The Silent Isle (15 page)

“Any chance an
enemy could have put in there?” 

“And attacked
the colony?  Not likely.  Right off the beach they’d have to climb
steep hills.  That’s the tallest point of the island from what we could
see.  Like I said, we checked out the beach but we were glad to get back
to the ship, especially after the night we’d had.” 

Dane raised his
eyebrows and Forsythe continued. 
“Oh, nothing serious,
sir.
  No one hurt.  And I feel almost silly talking about it
now in the daylight.  But night found us off the northern edge of the
island.  We reefed the sail and dropped anchor as we wanted to continue or
tour by daylight.  Right after sundown they started.” 

“What
started?” 

“The screams, sir.
  We thought you would all have heard
them, too.” 

“We heard some
of them,” Dane said. 

“We thought
they’d never stop,” Forsythe said. 
“Kran, how they
carried over the water.
  I think they were rolling right down from
the hills above us.  Some of the men said they thought it’d be easier if
they knew what was making them, but I think I’d give all I owned to never
know.  I don’t think any of us slept a wink.”

Dane pulled
Bailus aside as soon as he had finished talking with Forsythe.  "Can
we talk?" 

"Certainly,
sir," Bailus said, turning to face him. 

"Alone,"
Dane said. 

Bailus
nodded.  "Let's go to the barracks at the back gate; all the men will
be gone to supper." 

The barracks was
deserted.   Dane looked at the two short rows of bunks.  He saw
Rem's pack leaning against the side of a bottom bunk. 
A
bed that had not been slept in last night, nor likely ever would be again.
 
He wondered how many more of these bunks would be empty before they got off the
island. 

"There was
something you wanted to say, sir?" Bailus said softly. 

Dane turned to
face him where he sat on his bunk pulling off his boots.  "I was
wrong, Bailus." 

Bailus paused
with his boot still half on his foot. 
"Sir?"
 

"About the island.
  Or about whoever or whatever
attacked the people here." 

Bailus finished
pulling his boot off and set both feet on the floor and leaned forward with his
elbows on his knees.  He nodded to Dane to continue. 

"I was sure
the colony had been attacked by one of the other houses, by some force from the
mainland.  But I don't think that's what happened at all.  Whoever
attacked the colony, they weren't invaders.  They were defenders. 
They'd been on the island before, maybe long before the colonists ever
came.  And they're still here." 

Bailus was
silent for a moment.  Then he nodded.  "The mark carved on Rem's
body; the same mark as was tattooed on Old Ben." 

Dane
nodded.  "Yes, Rem's mark.  But that's not all.  Rem's mark
only reminded me of what I'd seen yesterday." 

Bailus looked up
at him, startled.

"I saw the
same mark yesterday. 
Carved in stone in the high heart
of the island."

"Carved in
stone?" 

"Yes, on
some kind of structure.  The stone was a column of sorts, supporting a
temple, I think.  It looked like it had been carved years ago. 
Ages ago."
 

"Why didn't
you mention this yesterday?" 

"I forgot
about it in all the excitement with Owen." 

Bailus was
silent for a moment.  "But it's impossible," he said. 
"If there were other people here - I mean, living here - it would be
obvious.  There'd be buildings, towns." 

"We haven't
explored nearly all the island yet," Dane said. 

"No, but
the colonists would have by now.  They would have discovered another
population months ago." 

"Maybe
they'd only recently discovered them, and their interaction led to the fighting
that destroyed the colony." 

"But this
makes no sense," Bailus said. 

"I don't
understand it any more than you do.  But I'm sure of it.  Whoever did
this calls
this place home.  And you can be sure
they won't like our presence here any more than they did the
colonists’." 

Bailus called an
immediate assembly of the men at the front gate.  They shuffled out of the
dining hall slowly, complaining about having to leave their suppers
half-eaten.  When they saw Bailus standing there in his armor and boots
and grasping his hammer, the conversation died on their lips and they fell into
ranks before him. 

"From this
point on," he said, "We are in a state of war.  You are to be
constantly alert, ceaselessly alert, and always ready. 
Ready
for anything.
  You'll wear your armor whether you're on watch or
patrol or off duty." 

"What,
sir,” Paul asked, “You mean you want us to sleep in it?" 

Bailus waited
until the nervous laughter died away. 

