens the sack and places things on the table—bars of soap, cans of beans, protein bars, jerky, coffee. If you count how Merk has brought me food, you could say he's saved my life more than three times. After the Earth Shaker he came to our house with his men and gave me the keys to a van full of supplies, but it was that one chocolate bar he handed me, when he discovered me in the basement, that I remember most. The sharp snap of the squares and the way they melted into the only sweetness I had left in the world.

I know the pre–Earth Shaker energy bars will taste like rubber and the jerky will be rock hard but I'm grateful for the grams of protein they provide since our diet of fruits and vegetables is lacking. My fingernails snag and peel easily, my hair breaks, and my skin always looks pale.

Hex, Ez, Ash, Venice, and I each eat a protein bar as slowly as we can manage and give Argos a piece of jerky (he doesn't even try to take it slow). Then we all go into the living room where we can see the ship bobbing in the water outside. It reminds me of a hand puppet operated by a drunken puppeteer.

“How fortuitous,” Merk says, gnawing on a piece of jerky. His nails are lined with grime and he smells a little like a wet dog. “I came to tell you to leave and here's the way you will.”

My pulse accelerates to a hard thumping in my throat and wrists. What does he mean? After my last journey I vowed never to go away from home again unless I absolutely had to. My friends and brother and I survived the Earth Shaker, the Giants; we've proven ourselves. I don't need any more adventures as long as I live. But then I think again of my dream, my mother telling me to leave.

The Aeneid
lies out on a table. Merk taps its cover with his middle finger. “Good book.”

“Can you get to the point?” Hex says. “We appreciate the food but why are you really here?”

“Let's head out to that ship tomorrow morning,” says Merk, squinting through the window. “I'll tell you there.” His eyes looked half crazy before but now there's something else in them that makes my heart feel like a stone sinking into the roiling sea. It's the dark spark of full-fledged madness.

That night I can't sleep, the image of those eyes burning my brain tissue, so I get out of bed and tiptoe to Ez and Ash's room.

“Are you awake?” I ask.

Ez sits up, then Ash, their two heads—one long-haired, one close shorn—silhouetted against the window.

“Not at all,” Ash says sleepily.

“Can I come in with you?”

Ash pats the bed and I hop in between them. It's too warm and smells of sleep but I don't mind; I'm glad to have their company. “Hex went to sleep in, like, two seconds,” I say. “He loves this adventure shit. It's Ambien for him or something.”

Ez shnuzzles down beside me. “Not me.”

“Why'd you have to bring up that book? He's addicted to it,” Ash says. I don't admit it, but I'm becoming more than a little preoccupied with
The Aeneid
too. “And by the way, I'm not up to founding a new civilization anytime soon.”

“I'm just glad he isn't reading
The Iliad
. It's
all
about the wars.”

“We better confiscate the shelves.”

“Only pretty, dreamy books,” Ez says.

Ash agrees. “Tell us a story tonight, Pen. We need one.”

“I don't know,” I say. “I haven't been feeling very inspired.”

“It's better than having to carry a weapon and check out some weird old ship,” says Ez.

“Good point.”

Ash puts his arm around my shoulder. “I'll sing to give you some inspiration.” His voice is as angelic as if it really did come from the throat of the winged creature in Ez's painting and as I sit back and close my eyes it takes me away.

*   *   *

An island with black quartz sand glittering down to the sea. Tall trees grow just up from the beach. The sky is a blue we haven't seen since before the Earth Shaker. In the distance is a building gleaming as if it's made of semiprecious stone.

But something is happening.

Now the sky is filled with lethal black smoke and the trees have fallen, felled by some great storm.

*   *   *

I've never smelled anything in my visions before but this time I reach to cover my nose and mouth from the imagined stench. Something is very wrong here.

I remember what Venice said about stories helping us envision the action we should take. But it doesn't seem like this vision will help my friends, who only want to sleep well tonight. And it certainly won't help me. So I just tell Ez and Ash about the first part of what I saw—the blue sky, the sunshine, the quartz palace. I fill it with silken dresses, mythic-themed paintings, goblets of nectar, and plates of figs, cheeses, and cakes. I make the floors inlaid stone depicting roses and suns and moons and eyes. I give myself my missing eye back and I add someone else, a pale, muscular man with a crown made of antlers like the man in my last two dreams.

“He sounds dreamy,” Ez says.

Ash playfully slugs him. “What's this place called?”

“The Island,” I say, without thinking. “The Island of Excess Love.”

 

3

 

THE TROJAN HORSE

 

W
E STAND AT THE SHORE,
Venice holding Argos, and Ash, Ez, and me armed with knives. Hex with his sword. Merk has a rifle. I'm not a fan of guns in the hands of men with crazed eyes and I sort of wish he'd left it behind. I think about those schoolchildren that madman killed back Then. Just marched into the school and shot them multiple times. This world seems insane but in some ways it's not that much different from before the Earth Shaker. The day of that shooting I thought the end of the world had come. So it's no surprise we're all where we are now.

But Merk's gun was the thing that convinced Ez and Ash it was safe enough to explore the ship, and as anxious as I am, I know it's better to understand what we're dealing with.

