Arcene: The Island (12 page)

The bottle had nothing left to give, but Arcene held it upside down and stuck out her tongue anyway, trying to catch any last drop that happened to magically appear — she was wasting her time. The night had been awful, her and Leel sat huddled together, both wishing the boat would stop rocking, splashes in the water amplified by the emptiness, making their imaginations run wild.

It had felt like it would never end, until finally they fell asleep. When they woke, they found themselves surrounded by nothing but water, a few gulls soaring high, and the sun already hot even though it was still early. Arcene's head pounded. She was so thirsty and hungry, but there was nothing left.

No food, no water, no land. Nothing but sea whichever way you looked. The current was still strong, taking them where it wanted, and there was nothing they could do about it apart from hope it took them back to the coast further to the west, the direction they were clearly headed. But would it be out to sea to the west, or would they eventually hit land again, and would they still be alive when they did?

Arcene put the empty bottle to her eye and peered through the opaque glass. Blue, blue and empty, the sky and the nothingness. Her thoughts felt like little fluffy clouds. There was no weight to them, no weight to her body, bobbing about in the vastness, starving.

They had eaten the day before, but so little they were both suffering withdrawal symptoms. It was what they did — they ate and they thought about food. This was their preoccupation, and now it was getting ridiculous. Arcene felt hollow inside, like she was made of air, could float up into the sky away from her predicament.

The bottle clattered to the dark wood of the boat's floor. She left her arm extended, resting on Leel lying next to her, whimpering and willing it to be over.

The boat bobbed; the current pulled hard. They surrendered. They had no other option.

Bump

"Eh, wassat?" Arcene dragged her mind to consciousness. She wasn't exactly asleep, but neither was she truly awake. Her mind was drifting like her body, lost on currents she couldn't recall. Everything was hazy, almost blank, stretching out into infinity like the deathbed she was floating on. But what was this? What was that noise?

Bump.

Bump, bump, bump.

With arms that felt made of dead trees, Arcene pushed against the wooden bench and sat. She rubbed at salt-crusted eyes, all gritty and sore, and tried to swallow. Her lips were so dry, her throat raw, and why were boats so cramped?

Arcene blinked until her vision cleared, and the salt was rubbed away with another swipe of her hand. Even her hand was dry and felt raspy on her skin. A nice swim, that was what she needed, but not in the sea that would further coat her in salt and dry her out until she was like a tomato left in the sun for days.

She took the shawl off her head and tugged it away from where it protected her arms from burning — she couldn't imagine what state she would be in if it wasn't for such a simple means of protection. The sun reflected so strongly off the water she would have been fried to a crisp like barbecued pork within an hour if she hadn't covered up — her pale skin was unsuited to adventure on the open seas. She had learned one other thing too, if nothing else from her time floating: she preferred land.

Open fields and forests, where there was food to be hunted and water that could be drunk, nice cool spots in the shade, and places to sleep where you could make fires and not be all wobbly and feel sick all the time.

What's wrong with me? Focus.

Arcene rubbed at her eyes again; they were so sore. Were they bumping against something? They were! The boat was knocking at a solid structure. Were they back at the island, or land? With a shake of the head, and a crash back down to reality, Arcene gathered her wits and concentrated properly.

She stared at a weather-worn, concrete stanchion jutting out of the water. The front of the boat nudged against it, moving back and forth, knock, knock, knocking at the pillar covered in tiny mussels. Seaweed skirted beneath the water, billowing out like green hair. Arcene followed the pillar up, only to realize there were hundreds of similar pilings that soared above them, supporting a weird, concave oval base. It was truly vast.

What is it? What's it doing here? Where is here? First things first.
Arcene if not sprang into action then at least moved, something she had done little of during her second day at sea. Leel scratched at the bottom of the boat, lifted her head then collapsed again, not interested enough to do anything but lie and wait for it all to be over. Arcene grabbed the long length of rope and tied it around the pillar, trying not to wobble the boat and fall in. Once secured, she sat down, shattered from such minimal movement.

At least they wouldn't be carried off. Maybe this bizarre construction would offer salvation.

The water lapped gently at the boat and the pillars but it didn't try to drag them away. This was where the current had been taking them, the destination the sea had in mind for her and Leel. Well, they were here, now what? She tried to count the pillars but there were too many, hundreds by the look if it. Old, water-worn, but still sturdy. How deep did they go? To the bottom, she supposed. Where else? What were they supporting? It was impossible to tell as they were underneath whatever it was, lost amid the rest of the supports.

The edge was a way off, and Arcene had no intention of risking the currents taking them again. This could be their one chance to save themselves; she would stay put and figure it out.

It was cool in the shade, more welcome than she could have imagined, and while she figured things out it was about the best place to be.

"Well, Leel, looks like we've found ourselves an island after all. I wonder what it's doing here. Leel? Come on, time to get up. I think we might be saved. Maybe." Leel opened an eye and Arcene pointed at the huge concrete underbelly of the island. She sniffed, then sprang to a sitting position, nostrils flaring as she lifted her head high, craning her neck to get a fraction closer. "What is it, girl, you smell something nice?"

Woof, woof.

"Let's hope we can find it. Is it food?"

Woof.

"Cool. Maybe we won't starve to death after all." Arcene stared at the massive structure. How could they get in? Was there even an in? What was it, and would anyone be happy to see them if there was someone there? She couldn't imagine why there would be people in the middle of the sea, but then again, if this island was here someone had to have built it — Arcene was sure of one thing, it was that a lot of weird stuff existed in her world. More bizarre than this.

"Hello? Anybody there?" Her voice bounced back at her, the echo dulled by the curved underbelly of the island. Nobody would hear that even if there were people above. Could she climb? But to where? Should she risk unhitching the boat and floating out so she could get a better glimpse at the concrete barnacle she found herself under? No, it was too risky, they could end up anywhere. This might be the only chance they had to get saved; she needed to come up with a proper plan.

