MORNING
The one called Rives had weakened.
The island knew there was a strong possibility he would break. He believed he had nearly broken while he was here before, but he was wrong. If anything, he had fought a fracture there. But those cracks were minuscule compared to the fissure that was coming. The island hurt for him, for the pain to come. Pain the island itself must deliver.
The island regretted the pain to come, but it did not regret its choice.
It only regretted that there was no choice.
And so it would be.
The pain in his head forced the island to turn away, to turn elsewhere. It turned to one far less powerful, one who was still lost.
* * *
Lana huddled in the trees, watching Zane paddle out. Yearning rolled over her as powerful as the towering wave he’d just ridden. A giant blue beauty, Zane had carved it with admirable precision, his board one with the wave, never pressing, his stance relaxed and powerful, bliss on his face.
She wanted that. Not Zane, that was ridiculous. No, she wanted the freedom of the water, a place she knew like the back of her hand. She’d been island raised and island bred, and even though this wasn’t her island, she knew the water, and it called to her. It called her here.
First she’d guiltily raided the storage hut for food, finding salted fish and mounds of guava; she’d been so hungry she’d forced herself to slow down so she didn’t get sick. Then she’d huddled in the trees, watching.
“So this is your grand plan? Hiding in the bushes?”
Lana turned. A girl stood behind her, hips cocked, thick dark braid, angry eyes. Proud stance. Carmen, Lana remembered. The girl from her cave.
“Hello, Carmen.” Lana’s voice was smooth, giving no hint of anything but control. “Enjoying your island vacation?”
“Here you are, in the shrubs. Watching them. And yet you haven’t joined them. Why?” The girl’s eyes blazed with a hunger Lana didn’t like.
“Why should I tell you?” Lana’s tone stayed controlled.
“Because I asked.”
Lana smiled, enjoying the flare of fire in Carmen’s eyes. She smiled wider. “I have a different path. It might lead here”—she pointed toward the beach, where the heady waves rolled into shore—“or not.” She shrugged. “But I won’t be bullied into a choice.” She stared at Carmen.
A long moment passed.
Then Carmen nodded. “So the escape gate. It comes in three months?”
“A little less now,” Lana said. Did everyone know the island’s secrets? she thought. Apparently yes. Suddenly the weight of all the secrets exhausted her. What was the point? She’d been hiding out in caves on the north shore, half starving and totally miserable, until the latest group of people had driven her away, people led by Paulo on a mission that she hadn’t bothered to care about. She was finally listening.
She’d reflected enough.
She looked at Carmen. “In less than three months’ time, that gate will open. On the mountain, past the meadow, when the crescent moon is high. If you’re there, it will take you home. Or…” She paused. “You can take a rogue gate, a wild one, anytime. They come at noon. Which,” Lana said with a wave of her hand, “is now.” The sun was high, the wind still blowing offshore. The waves ramped into perfect blue lines, begging her to ride them. On the far side of the island, gray dusted the sky, a hint of rain. But here, the sky was clear.
Like the water.
Like her path.
Screw it, she thought. She stood. She leveled her eyes on Carmen. “Good luck, Carmen. I hope you find your way. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a wave to catch.”
Lana turned and didn’t look back. Leaving her hiding spot and Carmen behind her, Lana strode to the storage hut, feeling lighter with each step, and picked the smallest surfboard propped against the hut’s side. She ran her hands over the smooth wood, history rippling beneath her fingers. With a smile for no one but herself, she tucked the board tight to her hip. Carved by her ancestors’ hands, this was one island tradition she would embrace with all she had.
She walked to the water, waded until the waves hit her thighs, and then slid onto the board, paddling with power, feeling more confident than she had in weeks. She pulled up beside Zane, who sat reading the horizon. He looked over and did a double take. “Lana?”
She cocked her head, her joy at being out on the water making her giddy. “Now would you like to see how to really ride a wave?”
* * *
The island watched the one called Carmen with concern. It had taken an unacceptable amount of the island’s remaining strength to alter the path of Carmen’s blade. Responding to a calculated dose of pressure, the knife had sailed wide, barely missing the one called Lana’s back. Intent on the water, the one called Lana had not seen it, had not felt it; she had no inkling that her fate had nearly been altered by a hate-driven hand.
The one called Lana had walked on, unharmed.
The one called Carmen had shaken with fury.
The blade’s error had stoked her anger, an unfortunate effect of the island’s interference, but the one called Lana’s choice to engage with others had already been seen, and she had a role to play. Her death was not written yet.
But alteration of the knife’s trajectory had cost the island in many ways; it had sapped its reserves beyond acceptable levels. The island had no strength left to guide today’s noon. So when a frightening beast with blood dripping from its jaws arrived through the gate and ambled toward the human City, the island simply watched. And hoped that the humans still had strength to run.
Days passed.
Time passed.
The island was accustomed to the passage of time; time gave and time took, because time always was. But now, time bled like an island wound. The one called Skye felt the loss as keenly as the island.
The island shared her agitation, and her mounting frustration. The one called Thad had given her the clues, yet she did not see. The monumental blindness of this species baffled the island; it hindered their ability to learn and grow and transform. Even once Sight was bestowed, understanding did not necessarily follow, as if the blindness continued by choice, a completely illogical course of action. But the island believed that if given the opportunity, she would understand; she would not turn a blind eye to the present, or the future.
But first, she must open her eyes. If she could not open them on her own, the island would assist her.
Time would wait for no one, and the island could no longer wait for her.
She must look, now.