Page 121 of The Isles of the Gods
The purpose of the next hour of her life is simply to find a safe path for him, and mine is to follow close, and stay between him and danger.
So I allow myself to sink into concentration once more, and focus on that lulling rhythm. Perhaps I should be spendingthis time detailing my regrets. Thinking about the things I’d like to have said to my parents, my brother, or my sister, thinking of the books I haven’t read, the classes at the Bibliotek I’ll never take.
Perhaps I should be mentally composing my firsthand account of this journey, even if no other scholar will ever read it, or composing a prayer to my goddess.
But it’s a glorious day, in the most beautiful place I’ve ever been, and the Isle of the Mother is looming ahead of us. We might well be the first people to set foot on its soil in millennia.
So instead, I watch the waves break across the reef, and the waters swirl around my ankles. And I feel the sun on my back.
And I’m content to simply…be.
LEANDER
The Isle of the Mother
The Isles of the Gods
We’re about two-thirds of the way along the reef when I see them behind us: three figures, one larger than the other two. Laskia, Jude, and their huge magician. The breeze is light enough, I can hear their voices when they raise them, though I can’t make out the words.
I try to pick up the pace and stay on Selly’s heels, but the truth is there’s no fast way to do this. The only thing that might save us is that the same is true for them.
Suddenly there’s a shout of warning from Keegan, and I turn, spreading my arms out for balance, already ducking as I see the big magician raising a hand.
At first I think he’s pointing at me, and then, in horror, I realize he’s holding a gun. There’s nothing we can do but watch, trying to crouch, trying to make ourselves smaller. I can see Keegan shaking, and he’s only half crouching, his hands braced against his knees.
“Keegan, get down,” I hiss over the soft lapping of the waves.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t look back. And then I understand.
He’s standing between me and the bullet.
Abruptly the water kicks up into a splash of spray just ahead of us, and an instant later abangechoes across the lagoon.
Keegan’s muttering something that might be a prayer, and Selly’s calling out to me, urgency in her voice.
“Leander, we have to keep moving—we can’t let them get closer!”
Jude’s moving too, splashing up to the big man with the gun, calling something out to him. He gestures at the island ahead of us. Laskia snaps in what’s clearly agreement, and something about his body language makes me think he’s telling the man not to shoot.
He points at the island again: he thinks they’ll have a better chance of hitting us with their limited ammunition at close quarters.
My heart lurches, and I turn to hurry after Selly once more—a glance back shows me Keegan’s pinched white face, his gaze unfocused.
It seems unbelievable that Jude could be one of our pursuers—the same boy who sat around the dining table with us at school, who laughed with us, who was one of us.
I can see him now, sliding me a pencil in class, hiking out with me across the fields near school in pursuit of—I forget, a bull, I think?—on some prank or dare. I can see myself unpacking a box of treats from home and handing him the sticky toffee I asked for, just so I could give it to him. He didn’t get boxes of his own, and I didn’t want him to miss out.
But that was the thing, wasn’t it? We all had boxes, and he had none, because however much I felt he was one of us, he wasn’t. And in the end, that mattered.
I thought he was my friend, though. If you’d told me then that one day he’d hunt me to my death, I’d have thought you’d lost your mind.
When I next glance back, the trio are nearer than they were before—they’re gaining ground, I’m sure of it.
They’re closer still by the time we reach the steep cliffs of the Isle of the Mother—anytime Jude or Laskia is in danger of overbalancing, their giant simply takes hold of them and puts them back on their feet. And slowly that’s let them close the distance.
My heart’s thumping as I make a sling with my hands, sending Selly scrambling up the cliff, then—after a brief debate—Keegan, who weighs less than me. The two of them grab my hands, razor-sharp rocks cutting at my clothes as I plant my foot on a tiny ledge and boost myself up to clamber over the edge and onto the rotting leaf litter waiting for me, the rich, earthy smells filling my nose.
I’m an aching, sweaty mess, but we have to be close. I can’t think properly anymore of the thousands—tens of thousands—of people who don’t even know they’re relying on us to prevent this war.
