ISSA tried to move, but a wave of pain flowed through her, scattering her thoughts. There came a thunderous rushing din that then receded and she drifted away on it for a while.
Eventually, her mind returned a little clearer than before, and thoughts began to form. The noise lessened, everything seemed brighter too. She tried to move again, and the pain came but did not scatter her mind.
Something sharp was digging into her side. She rolled onto her back and more pain flooded over her. She groaned and opened her eyes. Bright light blinded her. She squinted up at a sky filled with white clouds and the odd patch of blue. The noise that had filled her head was the surf scraping on stones a couple of feet away.
She remembered jumping. I was falling, the raven… the dragon. Her throat constricted, but she could see no dragon in the sky. Was she dead? But where was the golden light leading her back to the Source of All that the religious texts spoke of? Where were the people robed in clouds?
I’m not dead. I survived. But what state was her body in? She lifted her arms, pain exploded at the shoulders. Her wrists and fingers were aching and swollen. She tried to move a leg, pain stabbed in her stomach as if she had been punched a hundred times. But she could wiggle her toes and flexing the whole foot was only mildly sore.
Carefully, she shifted her elbows and propped herself up. Her back complained and a wave of nausea swirled in her stomach, but she fought to keep herself up. When it passed, she opened her eyes. She had been washed onto a black shingled beach of no more than five paces squared. Boulders three times her size bordered it, and behind her, a sheer cliff reached up into the sky.
She felt her battered body and was relieved to find nothing broken, though her skin was black and blue, and her back ached close to agony. She shivered under her damp clothes that were even more torn and ragged. If only she could go back to her warm home. She swallowed remembering her mother and her friends. Her head fell onto her knees and the tears came. It seemed the weather mimicked her tears and heavy droplets of rain splattered upon her, soaking her through once more.
Why had she been spared once more to suffer this pain? There was no way off this beach, there was no way out. She would die here alone.
The rain began to slow until it ceased completely. Sunlight burst through the clouds, but she didn’t notice. Eventually, all the clouds cleared, and warm sunlight fell upon her pebbled beach, bringing warmth to her battered body.
She raised her head and swallowed, her throat was parched. The pebbles shone in the sunlight, and mist rose as the rainwater began to evaporate. Survival instinct washed away her sorrows as she recognised the fast disappearing drinkable water. To her right was a shallow concave rock steaming with rainwater. With back and stomach aching all the way, she crawled towards it. She sucked the cold fresh water noisily until none was left. A little strength and clear-headedness returned.
She sat back on her haunches and took in her surroundings. Perhaps it was the trauma, or perhaps it was the loneliness and desperateness of her situation, but for a moment spiritual thoughts flooded her mind in a way that they had never done before. It was as if the Great Goddess had spared her, or perhaps her own spirit was too strong to leave yet.
The soul and spirit were the business of priests and priestesses, and she never thought much about it, but now it seemed important. Had her mother gone into the light of the goddess? Was her soul safe? She had never thought about a life beyond this one, until now. Why had her life been spared twice? Was it some game of a cruel god to make her suffer? If I am to survive, how will I get off this cursed beach?
She let out a long sigh and inched herself up. The tide was out, maybe going out further, but soon it would come back in, and from the looks of it there would be little more than a three-foot square beach to stand on. Her eyes came to rest upon thick seaweed clinging to the rocks a foot from the ground. Farmer Ged used to put that on his fields, she thought, recognising the bulbous pods and teal coloured fronds. He’d called it “Mavy’s kelp” and once made a soup out of it for them. Her stomach churned from the memory of the foul taste. Still, it could be eaten raw, and she desperately needed food.
She shuffled along the rocks and pulled some seaweed pods off. She held one glistening pod to her lips. It smelt salty and rotting, but her mind was set. She bit down, chewed once, decided against it and swallowed. It was just salty and slimy. She waited for a minute with her eyes clenched shut, but her stomach did not complain or try to throw it back up. She swallowed a few more and felt a little relief from hunger.
She watched the sea as she ate. The tide flowed north, it always did. It must have carried her further up the island in the way she had been heading. She couldn’t be sure, and thinking made her head hurt, but hope sparked in her heart. What if Kammam lay just over those rocks?