Up close I can see that on the prow is a wooden figurehead of a rearing horse, eyes rolling in its head and mouth open so you can see its carved teeth. If this were a carousel horse it would have to be removed to keep from scaring the children.

And it reminds me of something else.

“The Trojan horse,” Hex says.

“Not such a great sign,” I tell him. “If we're looking to ancient Greek and Roman texts for prophecy.”

“Depends on whose side you're on.”

But none of this matters because we are now all walking toward the black-slicked rocks against which the ship is moored. It's like I can't turn back even if I wanted to. Salt water sprays my face but I don't taste it with my tongue the way I would have in the past; instead I wipe it off with the back of my sleeve. Who knows what contaminants are in these waters? That's why we rarely come down here and we haven't even tried to fish. But now, for some reason I don't understand, in spite of what happened to the Trojans, I feel compelled to board this ship.

Merk boards first, whistling through his teeth like a pirate, merrily walking the plank, then Hex; then Ash, Ez, me, and Venice.

As soon as I step onto the deck I feel a quickening in my body. I stare up at the sails hanging from the masts. They look ghostly, animated by the wind against the gray sky. The scent of brine prickles my nostrils and I can feel the vibration of Hex's and Merk's boots on the wood slats of the deck as my father and lover go to opposite sides of the ship.

A low rumbling growl comes from Argos's throat as soon as Venice is behind me. Argos twists himself in Ven's arms—head one way, body another, eyes rolling into whiteness as if he's possessed—and Venice has to grab him against his chest to keep him from going overboard.

“It's okay, boy. It's okay.” But Venice's voice sounds very thin and frightened against the rush of the wind. I want to go to help him but instead I just stand there, staring at Hex, who is putting his hands on the carved wooden wheel that steers the ship.

“Helm,” he says, to no one in particular. He surveys other parts of the boat around him. “Jib. Mast. Poop deck. Stern. The keel's over there.” Of course Hex knows about sailing. He told us he used to take lessons when he was a kid. Encyclopedia fanatic that I am, I've learned these parts before, although I don't know how to sail. I'm relieved that this ship is so big because even if we were experienced sailors we'd never be able to manage it; we'd have to stay home.

Ez is hovering about like a worried grandpa wringing his hands. I think he's crying. Ash is singing in a high strained voice—a lamentation about a terrible storm. Venice is still struggling with Argos, whose barks are getting louder. Merk is stalking around with his gun.

Without waiting for Merk or Hex to lead the way, I feel for my knife in my pocket and go down through the hatch into the cabin. It's wood paneled with hammocks swinging from the low ceiling and bunks that remind me of coffins. A wooden table by a wood-burning stove. I have a sudden memory of a video about a warship, a brig, I saw on YouTube once where the ship doctor had to perform surgery on injured crew members on the captain's dining table. To distract myself from this thought I peer inside the cupboards—they're fully stocked with canned goods and bottles of wine. But this is weird too; what happened to the crew of this ship? The air smells musty and there's a layer of dust furring everything.

Hex comes down into the cabin and I imagine he's here to make sure I'm all right but when I say his name he just walks away. Why? I want to go after him but it suddenly feels like I can't. He is going into the shadows and I can't see him anymore. I try to call his name again but this time no words come out. It's like those dreams where you're debilitated; you can't run, you can't scream. But I don't need to scream, do I? I look around and suddenly I don't recognize where I am. Did I move? Where is the way back up to the deck? I sit down on the cabin floor because I can't walk anymore. The linoleum is stained and peeling. I'm trying to remember what I must do, where I need to go. There's someone I have to speak to.… The only name that comes to me is Venice. I can't call for him but I must. A phone number beeps itself out in my head but I don't know whose it is. And there aren't any phones anymore, right? Someone comes down through the hatch and sits beside me. It's Ez.

“Eliot?” he says.

I look at his face and it is long and twisted, his mouth a grimace, his eyes blanked out with pain.

“Eliot, I thought you were dead,” Ez says. “You're dead. You look dead.”

Eliot is Ez's twin brother who died in the Earth Shaker. Does Ez think I'm him? I can't help Ez; there's nothing I can say, no words. I need him to make this thing stop that's happening. I want to tell him that what he sees isn't real, tell him something that has to do with Ash or Hex, or maybe Venice, but I can't speak. And what did I want to say? And where is Hex? He could be anywhere. Who did this to us? I want to know what's happening but I can't ask. I reach for Ez's arm but he feels insubstantial, just stares at my hand on his bicep like it's a foreign object. I think someone has done something to us but I don't know who or what.

Kronen, the Giant maker, is standing there behind the table. He's holding up a large glass tumbler and shaking it. Inside are round, gelatinous things that jiggle in some sort of brine. Eyeballs. I touch my patch. It's not here. Where is it? Will someone see my empty socket? I cringe against the bunk behind me. Ez has gone. I want to cry for Hex but I still can't speak. I want this to stop but how do you make it stop?

Ash is lying on his back on the wooden table. “Don't touch me,” he whispers. “Just because I don't have anywhere to go doesn't mean you can touch me like that.”

Kronen is gone. Is Ash talking to me?

He turns his head and stares down at me, his green-jade eyes framed with eyelashes that look as if he's curled them. “You took me in when my mom called me a faggot. I trusted you. I didn't think you would do that.”