Page 115 of The Isles of the Gods
“I see a break in the cliffs,” Keegan calls from the bow, and Selly spins the wheel to turn us in toward it as I peel away to deal with the sails once more. But as our little boat noses around the bend to head inside the landing cove, Selly curses behind me, and I lift my gaze from the line I’m tying off.
Please, no.
The cove is already occupied by a sleek black boat. Its engines are silent, and it rests quietly at anchor. It’s no larger than theEmma,but it’s nothing like our faithful fishing boat. This one is made to cut through the water like a knife.
Selly drops her voice to a whisper, hands light on the wheel. “Seven hells. Should we find somewhere else to come ashore?”
I shake my head, eyes locked on the boat. “This is the only place. The journal’s clear.”
Keegan’s studying it thoughtfully. “They don’t have a lookout,” he murmurs. “Perhaps there’s nobody aboard. Or they’re not hostile—maybe your sister heard the news, sent someone else to make the sacrifice?”
“Maybe,” says Selly softly, not sounding like she believes it. “We should go now, go quickly, get ashore. We’ve got more room to move on land if somebody comes up on deck and sees us and doesn’t like us.”
Following her whispered instructions, we steer theEmmaup into the wind, quickly furling her rustling sails, and drop her anchor—I’m dreading a noisy chain like the ones I’ve seen on my family’s boats, but Selly produces something tied to a thick rope and casts it out into the water with a grunt of effort. It sinks silently, and theEmmaswings out to the end of her line without anybody appearing on the deck of the other boat.
We’ll have to swim ashore, so we sling fishing nets over the side to use as a ladder down to the water, the stink of the day before yesterday’s catch enveloping us in a noxious cloud.
Selly spreads a waterproof fisherman’s cape on the deck, and with a look that warns us against making any comment about it, strips to her underwear, laying her clothes on top of the cape, and knotting her shoelaces together so she can sling her boots around her neck for the swim.
I’m frozen in place. Then I realize Keegan’s already following suit, and I fumble with my shirt buttons, struggling to think about anything other than the creamy skin of her long legs. I can practically hear Augusta:Really, Leander? Thinking aboutthat at a time like this?But I can’t stop thinking about Selly. And I don’t want to.
Just wait until you meet her, Augusta.
Trying to recover my dignity, because I know at least Selly and probably Keegan saw me gawk at her—or maybe just trying to make her smile—I draw a breath for a whispered joke about my physique as we climb down the fishing net. And then I clamp my lips together, desperately holding in a choking cough as the smell of the fishing nets hits me all over again. Serves me right.
Keegan passes the parcel of our clothes and the journal, and I pass it on to Selly, who’s the strongest swimmer byfar.
She makes her way to shore on her back, keeping it out of the water, one eye on the silent boat keeping us company in this quiet little cove. There’s still no sign of life from it as we reach the shore and find our feet to walk up the black sand.
The strangest feeling comes over me as I make contact with the island itself—it’s like a sharpening of all my senses. The mysterious boat bobbing at anchor is forgotten—my companions are forgotten.
Birds scream in the trees, and the breeze plays through the branches. There are a thousand shades of lush green. I smell the clean, earthy scent of the undergrowth, the salt of the sea behind us.
I feel the island through the soles of my feet—but though everything around me is clearer, crisper, it’s also more distant, because I can sense Barrica here, her presence pressing in around me. It’s the same kind of closeness as when I pray at temple—her mind, for want of a better word, pressing in against mine. A familiarity, and at the same time a sense thatshe’s so much more vast than I can properly understand. It’s overwhelming, but comforting in its familiarity.
“Leander?” Selly asks quietly, her gaze on me as she picks up that something’s changed.
“Can you feel it?” I manage.
“Feel what?” Keegan asks, turning toward me.
“She’s here,” I breathe.
Everyone goes still. “She’s—” he begins, glancing around.
“No, not Laskia,” I murmur, my lips curving to a smile.“Her.”
Selly looks around at the jungle, then shakes her head, and so too does Keegan.
“Your family has a connection to her,” he points out. “It’s promising you can feel her presence, I suppose. Do you know the way from here?”
I do. There are still my father’s pages of the journal I haven’t read, but every member of my family before him left their account of the walk to the temple. And even if they hadn’t, I’d know it instinctively.
We dress and lace up our boots, drying ourselves as best we can in the process.
And then we climb, leaving the boats behind.
We make our way through the greenery, undergrowth catching at our legs, leaf litter crunching beneath our feet. The warm, damp air embraces us as we follow the faintest of paths—they must have been created by animals, because I spot a broken stick every so often, a sign something has passed this way. Occasionally a breeze snakes through the crowded trees, sending them swaying.
