Islands in the Sky

6.2

Sema hesitated, unsure whether she should say anything. It was only a feeling of unease she had. A feeling, nothing more. She didn’t know for certain there was anything to be afraid of, and she couldn’t even explain to herself what was bothering her either. She might very well be mistaken. She might well be overreacting because of what had happened to her family, and the memories which the heavy sooty smell of smoke from the burning island brought back.

She might be overreacting, but she might not be, too. She might have better instincts than all these people, who seemed too haughty to think themselves in danger.

Sema wondered if she did.

She ought to have, she thought. She ought to have better instincts, since she had survived a pirate attack, and sailed a boat she had made across the sky, on her own, for a week. She ought to have better instincts, and she ought to trust what she felt too, but she didn’t know whether she did.

She didn’t know whether to trust herself.

Whoever had burned this island had probably left a long time ago, she thought. They had probably left, and even if they hadn’t and were still nearby, that wasn’t necessarily anything to fear. This was a big ship, and seemed to sail fairly quickly, and there were a lot of people aboard it. There was probably no danger, Sema thought. Surely the captain wouldn’t keep sailing closer to the island if there was any danger.

Sema tried telling herself that, but for some reason she didn’t quite believe it.

The burned island was odd. A burned island was wasteful, and people weren’t wasteful, not any more. Not since the Gods War and the end of the world had made everything which mattered scarce.

The burned island was odd, and as much as anything else, odd was worrying. Sema didn’t like oddness. She didn’t trust oddness.

Oddness made her think something was wrong.

She kept looking straight ahead, staring at the island, but she still couldn’t see anything particular to worry her. She couldn’t see very much at all, except smoke and haze and dimness, and distantly, the island. That poor visibility itself might be something to be concerned by, she thought. It could be hiding danger.

She thought. She couldn’t decide whether she really believed there was something wrong, or whether she was simply upset and unsettled by her memories.

She ought to try to warn someone, she decided. She ought to speak up, if there was the even slightest chance of danger. She ought to say something, but she didn’t seem to be quite able to bring herself too. Probably sensibly, she thought, since really, there was nothing to warn anyone about. Just her feeling, which might only be her imagination, and which probably meant nothing, anyway.

She hesitated a moment longer. She had almost convinced herself she was worrying unnecessarily.

She almost had, and realizing that decided her.

That was wrong.

She ought to say something, rather than be so afraid of saying anything that she talked herself into silence against her better judgement.

She turned about, and walked back down the deck towards the captain. She walked up to the captain and said, “Excuse me?”

The captain seemed surprised to be interrupted. Sema was becoming used to people reacting to her like that.

“What is it, girl?” the captain said, sharply. She clearly thought herself far too important to bothered unexpectedly by Sema.

Sema hesitated, wondering again if she should speak at all. “I wonder…” she said.

“What?” the captain said, distracted, looking upwards, watching the crew adjust the sails up the masts.

“Is it wise to go so close to the island when we don’t know what happened here?” Sema said.

The captain smiled. “This is a big ship,” she said. “There’s no reason to worry. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” Sema said. “Not especially. But I’m being sensible. Someone burned this island. Why are we assuming they aren’t still there?”

Then, the captain looked at Sema. Then, the captain seemed to start thinking, and the woodcutter overseer, beside the captain, did too.