"Master
Johnson," he said, "I want you to bathe in it.  As you know, Rem
was killed last night.  We believe he was killed within sight of these
very walls.  From now on, when you're on watch, you keep a hand on your
bow and the other on your quiver and you keep both eyes on the woods.  You
don't come off watch until your replacement arrives to relieve you.  If no
one comes, you don't leave your post, not even to look for them.  Every
square inch of this island outside these walls is to be counted hostile
territory.  These gates are to remain shut at all times.  You don't
set foot outside this wall without the permission of me or Captain Hallander,
and even then you don't do it without a partner.  Get good with your gods,
gentlemen.  I want you ready to kill or be killed at every moment with no
warning.  Is that clear?" 

There was a
moment's silence.  Rawl broke it. 
"But, sir,
who is the enemy?"
 

Bailus turned to
study the pines which rose beyond the wall; black, spiky towers they looked in
the dark.  He turned back to Rawl.  "Whatever's out
there.
" 

"I think it's the
island," Paul said, wiping his bowl with a hunk of bread.  The men
had returned from Bailus's briefing to finish their now-cold suppers. 

"You mean
the island itself?"  Rawl asked. 

"Yep.
  Think about it.  The colonists were
cutting it, scourging it, drilling and digging, changing it, blowing it up with
the blasting powder.  How would you like little creatures crawling all
over you and doing those things?" 

"I guess
you've got a point," said Rawl with a shrug. 

"So what,
you think the land just opened up and swallowed them whole?" asked Vick
Crane. 

"I was just
giving my theory," Paul said.  "I never said I had all the
answers." 

"And what about
Rem?" said Crane.  "You think he tripped on a tree root and
struck his head on a rock?  You think that's how he died?" 

"We don't
know how he died," Paul said.  "Dane's been so secretive about
all that." 

"Believe
me," Crane said, "If it were that simple, Dane wouldn't bother being
secretive." 

"So who do
you think did it, Vick?" Rawl asked.  Crane’s presence annoyed
him.  He was Rundal’s lackey and having him around, even in Rundal’s
absence, made Rawl fill like Crane was some slimy residue Rundal had left in
passing.

"Well,
they're using a symbol none of us have ever seen before," said
Crane.  "Maybe it’s an army from the pagan lands to the
west." 

"You mean
Dim?" Rawl said. 

Crane shrugged.
 
"Or Alistar."
 

"Mara's
from Alistar," Paul said.  "If the rest of her people are like
her, they don't seem like the type to wipe out an innocent colony." 

"But what
do we really know about her?" Crane said. 

***

As he crossed
the courtyard to take his turn on the wall, Rawl saw Josie coming across the courtyard
from the house she shared with the Thatchers.  He passed a house and
turned slightly to the left, making for the nearest steps.  Josie shifted
slightly as she walked so that she kept facing him.  Rawl hesitated. 
Was she coming to meet him?
  His heart began to pound and he felt
his throat constricting.  He stopped walking and turned toward her and
smiled.  She returned the smile.  Rawl felt a feeling spread over his
face and chest not unlike the one a man gets when he opens the door of a large
oven. 

She was holding
something between her hands.  He stepped towards her.  He couldn't
help smiling now.  "Where are you off to?" he asked. 

"I'm going
to the kitchen to help Molly with the dishes.  But I wanted to see you
first." 

Rawl wished he
could get those last words engraved in precious metal to be worn about his neck
on a chain. 

"They make
me work, too," he said.  "It's my turn on watch." 

"Trade you
jobs," she said. 

He
laughed.  "Dane'll kill me.  But I just might be willing to run
that risk for you." 

She let out an
exaggerated sigh.  "I couldn't ask that of you," she said
melodramatically.  She smiled and shrugged.  "I guess I'll just
have to endure the tyrant of the scullery." 

"Is it that
bad?" 

"She's a
good woman; she's just very particular about her dishwashing." 

"Well, I
guess she's had fifty years to get set in her ways." 

"Yes, she's
determined to make something useful of me.  I think she sees me as some
kind of dishwashing disciple." 

"Passing
the torch to the next generation - I guess she had to find someone since she
never had any children of her own, right?" 

"Right.
  I guess she's doling out on me all the
affection and attention she's been saving up for thirty years." 

"Lucky you."
 

