Treasured Lies (19 page)

Using his left hand was awkward enough, but the tap, bubbled with corrosion and crusted in what looked like sea salt, wouldn't budge. Nox clenched his jaw and put everything he had into twisting it. But when his fingers, wrapped around the corroded metal, ached as much as his clenched jaw, he gave up. He slammed his palm on the tank in frustration and a hollow rumble emanated from the rusted metal. It hadn't even occurred to him that the tank may be empty. He thumped the metal again and the same hollow rumble released. This time he tapped on the lowest rung of corrugated iron and the sound was different, deeper. Methodically now, starting at the bottom, he tapped on the rungs and when the sound changed to a higher pitch he was convinced that there was indeed water inside. The tank was at least one-third full.

With a new sense of purpose, he searched for a way to make the tap work. A chunk of concrete nestled against the wall caught his eye. He grabbed it, returned to the tap and with all the strength he could muster, he smashed at it. The concrete shattered to pieces but the tap moved. Water! Brown shitty-coloured water spewed from the faucet and splashed all over his cloth-covered feet. He cupped his good hand and without hesitation lapped at the liquid. It tasted of dirt and rust; regardless, he gulped it down. He resisted the urge to wash the dried blood from his right hand. In fact, he chose not to look at it at all. The pain rippling down his arm was enough of a reminder.

With a full stomach and gasping for breath, he leant back against the wall and took a moment to scan his surroundings. He pushed off from the wall and walked towards the edge of the cliff. When he could walk no further he stopped at the very edge and looked down the steep cliff. Enormous waves rolled in and crashed against the jagged rocks below. The breeze, carrying a fine mist of salty water, sprinkled his face. As he wiped the dampness from his cheeks he looked out towards the empty horizon. In the very far distance the sky met the ocean, blue against blue. The sun, now sitting high off the water, cast a white stripe across the ocean like it was dividing the world in half.

He walked along the precipice, on the brink of life and certain death, alternating his glance from the jagged edge, to the rocks below, to the vast beyond. The edge of his existence was right here. It would be so easy to end it all. End the pain. End the hunger. Time meant nothing as he cradled his speared hand to his chest and simply placed one foot in front of the other. The sun continued its steady arc above but the view below didn't change.

As the realisation set in that he really was stranded on an island, his stomach started twisting into painful knots. The speed with which it came frightened him. He doubled over in agony and fell to the ground, slamming the metal rod in his hand. Pain exploded up his arm and he howled. As he stared at the fresh blood oozing from his pierced palm he threw up. Over and over he heaved, spewing rust-coloured water over the spindly grass.

When he had nothing more to give, Nox rolled to a sitting position on the barren hilltop, wiped his mouth with the back of his good hand and sucked in deep breaths. It took a huge effort to examine his pierced hand again. When he did, what he saw—the fresh blood, the dried blood, the purple swelling, the hideous wound—made him fight another wave of nausea.

It was impossible to believe he was looking at his own hand. But the fact that he could still wriggle his fingers made him believe that once the rusted rod was removed, his hand would be perfectly normal again. This belief cemented his conviction that he was the chosen one. After all he'd been through already, it was a wonder he was still breathing. It seemed nothing could stop him from fulfilling his destiny to find what was rightfully his, the Calimala treasure.

From where he sat he couldn't see the twins hut, the steep slope ensured it was hidden from his view. But the smoke billowing up from his left gave away its location. He searched the vast ocean around him, looking with half-hearted hope for signs of civilisation. It was impossible to recall where the working lighthouse was. After he'd climbed the spiral steps he'd lost all sense of direction, and even if he wanted to it would be impossible to climb up there again now.

As he breathed in he tasted the saltiness in the air, the opposite of what he needed. If Nox wasn't thirsty beyond belief, he would've sat in this very position until the sun went down and the elusive lighthouse showed him the way again. But he couldn't ignore the burning in his throat any more.

Without any other options, he clambered to his feet, careful not to jar his hand, and after a few wobbly steps, he found his pace and set a course for the smoke stream. He walked over the rise and the hut quickly came into view. His eyes fell on something down in the ocean and he squinted against the blazing sun reflecting off the water.

