Kraken (16 page)

He opened his eyes involuntarily to see the broad flat leaves at the surface had been replaced with a garden of elegant tall stalks. There was no splash and spray of salt in his eyes here, only the deep blue ringing in his ears with the sound of a hollow bell. Will imagined joining the kelp forever, his dark hair captured by the current in an elegant dance.

And then Cy had him, wrapped tight, cradling Will’s head against his chest. Will reached toward the rocks, but they were moving further away, as Cy took him not inwards to safety, but out, out past the line of breakers rolling in a line of bubbles, out past where dark shapes must play their waiting games. Will struggled, feebly, unable to speak, his head not yet above the water.

Then Will was back in the world of air and light and life and he coughed and retched and clung to Cy. And then they were surfing, Cy’s taut body catching the next foamy cascade and riding it in, perfectly judging the narrow gap to the lagoon, and then, impossibly, all was calm.

Cy cradled him as they came in to the beach, lifting Will and placing him tenderly on the bed of shells. He sat patiently until Will had stopped coughing and retching.

He tenderly traced his fingers down Will’s back.

“You’ve got a huge graze here. Caught it on the edge of the rocks when you went in, I guess. Does it hurt?”

“Everything hurts.”

“I know what will make you feel better,” Cy said. “I have a present for you.”

Will looked up from where he was kneeling, with his arms wrapped around his pale torso, water dripping down his face from his streaming hair. His eyes were red and his nose was running. Cy walked the few feet to the backpack and fished his shirt out, bringing it back to wipe Will’s face dry, brushing the wet strands of hair from his face.

Cy squatted in front of him, his arm outstretched and his fist closed.

“Hold your hand out.”

So Will did. Cy opened his fist, and a broad shiny triangle fell into Will’s palm, one end grotesquely fleshy and bloody. Will touched a sharp edge tentatively with his other hand, stroking the pad of his forefinger down the serrations.

“Silly Will,’ said Cy, leaning forward to kiss him, as his hands stroked down Will’s flanks. “No shark is going to hurt you. No one else is ever going to hurt you.”

Will slowly dried off on the sun. Cy built the fire up again, and roasted the red rock crabs in the hot flames. The bubbles of moisture forced out of the limb-joints in their armor sounded like screaming.

They were delicious. The meat was hot, and succulent, about the best damn thing Will had ever tasted. He could feel his muscles loosen and the fear retreat with every mouthful.

Cy put another crab leg on the rock, smashing it with a pale gray stone, and working the flesh out with his tongue. He licked his finger, then ran his hand down Will’s warm thigh.

“Want to take one last dip before we go, wash off?”

“No,” Will said. “No. Never again.”

Cy only looked at him.

Will brushed the shells from his body, leaving a crocodile pattern impressed into his skin on his thighs and buttocks. His hair was stiff and spiky, and almost-imperceptible white traceries covered his skin.

Cy laughed, and licked his arm. “Mmm, salty.”

Will mustered a faint smile. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to thank Cy. He didn’t know if he’d even been in danger, or if he overreacted like a fool.

They packed the knapsack and dressed: Cy with seeming reluctance, Will with haste. The clothes felt odd against him skin, like a foreign custom he’d never tried before.

Cy shouldered the backpack and they headed back up the gully. The hill seemed much longer and steeper going up than it had coming down. The waning sun had baked the earth dry, and the scrub was too low to offer any shade. Will was soon sweaty, tiny almond-shaped leaves stuck to his skin. Everything hurt: the graze on his back, his forearm, his throat, his hole. It took nearly an hour to climb to the remains of the road.

At least here the slope was a gentle grade down, and easy walking. Now that Will knew to look for it he could occasionally see small sections of barbed wire fence still standing at the side of the track lurking a foot or two inside the line of yellow-green bushes.

The first raven was sitting on a section of fence, head cocked to the side, calmly watching their approach. Will sidled awkwardly past on the far side of the path. Before they were even passed it sprang up, shooting into the sky and circling once overhead, before swooping in to land in front of them again, a hundred yards away.

Will paused. “Maybe there’s a nest, Cy. Do you think we should go around?”

Cy snorted. “We came this way already. There’s no nest. Just ignore her.”

A second bird dropped out the sky as he was speaking, perching beside the first, one claw on a drunken post, the other on sharply sloping wire. Cy kept walking, Will following hesitantly, falling back slightly. Black feathered heads tracked their steps. Feathers slashed the air as they launched once more into flight.

Two graceful dark smudges flew in from the east. Will watched as all four birds alighted in the road ahead.

Will reached out for Cy’s arm, pulling him to a halt. “Wait. This is weird.”

A black shape flew in from the west, landing amongst the others with a puff of red dust. A harsh caw behind them made Will spin around. Three more ravens stalked the path behind them, hopping forward another half foot. Will had never been this close to one before, never noticed the hook at the end of the thick beak, matt black against the glossy plumage.

Will’s hand tightened against Cy.

“Don’t worry. They don’t want to harm you. Just keep walking.”

Even as he spoke, a flurry of wings descended like a black blizzard, and five, no six, now seven more ravens joined the conspiracy.

“Cy,” said Will, in a low voice.

“Fuck.” Cy stood still. He shook his head. ”Fuck.”

He seemed to be deep in thought.

“All right. Come on. We’ll go this way.”

Cy struck off the path at right angles. The trees grew taller as the ground dropped away from the ridgeline, and the air was hot and thick. A velveteen silence descended on the forest and Will looked up from the uneven ground to find spindly, thin, trunks, coated with a curious furry black growth, like flocking on fabric. No flies or bees buzzed here.

