The Reef (53 page)
Authors: Mark Charan Newton
Manolin looked across the remains of the village. There was not much for him to see. Wood lay strewn across the beach, dead fish and molluscs amongst the debris. Moments earlier a piece of coral had fallen from a palm tree and nearly hit him on the head.
A group of villagers walked along the lagoon, so he ran up to them. They were all men, and were collecting what few personal belongings they could find.
‘We can build it again,’ Manolin said. Then, to himself, with a smile, ‘I was wondering what I was going to do here. Something to get my teeth into.’
They looked at him but said nothing, their eyes displaying some despair. Behind them, the waves spilt on the beach, dumping cargo from the naval vessels. More metal and wood was being washed up, each wave delivering. Then he saw a small boat approaching the island. There were men inside.
Manolin turned to the villagers. ‘Chaps, I don’t mean to alarm, but those are naval men out there. Could be a spot of trouble ...’ One of the villagers, Mhulo, raised his hand. Manolin frowned, turned to look at the boat. At the edge of his vision, he saw another group of islanders, women this time, walking along the shore, down to where the water met the sand. They were carrying blow pipes. He looked from the boat to the women and back again. The men were approaching the shallower water. One of them stood up, waved his arms to the women. Manolin watched the women raise their pipes, then form two neat rows. He wondered how the women had seen the boat in advance. The front row knelt down. They all fired and, silently, the men fell into the water or the boat. He could see parts of their bodies shaking until they became still. Oddly, the boat began to drift away again as if the tide was removing it for them. Manolin watched it for several minutes until it had passed around the island as quickly as it had arrived.
The women walked back up the beach and into the forest. He scratched his head, shook it, not quite believing they had just done that. The event was eerie, he thought. And the recognition of that word sent a shudder through his body. He turned around again to see that the village men had gone. They were further up the beach now, a few items under their arms.
He was alone. Myranda had gone to see if Lewys was all right. Manolin knew the boy could look after himself. The sun was high and Manolin was sweating. He had to shade his eyes when he looked back towards where the reef had been. There was nothing there now, no darkness on the surface of the water. The waves approached the island faster, louder and with more energy since there was nothing to act as a breakwater.
He walked along the beach, his hands in his pockets, his head held high as he observed his new home. As you looked along the edge of the palm forest and up at the volcano, large and still, overlooking the island, you could see small birds circling the summit. Shading his eyes with his hand as he scanned along the curve of the shore, wondered where he would build his hut.
He would have to start all over again.
Epilogue
Hundreds of people made their way through the rush hour streets of Escha. Rain sparked off the old stone walls, off cobbled streets. People bumped past each other through thin passageways, their heads facing the puddles. A vendor at a newspaper stood idly, his hat drawn across his eyes, his collar turned up. A group of black rumel youths smoked cigarettes as people passed them. You could smell them streets away. All the time, no one looked at each other as if eye contact was a sin. A beggar huddled in a doorway, his legs drawn in so he wouldn’t get kicked. A group of workmen were leaving the docks. They carried their equipment, ladders and tools, though the same streets in which people were crammed, howling shouting obscenities over the voice of the newspaper vendor. If you listened carefully you could hear he was calling out yet more headlines about building work from the tidal wave that struck the city a year ago.
An elderly woman was escorting a little girl past a row of commercial buildings. Oil lanterns had been lit, and the girl looked up with big eyes at the beams of light that forced columns of rain to sparkle. At every shop, the girl pressed her face on the window as she passed. Her breathing steamed them up then she drew lines though the mist with her fingers. She moved on to the next, whilst the woman waited patiently.
People knocked them as they passed and the woman let out a sigh. Some would shout at her to get out of the way, but she turned to keep an eye on the girl. They saw an old man who was selling mussels from an alleyway, arranged in order of size. He looked down at the girl, but did not smile. She skipped on, not really caring about his rudeness.
The girl paused at one particular window. A toy shop. A man with a broad moustache stepped out, one of those old top hats on his head. Then he pulled his coat around him, winked at her, strode down the street.
The girl turned back to the row of dolls behind the glass. She pointed at one in particular. ‘I like that one. Why’s it got funny clothes? It looks like an explorer. I wonder where he’s been. He must have had an adventure.’
The doll had black hair, golden skin. It wore a pair of shortened breeches, a loose shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. It looked noticeably different to any of the others.
The woman took a closer look by the girl’s eye-line. ‘Yes, it probably is. But come on, your mother wants you home before it gets dark. We can look another time.’
The woman walked on, but the girl remained by the window, careful not to steam it up. She stood on tip-toes to get a better look. Then she looked down at her shoes as someone splashed her. All she could see were people’s legs moving rapidly. Everyone in a rush. Everyone was rude. She turned to leave the doll, to find her grandmother again.
In her haste she trotted through the streets forgetting the doll as quickly as she had seen it.
The End
T
H E
R
E E F
Mark Charan Newton was born in 1981, and holds a degree in Environmental Science. After working in bookselling, he moved into editorial positions at imprints covering film and media tie-in fiction and, later, science fiction and fantasy. He currently lives and works in Nottingham. His other books include the Legends of the Red Sun series, including
Nights of Villjamur
,
City of Ruin
and
The Book of Transformations
.
The Reef
is an eBook exclusive.
You can find out more about the author at his website
First published in 2008 by Pendragon Press
This electronic edition published 2011 by Tor
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
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ISBN 978-1-447-20954-6 EPUB
Copyright © 2011 by Mark Charan Newton
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