His heart leapt to his throat at the realisation of what it was. A boat. A very small boat. And it was heading away from the island. Nox began to run towards it. The incline was so steep he risked toppling forward at any moment, yet he kept up his pace. The boat was further away now, but shielding his hand against the sun he noticed two people in the boat. With a jolt he recognised who they were. The twins. Their frizzy red hair flapping in the wind was as obvious as warning beacons.

‘Hey. Wait. Wait for me.' His voice was a pathetic croak.

Nox ran faster now, waving his good hand and screaming to them. But his efforts were futile. The boat continued to motor further and further away. Nox lost his footing and, unable to stop, he fell to his hands and knees. He screamed in agony as the metal rod punched almost all the way through his palm. Blood oozed in a fresh stream.

Driven with pure rage, Nox did the unthinkable. He grabbed the metal with his left hand and, before he could change his mind, he splayed his fingers on his right hand, clamped his jaw and pulled as hard as he could.

As the bar sliced through his palm it made a sickening sucking noise. Nox howled as the final jagged edges passed through. With the pole free, the hole in his palm closed up quickly, filling up with blood and ooze. Clawing at his failing strength, Nox flung the rod in the direction of the disappearing boat, now barely visible. The metal bar tumbled, end over end, and vanished over the cliff. He didn't hear it land.

His world tilted and began to spin out of control. He fell back on the rocky grass. The sun was a furnace that penetrated the skin on his face. As his listened to his own ragged breathing, Nox pressed his thumb to his temple and lamented over his stupidity. Of course the twins had a boat. How could he not have considered this possibility? That's how they'd found him. The memory flashed with vivid clarity. In particular, the agony from the fishing spear as they manhandled him onto their boat like a dead dolphin. How could he have forgotten?

Finally he sat up on his knees and glanced out to sea again. The boat was barely a speck in the distance. He looked for something, anything to mark the direction it was heading. He faced the boat and squared out his shoulders. Over his right shoulder was the sun, but without any sense of time, he had no idea how to mark its position. Directly behind him was the decrepit lighthouse. To his left, nestled against the cliff was the cabin. The only other landmark was the beach, a long way down below.

He had no doubt they'd be back, and he'd be ready for them when they were.

First, he needed food and water. He climbed to his feet and strode along the steep cliff towards the cabin. Tinkering on the edge of delirium, he stopped at the chicken boxes and scooped out three eggs. One by one he cracked them open and gulped down the slimy sustenance.

Clambering around the outside of the cabin, he searched around for the water holding. It had to be a tank of some sort. He found it on the far side of the cabin and shook his head in disbelief. Now he understood why he was rationed to just one cup of water each day, the tank was barely bigger than a wine barrel. Adamant today would be his last day on this island, he turned on the tap and drank as much as his belly could hold.

He took the opportunity to wash his hand and recoiled at the first touch. Just the slightest drop of water rained misery from his fingertips to his elbow. As he bit on his trembling lip, he eased his hand back into the flow. When all the dried blood had washed away from his fingertips, he slowly moved the rest of his hand under the tap. The agony nearly tipped him into hell. Stars dotted his eyes as a hot flush crawled over his skin. With gritted teeth, he fought off the insanity until the wound was nothing more than an angry red circle in the middle of his hand.

Nox turned off the tap and went into the cabin in search of something he could use as a bandage. Shadow was sitting on the table. Of course, now he knew it wasn't
his
Shadow at all. He went to the cat all the same and smoothed the fur along the feline's back. It purred and leant into him. It was comforting to know he had at least one friend. He tugged a couple of strips of dried fish from the dangling ropes, fed one to the cat, and began to chew on one himself.

After a handful of the dried fish, he forced down a plate of the cardboard slop. When he literally couldn't fit in another mouthful, he sat back and belched. This was the best he'd felt in a very long time. The wounds, hunger pains and dehydration no longer played with his sanity. His body was savouring a brief reprieve from the painful injuries that had been his constant companion since he woke up on this bizarre island.

