Of Sea and Sky: Part 6

            “There’s a boat, Lani.”

            She sat in the shallowest water, picking the petals off a flower, the last of the really warm summer days glowing on her skin. One by one, white petals rained into the tide and were dragged away by the hungry sea.

            “There’s a boat.”

            Lani plucked the last petal, held it between two fingers close to her face, studied it. Then she stood, let it drop. A shorter version of her silk-patterned garb clung to her wet thighs.

            “You’re going.”

            “You’re going with me.” There was something so desperate in his tone that Lani closed her eyes toward the sea. She reached out a blind hand and found his poorly shaven face deftly.

            “I’m not. It’s a nice fire, but it isn’t a wish.”

            Caspian’s mouth opened and closed helplessly. He wrung the hem of his white shirt in agitation. Opening her eyes, Lani turned. Keeping her hand on his face and adding another, she stood on her tiptoes. Then she kissed him. She kissed him goodbye.

            “Lani, I can’t just leave you.” Hanging his head as one under enormous weight, he expelled a heavy breath. His fists clenched impotently in her hair.

            She was sad, smiled, made no response. His fists unclenched. His footsteps turned away toward the smoke rising toward the bright blue sky.

Still more to go...

Of Sea and Sky: Part 5

            They didn’t talk about it, pretended it hadn’t happened. But after that day, Caspian began building a signal fire. It was done in secret, furtive movements, in fake bathroom trips and extra supply collecting. In between, Lani was more and more herself, a self that Caspian had never thought to reach. He felt like a sea rat. But Lani might never have found out. Except she did.

            Her face blanched like cinder bone when she saw the pyre. She’d worn the dress, he thought, the first thing he noticed, a short sun-dress thing that bared her long legs. She’d caught her hair up too, using an assortment of island things to hold it--shells and starfish and flowers--and revealing a slim neck. Caspian felt his insides being dragged out to sea. He was a rat, a plague carrying boat rat. Breath coming long and slow like the tide, Lani watched him. The island queen’s face read disdain.

            “You lied.”

            “Lani, I didn’t—“

            Slowly with great dignity, then fast and stumbling like an idiot, shipwrecked boy, she made her escape. Caspian practically leaped over the pile, racing for her. He caught her on the high sand dune where they had first met.

            “Wait!” His eyes were wild, hair crazy. She was poised and sad. The island queen and her savage.

            “You don’t believe me. You think I’m crazy.”

            “No, I don’t. I don’t think—“

            But now Lani’s chest was heaving with the sobs she hadn’t spilled for her lost family or traumatic past. Crumbling, knees in the sand, she stared out at the water and grieved.

            “Lani…” Caspian spread his hands helplessly, looking down at her.

            “Light your fire, Caspian. Go! The sea is salted with bones, and I hope yours join them.” But her voice broke enough to tell him she lied. Caspian’s extended hand on her shoulder was shrugged off. Back at the shack, a flowing robe covered the dress and tea was made for one. Caspian went down to the beach and lit his fire.

Of Sea and Sky: Part 4

            After that the nights began to grow longer. Summer was a dead man walking along the shore.

            “We have to find it by autumn,” Lani repeated until it was a mantra in the shipwrecked boy’s head.

            “We will,” Caspian assured her, taking her hand to drag her down to the beach.

            But one day it rained. The sky split itself wide and bled down upon the little island, drawing colorful blooms from the bland shore. Lani was among them. She raced from the shack into the storm, her colorful outfit darkened by the water. It clung to her body like a punch to the gut. At first, Caspian stood near her, in the slight shelter of the shack’s roof. At first, he thought this was another of her quirks, standing still, head upturned toward the rain.

            But then he saw her shaking. She turned, stared him in the eyes. And he saw madness. He hadn’t really believed it until then. That she was mad.

            Caspian got wet then, stalking toward her, grasping one slim wrist, dragging her toward their favorite spot on the cliff.

            “Not here, Caspian. You’ll ruin it!” her voice held an edge of hysteria though she did not sob or cry. Caspian was stuck on the way she’d said his name, like it was her own. He was stuck on her acknowledgement that their place was special. Never had he seen her so emotional.

            “We’ve been on this island together for weeks and you haven’t told me. Tell me. How did you get here?”

            She didn’t answer, simply stared out at the sea, haunted.

            “How, Lani?” Shaking her shoulders, he forced her to meet his gaze. Her eyes were so pale that he could see the reflection of his own dark irises more clearly than her blue.

            “A shipwreck,” her voice was shaking. “A shipwreck!” she screamed. “In a storm, this storm.”

            “Not this storm, Lani. A long time ago.” Caspian drew her against his chest, wrapped her in his arms.

            “I have to wish myself free.”

            “I know.”

            “You believe me?” Lani pulled back, all trace of madness replaced by skepticism.

            “I do,” Caspian lied. She settled her head against his chest again, and when she stared at the sea, there were no ghosts in the waves.

The Carnival of Fallen Stars