Will glanced over at Cy with concern, but Cy just kept walking, imperturbable. This was the moment Will tripped over the first headstone.

The lower third thrust like a fracture out of its nest of leaves, the white marble startling against the drab olives and browns of the forest, even under the seasoning of gray lichen. The date was all that was left, the name lost for all time. The carving was shallow, indistinct, and it took Will long seconds to make sense of it. “Sept. 1852.”

The contours of the forest rearranged themselves in Will’s understanding: there were stones everywhere amongst the young trees, most toppled and awry, others still standing proud. He knelt by one. “T White, Passed into the care of Our Lord, Dec. 3, 1879, aged 24 years”

Cy was striding ahead, continuing along the level valley floor without pausing.

“Cy, wait up. Please?”

The next was for Ann Atwood, born in 1800, died 1883. Will wondered if she had been happy at the end of her long life. The dates were more recent as he walked slowly down the valley, looking up every now and then to make sure he could still spot Cy walking through the sparse spindly trees.

A pool of shadow underneath a tree resolved itself into a wrought iron fence surrounding a plot. A single headstone, with elaborate side pillars and a carved lunette, stood to one side, waiting for a companion who had never joined it. Will slipped through the rusted gateway to get a closer look, tracing the letters with his fingers.

‘William Falconer, born Oct. 26, 1880, left this earth Sept. 4 1909. Beloved husband of Agnes, born March 16, 1882, left this earth Sept. 4, 1909. Together forever.’

“This must be Mr. Falconer’s family. Cy?” Will looked up, but Cy was out of sight.

Will wondered who owned this land: if this was part of the island that might one day be carved up and sold in sections for tasteful condos. He wanted to come back with a camera while the graveyard was still here.

Will felt the need for a piss. If he waited till he caught up to Cy again . . . well, Cy seemed like he would want to watch. Will didn’t think he was ready for that level of intimacy. He didn’t think he’d been ready for any of this.

He ducked behind a tree, well beyond the area of the gravestones, and drew his flaccid cock out of his pants, aiming the stream so he didn’t hit his toes. As he was zipping up movement caught his eye. A bird was bobbing on a narrow, mottled rock, the brilliant lemon-yellow belly bright against ash gray feathers. It let out a high-pitched triple trill.

Will moved slowly, not wanting to scare it. From the side he could see its perch wasn’t a rock, but one last gravestone. Moss lined the deeply incised letters.

“Georg Keller, Geb. Marz. 4, 1803, Gest. Nov. 2 1839. Catrin Keller, Geb. Feb. 15 1811, Gest. Nov. 2 1839. Ihre liebevolle Sohn, Cyrus Keller.”

Will saw the stone as if from a long way away.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Cy’s arm shot out from behind a tree, wrapping around him. Will jumped.

“You asshole. Don’t scare me.”

Cy turned Will around and looked into his face with a serious expression. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

Will gestured to the headstone. “Your family?”

Cy didn’t give it a second glance. “Yep. Come on. We have to push on. The sun will be going down in an hour or so. We still have to row home.”

He pushed Will ahead of him, keeping him there the entire way down the valley. Soon a tiny trickle burbled out of the undergrowth, becoming a creek, then a stream, then a cascade over rocks and into quiet pools that shadowed their path ever-downward to the river. By the time they saw the boat Will was exhausted, stumbling more often than walking, relying on Cy’s guiding hand at his back to steer him.

They untied the boat and pushed it into the feeble current. It was cold now. Dusk had come early, with the sun below the backbone of the island. The harbor was in cool shadow beneath the bright sky.

By the time they made it to the beach Will was shivering with delayed stress, cold, and fatigue. He helped Cy pull the boat up above the high tide line, then Cy pulled him in for a hug, speaking into his hair.

“You were so good today, lovely. Go on up. Get warm. I’ll get dinner.”

Will nearly groaned at the thought the day wasn’t over yet. Cy gave him a slap on his ass and Will flinched as his solid hand connected with one of his bruises. He lurched up the cliff path, and straight onto the sofa.

He didn’t wake until Cy sat next to him holding two plates full of crispy fried fish fillets. He’d lit the stove, and the room was warm and inviting. A flotilla of moths gathered on the glass outside. Cy pulled the curtains and the tooth from Will’s hand, propping it on the windowsill next to a trio of abalone shells.

Cy fed him hot mouthfuls of dinner as he groaned in pleasure.

“This is amazing. What kind of fish is this?”

Cy shrugged. “Big fuckers. Big mouths, big bodies, little tails. Kind of mottled, with small spots the color of orange clay. They live in the kelp. There were probably some under us today.”

“Cy, that was a shark today, right?”

He nodded, mouth chewing busily.

“Yep, a whitey. You don’t need to worry. I told you.

“A whitey? As in, great white shark?”

Cy nodded, pressing another forkful on Will.

“What if you’re not there next time?”

Cy chuckled. “I’ll always be there, lovely.

They finished the fish, and Cy drew Will into the bathroom for a hot shower. He soaped him thoroughly, skimming tenderly over the large grazes on his arm and back and working his fingers tantalizingly into Will’s hair, until he was relaxed and giddy. He drizzled a sticky ooze onto his hand, and caressed Will’s balls and soft cock. He worked his hand up and down Will’s shaft until he was firm, giving Will the sweet tip of one arm to suck and lick with abandon as he groaned in need. Then Cy turned off the water, patted them both dry, and drew a t-shirt onto Will.