I chase Jag down to the boat.
‘Is my da okay?’ he asks, blinking through tears.
I jog along beside him as the tall gold-crowned man, hauls him along. ‘Yes, she says he’s jus’ asleep. It was a little dart thing.’
‘Oh,’ Jag says, and takes a deep breath.
‘They know it was me,’ I tell him. ‘They know it, but they’re taking you anyway! Why did you have to say it was you?’
‘Coz,’ Jag says. ‘You’s my friend.’
The man pushes me away at the jetty, and yells at Jag and points to the Valley of the Sun boat.
‘Jag, I’m sorry!’ I yell, as Jag gets in the boat. ‘Jump in the water and swim for it! Then they’ll have to take me!’
Jag looks at the water, but of course, he’s afraid of crocs. He won’t be jumping in.
The old woman comes down to the boat, talking quietly to Marta. Marta still trying to strike a deal, first in their language, then in ours. ‘He’s a good boy,’ she says. ‘He’s a good fisherman. His father’s already lost a wife and two boys, you gotta bring him back to us. He’s a good boy.’
The old woman says she will. ‘But people need to understand not to touch the equipment. Our security is at stake. There are wars going on over the remaining land that you people of the inner islands don’t understand.’
‘We understand now,’ Marta says. ‘Don’t take our boy. He’s a child of this village more than any other child, born of a dead mother and raised by all the mothers.’
The woman jus’ turns and looks at me and tilts her head, like I’m the one who caused all this. But I was only trying to make things right with Gerra.
I stand there on the rocky shore, the sun burning shame into my bare, burnt scalp, burning right down to the soles of my stone-pricked feet. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
The boat pushes off and sails with Jag clinging to the stern staring back at me with wide, sad eyes, back at our village, back at that red-flashing light, and now I’m glad it’s flashing so he’ll see it way out at sea. Way out there, he’ll look back at the land disappearing on the horizon, and he’ll see that light so he knows where we is for longer.
Marta turns and looks at me.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say and I’ve never been more sorry about anything ever, and I want her to say something to make me feel bad, or hit me or hug me so I can cry.
She puts a hand on my shoulder, and gets her face low and level with mine. ‘Child,’ she says, and sighs like she’s emptying her heavy heart. ‘I knew you was up to something. You should’ve told me.’ Then she turns me around to face the village. Ma is sitting with Jag’s da’s head in her lap. She looks up at me with eyes dark and damp, lips pulled tight so I can tell she’s gonna let me chew on this misery and wrongdoing for a while before she talks to me about it.
The kids come out of the trees and crawl out from under the bus. The other adults rush and hug them like they were in danger of being taken too. Some adults is jus’ standing, watching our Jag sail away. ‘Don’t listen to her. You’re not wild,’ Marta says, her voice tired but kind.
‘Could you maybe put in a good word for me with Ma?’ I whisper.
‘She’ll calm down,’ she says. ‘You’re brave. The bravest of us. Don’t lose that.’
But looking at the village now, their hearts all broken for Jag, I don’t know if jus’ being brave is enough no more.