"I think
she thinks she's doing me a favor. 
Making an honest
woman out of me."
 

"I think
you already had plenty of good qualities," Rawl said. 

She blushed
slightly.  "I should let you get to the walls.  But here,"
she said, pressing the object she held in her hands into his.  He saw now
it was a ceramic mug filled with warm liquid.  "I knew you'd be going
on watch, so I made you some tea." 

Rawl wanted to
drop on one knee and tell her he'd make her tea every morning and evening for
the rest of her life if she would but let him, but he found it hard to say or
do anything at all.  Somehow he managed a "thank you" and a
smile as she turned and headed for the kitchen. 

The tea was only
lukewarm by the time he settled at his station on the wall.  He drank it
slowly nonetheless.  He wanted to savor it.  To relish the feel of
the warm mug pressed between his hands that moments before had been cradled in
hers. 

The minutes
dragged on.  He occasionally glanced down into the courtyard, hoping
fruitlessly for a glimpse of her. 

When the tea was
gone, he set the mug carefully against two beams of the wall where it would not
be kicked or broken by passing sentries.  He began to pace back and forth
along the wall, keeping the mug as the center of his passes. 

Instead of
growing more relaxed he grew more serious as time passed.  His eyes never
left the woods, even when he changed direction.  Mist was rising from the
ground.  Soon it filled all the space between the lower branches of the
trees, shrouding these dark places in nebulous gray. 

The lights which
stood at intervals along the wall (another of Dane's and Bailus's orders) made
little ethereal yellow-white clouds in the fog. 

Rawl had at
first been warmed by the tea and his thoughts of Josie, but as the minutes
ticked by, the cold damp of the night settled in on him.  Something about
this night seemed different than the one before it, the one in which they had
been waiting for Dane to return.  Tonight was different but he felt no
less tense than he had the night before.  The woods last night had been
clear and dark, while tonight they were shrouded in the gray mist.  But it
was not the sight that seemed out of place. 

It was the
sound, or the lack of sound, that troubled him.  He realized he had not
heard a single one of the terrible screams tonight that he had heard the night
before.  If someone had explained this to him, he would have thought them
crazy. 
Why should the absence of the screams be unnerving?
Last
night he had wanted to stop up his ears from them.  But the screams told
you something.  They were mountain cats hunting or fighting over territory
or mates.  Or the anguished cry of some animal as it was caught in the
talons of a predator. 

Yes, the screams
had told you something.  They told you where the things were that were
making them, be they predators or prey or enemies.  It was the sound of
things happening.  But the silence tonight told you nothing. 

It was the
silence of things waiting to happen. 

Rawl had no
sense of time or how long he'd been on the wall.  He wondered how long it
would be before he was relieved.  He had just completed one length of his
walk and was turning northward back towards his mug when he heard Pratt
Jennings, the sentry at the north gate, shouting for help. 

Rawl ran to his
aid.  He got to the reinforced battlements that overlooked the gate in
time to see a dim shape emerge from the fog and trees.  Rawl recognized it
even as Pratt, so relieved he was almost laughing, said, "It's
Markis.  Open the gate." 

The command was
directed at Rawl, but Rawl did not move.  He was watching Markis.  In
the instant he recognized him in the faint light of the torches he had shared
Pratt's relief, but now he hesitated. 

"Why's he
moving like that?" Rawl asked to the mist as much as to Pratt. 

"He's
hurt.  You should be glad he's moving at all," Pratt said. 

Rawl still did
not move.  Markis kept on towards the gate.  He moved slowly,
deliberately, jerkily, falteringly.  He never once lifted his head though
Rawl was sure he should have been able to hear their voices.  His
movements reminded Rawl of something he had seen years ago but couldn't quite
name. 

While he was
grasping for this memory, Pratt backhanded him on the shoulder.  "Get
the gate open." 

"Why'd it
take him so long to get back?" 

"I told
you:  he's hurt." 

Rawl shook his
head.  "Something's not right." 

Pratt rounded on
him, his voicing rising.  "You're damn right something isn't
right.  I told you to get the gate open years ago and yet here you stand
like an old mule." 

"Look,"
Rawl said, pointing. 

Pratt turned in
time to see Markis lurch forward.  His body leaned so far forward it
seemed he would topple, but at the last second he threw out his foot and
righted himself.  He took another step,
then
stood still. 