She began hauling her aching body up them, but her smile faded when she reached the top. Ahead was nothing but more massive boulders and sheer cliff faces, there were no more pebbled coves like the one she was in. She sagged. With the tide flowing this way, could she swim? Her arms ached at the thought. But towards the port town the tide became slack and the sea its gentlest - which was why the port was built there anyway. The sea only lapped at the rocks here. What if she half-pulled herself along the rocks and half-swam? The water was warm this time of year and the sun was out to help.
She looked down into the ocean. It was blue and crystal clear. A shoal of tiny silver fish darted amongst the billowing seaweed. Had everything been normal in her life, diving in would be positively inviting. Before she could think too much about it, she slipped down the rock into the water. She gasped at the cold, but after a moment of treading water, it became refreshing. Already the tide was trying to move her along, and she realised floating was easier than walking when it felt like every bone in your body was broken.
With one hand always reaching for a rock, she half-swam, half-pulled herself along. It was slow going, but at least she was moving. After an hour or so waves of exhaustion flowed through her limbs. Where her clothes rubbed her skin it stung painfully. There appeared another pebbled cove, and though she was sorely tempted to stop, the sinking sun pushed her onwards. Her lips felt swollen from constantly being in salt water, and her throat was parched again. How much further could Kammam be? What if this was not even Little Kammy?
As doubts crept into her mind, she began to do something she had never consciously done before - she began to pray. She prayed to Feygriene, the Goddess of the Sun, to keep her warm. She prayed to Zanufey, the Goddess of the Night and of the Waters, to keep the night at bay and the water to carry her safely. She prayed to Woetala, the Goddess of the Forest, and her lover Doon the Forest Lord, to keep her spirit strong and sharp. She prayed to the Source of All to lead her always to the light. Mostly she knew she prayed not out of devotion, but to keep herself awake, the cold at bay, and her mind from wandering into madness.
She rounded a boulder and blinked in disbelief at what was surely a mirage. Ahead was a sandy stretch of beach at the end of which stood a crumbling building and stone wall. The harbour walls of Kammam! She cheered and kicked hard to reach the pebbled shore, her aching body forgotten. She pulled herself along the pebbles to the sand and flopped down onto her back, gasping and grinning in relief, the glorious sunlight rolling over her cold wet skin like honey.
When she had caught her breath and dried off a bit she heaved herself up. Her legs were so tired she staggered often as she made her way to the harbour wall and the narrow steps leading up to an iron gate. When she got there she sagged against the wall for balance.
What was on the other side? Maybe there were people going about their daily business, and the havoc wreaked upon the rest of the island had not happened here. Bakers selling freshly baked bread, the stench of the fish coming from the fish market. She grinned at the thought. But there came no shouts from market callers, no children yelling or dogs barking, there was only the sound of rolling surf. No, it would all be gone, all blackened and destroyed like her home, and everyone would be dead.
Gripping the cold iron, she peered through the bars. Her mouth fell open. The once almost riotous harbour that she remembered so well - filled with boats of all sizes and painted in gaudy reds, blues and yellows - was devastated. It seemed every single boat, from tiny rowing boats to massive seafaring merchant ships, lay shattered and broken, gently bobbing and scraping against each other. There was not a patch of open water between the smashed debris.
Blackened scorch marks covered everything that was big enough to float. The colourful paint was barely visible under the black. Her stomach tied itself in knots as her eyes swept over the carnage. She leant her head against the gate, feeling the loneliness close around her as if it were a solid thing.
Not a living soul walked the scorched cobbled streets. There were no ships upon the horizon, only debris slowly making its way out to sea. Everything was terribly quiet, there weren’t even seagulls crying their ear piercing screams, perhaps the Dromoorai had destroyed them too. A great wave of destruction had flooded over the land, taking all life with it and leaving only devastation in its wake. For a heart-stopping moment, she wondered if the whole world looked like this and she was all alone.
She swallowed. She would have to go down there, even if there were bodies. The gate was bolted, but with no guards to stop her she climbed over it. Her eyes travelled over the rows of burnt-out buildings. She tried to take in as little in as possible until she found the storehouses. At first, she couldn’t find the familiar blue doors next to the slipway, then she saw a black hole where once the doors had been. Keeping her eyes focused on that space, she made her way down the steps, and along the road.