It was hard to think. She needed food and water. Her head throbbed like little people were at work inside it, tapping on the inside of her skull, stopping thoughts from forming, leaving her half-dazed, half-asleep, and wobbly.

Arcene sat and tried to gather her thoughts. At least it was cool out of the sun, now she just had to figure out how to get herself and Leel up onto this misplaced edifice.

Time for Work

Talia hated the stupid damn Island.

What was the point in performing the life-sapping chore so often? Every year, her and her team had to perform the same miserable task. Once the job was completed it was almost time to start all over again — it drove her absolutely nuts.

It was like one of those vicious circles her mother had told her about before she succumbed to The Lethargy, a stigma that to this day never left her — after ninety-four years you'd think it would have been forgotten, but no.

She was seventeen when it happened, and it surprised everyone. People remained Whole, at least mostly, many Awakening as they matured, but often not until their late-twenties to thirties. Talia was special, she Awoke at the sprightly age of twenty-two, which made her one of the youngest to do so in the whole history of her home. But it didn't stop some of the others looking at her funny for decades afterward, and even now there were the occasional whispered comments when those who should know better thought she couldn't hear.

It was partly her own fault — Talia heard everything she wanted to hear, and had kept that, and other Awoken gifts, secret. It was strictly against the rules, but too late now. If she ever owned up, the consequences for withholding what was decreed should be shared information would be savage and remorseless.

It wasn't her fault, was it? She didn't make her mother get The Lethargy, leave her alone when still an immature teenager with so much to learn and nobody to look out for her. And besides, it happened at least every half-century to someone or other. Even some who Awoke inexplicably succumbed, one day able to commune with the dolphins and the creatures of the sea, the next sat there in a stupor, unable to even dress themselves or wipe their own backsides with the processed seaweed that was always too rough.

She argued for years about it, asked why they couldn't make it better. They had the means, after all, but she'd always been voted down, as usual. Why waste precious energy on finessing something to wipe your bum with when there were other, much better ways to put the labor needed for such tasks to use?

Anyway, never mind, now wasn't the time for thinking about the past, certainly not about wiping your rear. However much she hated it, there was work to be done, and the sooner they began the sooner it would be over.

One year, it must be a decade ago, the summer had been exceptionally wet and windy, cold too, and the work had dragged on and on, leaving them still working the following spring, and when they finally finished they had a few precious months before the fiendish maintenance resumed.

It was depressing as hell, and the most boring assignment Talia could ever have conjured up if she wanted to punish her enemies for heinous crimes committed against her or The Island.

The work won't be forever, she had been told. It's a rite of passage, they said. Everyone has to take a turn, it's the way things are, they told her again. We did it, everyone does it. You're lucky you've had so much freedom until now, others did it when they were a third of your age if not younger. And you're the one in charge of your team, that's an honor, nobody as young as you has ever been in charge of a team before, you're lucky.

Talia felt anything but lucky. She felt like she was being punished for crimes she hadn't even thought about let alone got caught committing red-handed. She was a model citizen, worked hard, always did more than her fair share, and now she was stuck with this damn never-ending grind that made her want to dive over the side into the blue and never come back. Not that she would, of course — it was poison to people if too much touched you. If you were immersed you died.

Even the brave sailor caste had to have a drink of something very strong before the boat was lowered and they rode the current that circled The Island in a large, egg-shaped circuit, where they fished and collected the precious seaweed once a month. They were so brave, even if they needed fortification.

They always returned, never fell in and got poisoned or sank, so she supposed her job wasn't so bad after all. At least she didn't have to float about on the blue so close to death, but the exposure and sense of helplessness when on the outside of The Island, seeing the water far below, made her stomach flip and brought bile to her throat every time.

She never let the others see her nervousness. She was the oldest, in charge, Awoken and the woman whose mother had succumbed — she wouldn't give them the satisfaction, and she certainly wouldn't act like a scared baby and show anything but confidence and determination in front of her team.

And it was an honor, really, to be well enough regarded to have the responsibility. That didn't stop her secretly smiling at the thought of this being her last ever tour. Finally, her time was up. She would never have to be lowered on ropes or the foul platform ever again. No more inspecting, cleaning, or repairing the exterior.

The end was in sight. It gave her all the courage and motivation she needed to do a good job this one last time, and she would, she had pride in her work. However long it took she would see it through as thoroughly as she always had, and when it came her turn to tell someone else how important a job it was she would expect the same from them, tell them how honored they were, just as she had been told. So the cycle would continue as it always had, since The Lethargy descended and wiped out all but the chosen few: the founding Fathers and Mothers of her home. The Island.

With a sigh, Talia pulled back the itchy covers and got out of bed. It was still early, but she had a busy day ahead of her and a lot to get ready before it even began. She bet her team were still sleeping, bunch of slackers that they were. It was down to her to show how it was done, to be the figurehead for this final run, and it was only proper she was the first to arrive and the last to leave at the end of the day. Ensure everything was done exactly as it should be: no mistakes, no shortcuts. Life was too precious for any accidents, and she wasn't about to let anything go wrong on her watch.

Talia occupied a series of rooms of her very own, another honor she knew she should be grateful for, again, one of the youngest to have such luxury, having been Awoken for so many years. The Awoken were always provided with private quarters, moving from a tiny cell up to a more spacious room, then a suite as you aged, as long as you showed you put in the requisite work and acted in a manner deemed correct. Talia had done all that and, for more years than she cared to remember, although the days all blurred into one anyway, she had lived right down deep in the heart of The Island. Not at the bottom, but in a suitably appropriate place for her position in the hierarchy of her world.