Rawl realized he
was holding his breath.  He blew it out and, as he did, Markis
fell
forward flat on his face. 

Then Rawl and
Pratt were racing each other down the stairs.  A small crowd had already
gathered at the gate and the other sentries were racing along the top of the
wall towards them. 

"Markis's
hurt," Pratt shouted.  "Get a stretcher up here." 

"There's no
time for a stretcher," Rawl shouted, throwing the bolt and dragging the
door open.  "Come on." 

Half a dozen men
raced out the open gate to Markis's prone form.  He had not moved. 

They hoisted
him, grabbing hold of legs, shoulders,
clothing
,
anything they could to get a grip, and carried him inside. 

"Someone
get
Leech," Rawl shouted to the onlookers. 

***

"Can I make
you some tea?" Dane asked Elias. 

"I'm fine, thank
you," Elias said, raising a hand. 

Dane still
couldn't help crossing to the embers that blazed in the hearth in his room and
stoking them back into flames.  He always felt fidgety in the presence of
Elias. 
What was it about this man that made him so uncomfortable?
 
Maybe
it wasn't the man but the request he wanted to make of him.
 

He was aware the
silence was dragging but he didn't know how to begin. 

"You've had
a couple very busy days, Captain," Elias said. 

Dane appreciated
the man's graciousness; he probably sensed his discomfort. 

"I'm sure
it's all been very stressful.  How are you holding up?" 

Dane forced
himself to sit down facing the priest.  He wrapped his hands around his
knees.  "I don't know," he said, shaking his head.  "I
wish we knew something, anything, about Edric, Markis, and
Franklin." 

Elias
nodded.  "The unknown does gnaw at a man, doesn't it?" 

There was a
moment's silence,
then
Elias continued. 
"But I think you've done an excellent job so far.  You're seeking
answers - and that is sometimes the greatest courage a man can
have." 

"I think we
may have found something?" 

Elias looked up
at him. 
"An answer?"
 

"I don't
know, but I've been thinking about it all day now." 

Elias leaned
forward.  "What did you find?" 

"Some kind of structure, a building.
  I think
maybe it's some kind of temple." 

"Where?"
 

"Up in the hills.
  We found it yesterday on
patrol." 

"And you're
thinking about returning?" 

Dane
nodded.  This insight, this leading the conversation, was part of Elias's
grace.  "Maybe it will hold some answer. 
Or
at least a clue."
 

Elias looked
very serious, but excited at the same time.  "Who are you taking with
you?" 

"A small party.
 
The men who
were with me yesterday.
 
Minus Rem, of course.
 
Maybe a few others."
 

"You want
to ask me to go with you?" 

The sentence was
as much a statement as it was a question.  Dane felt slightly relieved he
hadn't had to say those words himself.  He nodded.  Elias opened his
mouth to speak, but Dane said, "But it's a difficult hike. 
All uphill."
 

Elias laughed
and slapped his bad leg.  "Don't worry, Captain, I won't leave you
behind.  You'll have to show me the way, after all." 

Dane smiled,
then
became serious again.  "The climb isn't the
only danger.  Where we're going, it's right where Owen stepped in the
trap." 

Elias was silent
for a moment.  He nodded understanding and then smiled slightly. 
"Well, in that case maybe I should have you carry me." 

Dane laughed but
the soft sound was drowned out by Rawl's and Pratt's sudden shouts to open the
gate. 

Elias was on his
feet faster than Dane. 

As Rawl and the
others bearing Markis came back through the gate, they saw Dane was already
there. 

"What
happened?" Dane asked. 

"He stumbled
out of the fog and collapsed just shy of the gate," Rawl said. 

"This
way," Dane said, leading them towards Leech's infirmary.  He looked
back over his shoulder and shouted, "Close the gate." 

He heard the
gate close and the bolt slide home. 

Leech came
bounding out of his room.  "Who is it?" 

"Markis,"
Dane said. 

Leech held the
infirmary door open for them.  They set Markis down on the closest
bed.  Leech set his bag on the table between the bed and the door. 
Dane helped light a few more candles then turned to the men.  "Thank
you.  You men return to your posts." 

They all shot
worried glances at Markis and then filed out.  As the last one exited,
Dane heard Ira Scott shout, "Get the gate open.  Frankie's here,
too."