Tales from Virdinia

Amongst the Living

The stars stared down at them with cold, dead eyes as they sailed towards the shoreline, the waves shimmering in the moonlight. They were close now, and Camda felt his heart quicken expectantly as he imagined the settlement hidden in the rainforest before them. There were twenty of them in the boat, all silent, the only sound the distant crash of waves upon rock and shore.

'You must not kill another, not ever,' they whispered in his ears.

But it was all that Camda wanted, all he thought of as he pulled at the oar with his one good arm, the other chained to his back, his fingers brushing the base of his skull. The others were all like him with their chained arms, each trapped and without use. It was the mark of the dead.

Thick clouds had smothered the moon when they had left their rocky island, and they had been glad of its cover. Now, the clouds had been brushed aside, and the moon glared down at their approach. Let it stare, Camda thought angrily, let it watch their approach.

It had taken a long, relentless year to build the craft, a feat none had believed possible. Dead men from a dead island, they should never have been able to build anything. Old Jonan had told them they could though, and they had.

Old Jonan, Camda thought grimly. What man wanted to be king of the dead?

Their oars sliced through the water's surface and the waves shoved at the boat sullenly, it riding low in the water, the men heaving and straining as they hauled its bulk forwards. They would meet the shoreline in minutes, and jagged rocks slipped from the darkness to bar their way. The boat threatened to smash itself against them, it bucking and pulling as the water churned against the stony sentries.

The roar of the sea's fury as it smashed against the rocks ahead filled Camda's mind with memories. They had chained his left arm and thrown him to the sea. His family, his friends, fear had made them utterly merciless, and all for a mark on his arm. Death had touched him, they had declared.

He had been the only one that year, the only one to be chained and banished. The mark was trivial, a blue ring that appeared under the skin. Sometimes it was the left arm, for others it was the right. It sealed your fate instantly though, a threat of a deadly curse. Salty water had filled his lungs as the water had swept him away, they all watching, wondering if the water would take him. The sea had thrown him at these rocks then, too. But he had survived, clawing his way through the water, the metal chain threatening to drag him down. The ocean's depths had longed for him, he had felt it beneath him just as he did now. He had drifted in the water until his energy had been spent, and he had been sure death would take him then. Darkness had come at last, and sweet oblivion had taken him in its embrace. When he had awoken, he had been lying amongst the rocks, surrounded by those who should have been dead. The island was small, two miles off shore, their hell and their saviour all at once. Many of those that had been cast out by their settlements had arrived there. Many had not.

The boat plunged down a sudden swell with vicious intent and, for a moment, all any of them saw was black rock, slick with water and moonlight. There was a loud crunch, rocky teeth biting deep against wood, and suddenly the sea was amongst them. It rushed in through the jagged holes in their hull and the men braced against its force. All were aware that that death was amongst them now, that if they stopped rowing for even a moment the sea would claim them. More rocks, more waves, and the boat began its death throes.

Their craft was listing badly, the water up to their shins as black rocks surrounded them, they looming with grim expectancy. The sea churned and heaved, the boat at its mercy.

They had come seeking food, they had come seeking life. Now, all that waited for them was death. Camda's left arm clenched in fear and frustration, it longing to be free and he screamed in fury. He would not die here, he would not fail. Others took up his scream, the sound primal, it battling against the roar of the waves.