PINELIGHTforkindle (21 page)

Everyone pushed to the center of the ship, blades drawn and eyes glued to their surroundings. Any minute the reptile could fly into the sky and grab any one of them. But it didn’t. It was waiting. Waiting for someone to get too close.

Fergus yelled out to everyone, “Help me move the cockboat—I have an idea!”

I watched as the men carefully unfastened one of the cockboats from the front of the deck. Fergus climbed inside.

“You,” Fergus said, pointing to a young man, “climb to the crow’s nest and signal when and where you see the creature. Signal when he moves.” The man took off and, as instructed, began his climb to the crow’s nest. Fergus looked to the men who had crowded around him. “Lower me down to the water in the boat. I will gut the creature when it jumps from the water—when its belly is exposed.”

No one seemed to question him. I caught a reassuring look from his eyes as they scooted the small boat to the edge of the ship, to the same spot that was filled with pools of a dead man’s blood. Finn was right there amongst the men—his muscles tight from the weight of the boat, his brow gleaming with sweat. The man on lookout gave a signal as soon as they reached the edge. Fergus nodded to Finn, and they steadily began to lower him down the hull of the ship.

No one wanted to look over the edge to see what happened, but I ran to the side as soon as I heard the man in the crow’s nest yell, “Look out!”

The reptile sprang from the water, its jaw open, its tail flapping through the air; it flew right over the small boat. Fergus plunged his sword into the soft underbelly of the creature, and its own body weight ripped it open. It landed on the cockboat, pulling the ropes from the side of the ship. I watched as Fergus, the boat, and the snapping monster fell into the quiet, dark waters.

“Fergus!” I cried. “Someone do something!”

No one knew if Fergus or the creature were still alive. The same man who had cried out the warning shouted from above, “I can’t see Fergus! I can’t see the creature!”

And just as he shouted, there was another splash overboard.
Finn.

I leaned further over the edge, trying to see through the water. It was too dark to see anything. “Please, God. Please, please, God. Let them be all right,” I said to myself. Now that I had them both back in my life, I couldn’t lose them again. They surfaced to the water simultaneously, gasping for the night air. Finn had an arm looped around Fergus, keeping him afloat. Fergus was bleeding. A device was quickly lowered to them, and they were hoisted back to the safety of the ship.

The creature was dead, but it had managed to nip Fergus during the fall into the ocean. His hand was pressed to the oozing wound when I got to him. It was a nasty gash, but thanks to Finn’s rescue, he would survive. We helped him to the captain’s quarters, where I cleaned and dressed the wound as best as I knew how. It was a deep cut, but it hadn’t punctured any organs. I thanked God for that.

“What were you thinking? You could have been killed,” I said through tear-filled eyes.

 “Oh, Clara—it is more important to see that you are kept safe.” Fergus raised a hand to swipe away a single tear that had rolled down to my chin. “You needn’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.”

“You don’t understand—I can’t lose you again.” I looked to Finn. “I can’t lose either one of you again.”

Fergus took my hands in his and lightly kissed them both. “I understand,” he whispered. Finn’s eyes never left mine.

But they didn’t understand. I loved them. That’s what I wanted to say. That’s what I was trying to say—but I just didn’t know how. I fell asleep sitting on the floor with my head against the bed and my hands still in his. Finn never left the room either.

There were no more monsters that night. Only heroes.

-22-

THE DEVIL’S BACKBONE

At dawn we saw it—an island appeared from the sea. A raging pile of jungle would be a better description. Twisted palms were waving high in the sky from the very breeze that had carried us over the sea. From a distance, the island looked like a tropical paradise—but as we neared, you could see this was no paradise.

I dressed in men’s clothes that morning. It was either that or a dress. The tan faded pants fit pretty good considering, and so did the white long-sleeve shirt—after I tucked it in the pants and ripped off the long sleeves. I found a leather side pouch, which surprisingly was similar to the bags I carried to school. I decided to take the book of poems with me.

There was a knock on the door. Fergus entered with a bulging napkin, which I quickly found to be food for the journey.

“Sea biscuits,” he said. “They taste like crackers from back home.” He hobbled over to the bed and sat down to pack the food into my bag. “There should be plenty of bacon and salted meat to give you energy. The salted meat doesn’t look pretty, but you will find that it tastes like jerky. The men have already filled a boat with plenty of fresh water for you both. It is very important that you have eaten and that you are fully hydrated before you fall into Hades.”

Fall.
What a nightmare—a nightmare I would be living sooner than I’d hoped. I plopped down on the bed next to Fergus and leaned to him, like a scared child would to her father. The day was finally here. All these years I had been looking for someone to blame—someone to hate. Soon I would be standing on the precipice, peering down into a dark place that held the answers to my stolen past. Literally. I would find my truth. I would find the person who was to blame. And if I survived the fall, I would see my aunt again.

Fergus placed a hand on each of my shoulders. “I’m sorry I cannot make this journey with you,” he said. His injury from the night before had left him temporarily crippled on one side—unable to lift a weapon. It was hard for him to accept that he had to stay on the ship. Fergus had always watched over me—always protected me, even when I was unaware I needed protecting. He was there. This time he couldn’t be, and his devastation was enough to touch the coldest of hearts. His warm gaze lingered for a moment. I felt security pass from his eyes to mine. It was time to go.

I stood and aided Fergus in raising his own weight from the bed. I’ve never seen him so sad—so vulnerable. In my eyes, even though he was pushing seventy, Fergus embodied strength and hope. Those personifications were decaying right before my eyes—fading piece by piece from his devastation. I could hardly bear to see it.

Finn entered the cabin. “It’s time, Clara,” he said.