She peered into the darkness of the storehouse. The left half of the roof had collapsed, crushing all the wooden crates and barrels beneath it. To the right was a mess of overturned shelves, barrels, and crates of all sizes. The crates were nailed shut, but she found a fire axe hanging off its holder beside the entrance. The blade was blackened as was the hilt, but other than that it was still functional.
She hefted the axe to the first box. On the third strike, the lid flew off. Inside there were only reins and bits for horses. She came to the next intact item, a barrel, and began hacking. Again she was disappointed for it contained only reels and reels of fish netting.
She paused to rest, shoulders quivering, dreading the thought of surviving on raw seaweed. Her eyes fell upon the bolted door in the floor, hidden mostly by ash. She knelt on trapdoor and brushed the soot away. The bolt was too stiff to budge, but with the butt of the axe she knocked it free. It took some wedging and all of her strength to lift the door up. It fell back with a deafening bang, sending clouds of ash into the air.
She covered her mouth and froze, afraid the Dromoorai would hear and come for her again, but the dust settled, and there was only the distant sound of the sea. She peered down the stone steps into the darkness. There was a lantern just inside the door hanging on a hook. A few twists of the knob and it clicked into life. She tiptoed down the steps, the lantern swinging in one hand and the axe in the other, poised for any attack.
The lantern lit up a large room that extended beyond the light’s reach, and it was filled with delights. She raced towards the six or so crates of green apples and bit savagely into one. As she munched, she scanned the rows of deep shelves, they lined the walls all the way up to the ceiling some fifteen feet above her. There were ladders on rollers reaching up to the topmost shelves. She dropped her apple core and began to investigate each and every crate.
She found everything from jams and pickles to cheeses and hard breads and crackers, to blackberry cordials, ciders, beers and fine Davonian wine. There was even a section of tropical fruits from southern Frayon. They were always far too expensive for her to buy, and she didn’t even know what some of them were called.
She grabbed a banana and between that and mouthfuls of bread, jam and swigs of apple juice, she felt a peace wash over her that brought tears to her eyes. For the moment it seemed all the hardship had come to end, the end of suffering and struggling and fighting to survive. She couldn’t stop the tears, and now her belly was full, she lay curled up on the cold stone floor and let them come.
Eventually, it was the cold that made her sit up. There was only the faintest glow coming through the trapdoor above. The sun must have set by now. She wiped her eyes, felt soot and salt and tears smear across her face, and wondered how awful she must look. Good, it would hopefully scare any attacker away.
She picked up the lantern and axe and delved deeper into the underground room. There was enough food here to keep her alive for months, but she needed clothes. On the right side of the room, opposite the food, there were various crates and boxes that, after prying them open, revealed cookware and utensils, all to do with food. But towards the end of the room she found a box of thick cotton aprons and in another a leather jerkin. She pulled them on.
There were several coarse horsehair blankets that served as packing material. These she collected and looked for a place to make a bed. To the left of the steps was a dark empty space and she put the blankets there. Anything coming down the steps would not see her, and she would be able to escape more easily. Down here was sheltered too. Though the bed was rough and itchy she could not stop the sleep that stole over her within moments of turning off the lantern.
A brilliant white light awoke her. She sat up and squinted into it, her heart pounding. Either her eyes adjusted, or the brightness dimmed, and she could just about make out the tall form of a woman. She could barely see her features because the figure was made of light. She backed away from it and pressed herself into the wall.
‘Issa,’ the voice was strained and came from far away as if the being struggled to maintain its presence. ‘Do not linger here, they will return.’ The image flickered briefly.
‘No, wait,’ Issa gasped, now terrified the figure would disappear and leave her alone. ‘Who are you? Who will return? The Dromoorai?’
‘Yes,’ the figure said, and faded almost to nothing before returning dimmer. ‘Seek the seers or the priestesses of the Temple.’
‘Where? On Bigger Kammy?’ she asked.
‘No, all gone, only Frayon…’
She barely caught the last word as the light faded and complete darkness closed in. She lay back down wondering who the figure had been, but her body was still so exhausted that sleep swept over her once more.