As he ran his good hand over his scalp, assessing the agonising lump that was still walnut-sized at the back of his head, he noticed the length of his hair. At least an inch or two. For as long as he could remember he'd been shaving his head. He couldn't begin to imagine what he looked like with hair. It was obvious now that he'd been on this island much longer than he'd originally thought. Could it be months?

He had no intention of spending even one more night.

Nox found a cotton plaid shirt in a pile of clothes in the corner and he tore it into strips to wrap around his hand. With a sudden desire to get out of the filthy clothes he'd worn since the day he'd woken up with the spear through his torso, he removed his shirt and put on a blue t-shirt he found in the pile. It was a bit tight, but it was clean. The exchange made him feel better still.

The twins owned very little. Certainly nothing of value. After the brief search around the downstairs room, he dragged himself up the ladder to explore the loft area. Growing up in an orphanage, he'd witnessed his share of messy living conditions, but these brothers kept their belongings on the extreme edge of chaos. In fact, it was apparent that their clothes also served as their bed. The thought of looking through the mess made him cringe.

Just as he was about to retrace his steps down the ladder, he spied a book wedged into a crack in the wall. Keeping his head lowered, he crawled towards it as best as he could without using his bandaged hand. At the wall, he practically had to dig the book out from the crack. It had obviously been there a long time. When it finally dislodged, it fell open at his knees. In the dimmed light he saw a sketch of a lighthouse on the right-hand side. He lifted the book to read the writing scrawled across the page, but he quickly noted it was in a foreign language and snapped the book closed. A picture of a lighthouse adorned the front cover and he realised what it was: an instruction manual of some sort for the lighthouse. It occurred to him that maybe the twins were caretakers of the building. If so, considering the state of disrepair the lighthouse was in, they'd been living a reclusive life on the island a very long time.

He tossed the book onto the bedding and a slip of paper fluttered out. He reached for it. A number with a pile of zero's caught his eye. It didn't take long for him to ascertain that he was holding some form of receipt. As he eased back on his haunches, a scenario ran through his mind. When the lighthouse was decommissioned the twins were paid out. But for whatever reason they deliberately abandoned modern society and chose to stay here. The next thought hit him like a lightning bolt.

‘Did they hide the money here?'

One glance around the rustic cabin was enough to confirm there was only one possible hiding place. With a new sense of purpose, he dug his good hand into the piles of clothes and flung them aside.

Chapter 22

Archer clawed at the water, fighting his way to the surface. But it was pointless. Iggy's thug had a death hold and wouldn't break free. Archer's chest burned. He needed a breath and quick smart.

Bright sparks blazed across his eyes as he rained punches low and hard at the man's head. Yet the vice didn't release. He squeezed tighter instead. One second a chill raced through Archer's body, the next his chest burned like he'd swallowed molten lava. His ribs were set to crack. But either the resistance of the water was lessening his punches or the man had a head of steel, because he'd didn't react to Archer's barrage one bit.

Archer's punches lost momentum. The twinkling surface above him faded from view as he drifted downwards. He needed a new plan. Now.

He went for the man's hair, but when he found an ear instead he pulled hard. So hard he thought he was going to rip it right off the man's head. Finally the man released him with a muffled howl. Archer dashed for the surface with powerful strokes. But just when he thought he'd make it, fingers clutched around his ankles. Once again the surface drifted away.

The brute twisted himself around so he was now behind Archer and his arms were wrapped around his legs. Archer bent down, desperate to untangle his shackled legs. But they wouldn't budge. As a faint voice told him time was running out, Archer watched a bubble float upwards. He needed oxygen. Fast. An idea came to mind and he didn't hesitate. He whipped the drawstring out of his track pants, clutched it over his hands, twisted behind as much as he could and in one swift movement wrapped it around the brute's throat. With the last ounce of his energy he pulled. The tips of his fingers bulged red. His eyes bulged too, as he stared at the surface, now several metres above him. Sunlight was still some time away, but the twinkling lights from
Evangeline
looked pretty, like hundreds of flickering candles. The blackness around him began to waft with the current, sweeping him away on a tide of weightlessness.