I nodded in response. I was ready—ready as I could be, given I didn’t know what to expect. This was my time to be brave, my time to step up. Too long had I relied on the strength of others; too long had I run from my fears.

Fergus darted his eyes to Finn as he hugged me one last time. “Please, bring her back to me.”

“You have my word,” Finn said.

The crew had already readied the cockboat over the side of the ship. Finn stepped into the swinging boat and held my hand as I did the same. As we were lowered down the side of the hull, Fergus leaned over with one last piece of advice.

“Remember to use your faith to stand against the evil one and his schemes. He is not of flesh and blood—he cannot be defeated as if he was. Everything in Hades will be against you. The elements will be severe. The entire land will be a manifestation of your fears. Do not give in to those fears—it will give him control,” he yelled.

The boat dropped to the water with a bounce, spraying us both with a salty mist. The paddles split through the ocean water and guided the tip of the boat away from the ship, away from safety. We didn’t speak. It seemed easier that way.

The air on the island was heavy with moisture—at times the air was so thick that you could taste the elements of the jungle on your tongue. There were hundreds of different trees mingled together—so many that they actually formed a canopy over our heads. Only small beams of light were able to penetrate through the tiny cracks in the awning. Animals and insects chirped and bellowed and squawked. Monkeys scrambled from branch to branch. Mosquitoes and flies circled our heads. We trudged through it all.

Finn led the way, of course, knocking down limbs, carefully helping me over fallen trees. He would stop periodically to listen to the jungle and to point out poisonous plants.

“Manchineel tree,” he said. “Don’t go near it.”

Its bark was gray, like many of the trees we had seen, but its branches were covered with perfectly shaped green leaves, bright yellow flowers, and lush apple-like fruit. It was enticing. The apples looked so tasty.
If only I had one bite.
My mouth watered.

“But—its fruit looks ripe. It’s just an apple.” I was mesmerized by it.

“Not from that tree—don’t take anything from that tree. The manchineel is the most poisonous tree in this world and in your world. One bite of its fruit is fatal. One slight bump against its bark will cause your skin to buckle and blister. Even when burned, its smoke will cause blindness. The very sap it leaks is used on the arrows of our enemies. Victor is known for using these trees to torture our people. Ripping their clothes from their body—tying them to its trunk. All you can do is scream while your skin bubbles from your body.”

Even the trees are against us,
I thought. My face must have twisted to show what I was thinking, because he turned back around to clear a new path. We continued to travel deep into the island, twisting in and out of trees and dodging brightly colored flowers.

The day disappeared quickly in the jungle. Night swept in under the canopy of trees, trapping the dark around us. I was nervous about stopping. Stopping meant that Finn and I would be in one place at the same time, with nothing or no one to distract us from having a real conversation.

He stopped and listened to the night.
What is he listening for?
I wished I knew. Whatever he heard or didn’t hear seemed to please him. He threw his leather satchel to the ground. I did the same with mine. I guessed this was camp.

He leaned down and grabbed two small items from his bag. From what I could see, he was holding a red rock, speckled with black spots, and a piece of metal.

“What’s that?”

“Jasper and iron. We need to have a fire going before it gets much darker. Grab a few of those leaves.” He pointed with his head to an area underneath a tree that was covered in tangled roots. “Only the dead leaves,” he said.

Finn stepped over to a thin tree and broke off several branches. He strategically placed those in a pile in the clearing. He then pulled out a small dagger and moved to a different tree, a tree stamped with fungus of different shapes, colors, and sizes. With his dagger he cut two pieces of fungus from the tree. I noticed they were the same—white, gray striped, and rounded, like the hooves of a horse. He scraped the fungus with his dagger and then sat the exposed layer on the ground. I had read about this once. It was some article I ran across at the library—“Surviving in the Wild,” it was called. Never in a million years would I have expected this to be practical information. If I recalled correctly, he was about to use the fungus as tinder—as a substance to ignite the fire.

Sparks flew. I had recalled correctly. He leaned down and blew softly, gently. I stared at his lips. He fed the spark a few dry leaves and then small twigs. In minutes, we had a fire.

We both unpacked our bags. He poured water into two wooden cups. I handed him a biscuit while I crunched on mine. We sat near the fire against the trunk of a fallen tree. I finished one biscuit and gulped down the full cup of water Finn had poured for me. It was sweet with a mango flavor—it was refreshing. I was getting more nervous.

“More water?” he asked.

“Please.”

His hand slid over mine when he reached for my cup. It was warm and electric. He pulled away and seemed to shudder, as if he was repelled by the swift connection our bodies had made.

“Thanks,” I said. I took another sip. I felt awkward.

“We will reach the summit by noon tomorrow,” he announced sharply.

I sighed, disappointed that our conversation was going nowhere.

“Is something wrong?” He looked cautious.

“Yes,” I blurted. “Something is wrong. You are keeping something from me.” I scooted my back closer to the trunk of the tree so that I was sitting up tall. “We are going through hell itself tomorrow—so, I think I deserve to know why you keep pushing me away.”

He was silent.

“Look at me,” I said softly as I waited for his attention. “Look,” I repeated. His gaze finally met mine. I could see the flame reflecting in his eyes. They seemed so dark, so unexpectedly dark. But then they softened into the electric green I had seen in the eyes of his portrait, with a warm ring of gold around them.

“It’s hard to be close to you,” he said.

“Oh.” I hadn’t expected that response.

“All these years,” he muttered, “I thought you were dead.”

His sad eyes pierced right through me, causing me to hold my breath. We both looked away, breaking the gaze simultaneously, struck by the same hesitant feeling.