Journey to the Forgotten Island

Chapter 14 - Old Smoke

Toma could not take his eyes off the island. He felt as if under a spell, enchanted by the hard lines of rock against the fade of mist, the bright green of forest against the white fog. Was he only captivated because he had not seen land for almost a month? Or was there something about this island that gave him this queasy feeling, as if to look away would be to allow it to surprise him, by moving or disappearing entirely? Now he saw it, really saw it, the image that had dominated his imagination and dreams for so long. No longer sketches of ink on parchment but cold, hard rock and wet splintery wood, fast approaching through the sea. Because, yes, this is how it felt, as though the island had frozen the ship in its tracks and was instead moving towards the ship, coming to him.

With every moment that passed, the island grew bigger and his heart pounded harder. The mountains in the distant north of the island were terrible – great sharp peaks of such a height he had never seen before. The mountains were white with snow and glaciers but the peaks, so jagged and sharp, were too tough even for the snow to hold; like spears thrust from the underground and through the mountains, they stabbed through the snow towards the sky, the colour of rusting iron. Below the mountains, the mist began – the mist was like a heavy cloak, shielding the island, providing its disguise. He watched with such intent as if he may suddenly acquire the power to see through fog. But nothing was revealed until much farther below, the grey-green pointed tops of pine and fir trees appeared, as if the mist came from them – a ghostly breath, enchanted with the power to conceal. The trees were densely packed, nothing but green, almost impossible to discern between the trees. How he wanted to know what hid amongst those trees. He almost forgot that he had come to this island for anything other than to find out what existed in its realm. As if he were a lone explorer discovering the island for the first time.

But of course, there were the abandoned Vetustan settlers to find. This island was not inhabited and he had to find a way into its seemingly impenetrable interior. As the ship approached, the high peaks of the north fell behind smaller, nearer peaks. Just as it had grown, upon approach it seemed again to shrink, to lose its terrifying scale and awe-striking sharpness.

It was in a trance that he boarded the smaller transfer vessel that sailed his band of scouts to the island, leaving the three large ships, with their provisions, nobles and beds, behind. While the cavalrymen and workmen jostled in the ship behind him, he stared, captivated.

Suddenly, he remembered to look up, to search for the searing scales, heavy wings, fiery breath. He searched the skies and saw nothing. Not even some birds to mistake for faraway dragons.

As the shores grew clearer he began to distinguish the trunks of the trees, to the see the darkness below the canopy. The darkness grew clearer, as if drawn with ink. There was no light, nothing at all to be seen behind the trees, only the bright green in the foreground, hiding the secrets that lay beyond. He saw the open plains that the prospector had mentioned, where the fort could be built; before the dense tangle of forest was a vast plain of long grass.

'Look,' shouted a soldier, 'an army!'

'An army!'

Toma peered and saw an enormous crowd slowly moving east along the plains. It looked as though there may be five thousand men, all carrying spears.

'But we are not prepared for war – how do they know already of our arrival?'

'Quiet!' Miro Espi shouted. 'Damn fools. Look closer. It is a herd of deer. The largest I have ever seen.'

Toma looked again and saw that the spy was right. What he had taken for spears were merely antlers. The herd moved slowly across the plain, grazing and jumping, too large to move in a coordinated manner.