The Island

Part One

I knew that something was going to go wrong only a few moments after we left the island, but it didn't really matter, as most people refused to listen to what they could not hear. I did not speak with words, and so other than Hugh, I did not speak with any of the other nine children here, sitting in small, wooden rowboats. I knew that something was to go wrong as the kelp, which distantly called out to me from the bottom of the ocean, said there was a disturbance somewhere in the sea.

The water, a mix of dark green and blue--and cold, was too calm, each wave lapping too gently at the hull of our boats; the currents too soft; the journey too perfect for any of it to be sustained for long. Millard was able to read a book--the Map of Days, which he was studying as if his very life depended on it--without the boat rocking it into the sea; Emma was able to shout directions with complete ease and without the wind carrying her small map of the area away. Enoch fidgeted with his homunculi as if he was seated at a table, while Olive and Claire talked to each other across boats about who knows what, dragging Horace into their conversation at times. Jacob and Hugh and Bronwyn were sure to tire themselves out rowing sometime or other, but it seemed to not matter right now, so fueled were they by an invisible adrenaline of excitement.

I sat in the back of the second rowboat, parallel to Hugh, clutching a small pot of soil. It seemed to be the only thing keeping me sane at the moment, this tiny connection to the earth's vegetation that was my home. The sea might have been calm, but there was no familiar tug of plants, no wide expanse of field to bloom a bouquet of flowers in (the kelp's call had quickly faded away).

It was rather lonely, really. And the ominous feeling of something about to go wrong made it even worse.

"Fee, are you alright?"

Hugh. His voice was concerned, which I appreciated, though it probably wasn't necessary. Well, he was right to be concerned, though not about me and instead, well, whatever was surely going to go wrong. His dark hair was slicked to his pale forehead with sweat.

I nodded, mustering a smile. He was quiet for a moment, and then nodded back, too focused on continuing to row to really talk much. It was alright, though; there'd be time for talking once we arrived at the mainland and helped Miss Peregrine.

If we helped her, a voice in my head reminded me, but I refused to listen. If it came to that, then that meant the wights would have won, and that would mean nothing else would matter anymore, not really. I turned my gaze to the clear blue sky, where faint grey clouds were gathering—we'd have to travel quickly if we were to avoid the certain storm.

"How long are we going to be rowing for?" Claire asked in that always-innocuous way of hers. Her blue eyes were wide and she twisted a golden-blonde curl around a pale finger.

"You mean, how long are we going to be rowing for," Hugh grunted. "Not you. Or Olive."

"No, I'm far too light!" Olive giggled airily. Her light brown cheeks were slightly flushed and her long dark hair was, for once, not tangled, as it often was on Cairnholm due to the frequent wind.

"Maybe filling you up with water would do the trick," said Enoch. He leaned back in the boat, arms crossed smugly across his chest. His short blonde hair was somehow even messier than usual, bangs brushing his dark blue eyes and fair face. "Bring you back down to earth so you could actually do something once in a while."

"Enoch!" Bronwyn scolded. Her brown eyes hardened for a second as she glanced at him. She briefly let go of an oar to one-handedly tie her chin-length brown hair into a very small ponytail, keeping it from touching her tanned face.

"And actually, filling Olive with water would, in fact, be impossible," Millard added. "As she is—"

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