Girl. Boy. Sea. Page 9

  Just us is fine. There’s this thing between us. I don’t know what I’d call it. But it’s me helping her out of her nightmares. Or her holding my head while I shook and sweated. Or feeling the song of the whale shaking the boat. I think people could live together a long time and not have our kind of sharing. Not that you’d choose to get close to someone in that way exactly. But we did. We didn’t have a choice. And that time on the boat. It’s in her and it’s in me. And always will be.

  But that last night on the boat, we fell asleep together. That doesn’t happen here.

  We have two major worries.

  One is Stephan; how up and down he is, how he wants to be the leader. (We let him mostly.)

  The second is the total lack of any plane or boat or sign.

  On a clear night, back in England, if I watched long enough I’d see a satellite. But here? Not even that.

  How far out of the shipping lanes or flight paths are we?

  I have the feeling the storm has taken us to another world, a place that can never be reached or found. Or left.

  Aya has told me about her old life. Good things, happy things. Life in the hills in summer, in the village in winter.

  I’ve told her about walks in the New Forest, and the green of the trees and grass. About coming across a stag one day, and Benji on his lead, straining, and the stag standing, staring at us for minutes.

  What are Mum and Dad doing? Are they on the Canaries, still working to find me? Or home, facing the empty chair at the table? And how do they manage to talk about anything? And do they still have hope?

  I feel bad then. Sorry for what they’re going through.

  It’s hard. And it’s weird what I remember, what I say, what I feel, when Aya asks me what my life was like.

  iv

  We made a giant cross using seaweed and leaves so that a plane could see. We only had enough wood to keep the fire in the hut going, not enough for a bonfire, so this was the next best thing.

  To begin with we made a plan to take turns on lookout every hour, walking to the highest point near the lighthouse to scan the horizon. It was often me or Aya who got landed with this job as Stephan made excuses about needing to fetch wood or mussels.

  One day the two of us were fishing at the end of the spit. I’d made a wooden float and was trying it out. I’d had no bites but I wasn’t going back empty-handed. So we stayed when we should have been on watch.

  Stephan came up behind us.

  ‘Oi!’

  ‘Shh,’ I hissed, ‘you’ll scare the fish.’

  He came and stood over us with crossed arms.

  ‘What is it?’ I said.

  ‘Why do you not watch?’

  ‘I lost track,’ I muttered. ‘Anyway, we had mussels twice yesterday. I want fish.’

  ‘What if there is a boat?’

  The float bobbed in the water. I willed it to vanish, to get a bite.

  ‘I say,’ he demanded, ‘what if there is a boat?’

  He gabbled at Aya. She shuffled as if to get up.

  ‘It’s my turn,’ I said. ‘Don’t go.’

  She looked at Stephan.

  ‘We do not have to do this,’ she said to him.

  Stephan huffed. ‘Go!’ he pointed. He stamped his foot. Aya snorted, and gazed steadily at the water. Stephan glared, waiting for us to obey him. But we didn’t. He was being an idiot. But weirdly, I felt sorry for him.

  ‘What if there is a boat?’ he said again.

  We didn’t answer. We didn’t need to. We knew there wasn’t any boat. So did he. He stood a while longer then walked off.

  After that we looked less each day, and not in any kind of routine, just when we could be bothered. And never when Stephan said we should.

  Then we hardly looked at all. We didn’t talk about rescue either. We’d said everything there was to say about that.

  v

  He was one, we were two, and we were strong. The island wasn’t his any more.

  The lighthouse hut was his and he let us know we were lucky to sleep there. He acted as though he didn’t want us around; he called us savages when we wolfed down mussels, and fish eyes and fish brains. But he needed us to be savages, to catch and kill and shin up trees to knock down coconuts when he didn’t want to. He needed our company too. When we talked about building our own shelter, he said how difficult it would be, how we had no materials. We all knew that wasn’t true.

  He’d been alone for weeks. I think maybe that’s what scared him more than anything. Being alone.

  *

  We were sitting round the outside fire talking.

  ‘I had a good catch today,’ I said. ‘The float worked well.’

  It was a huge fish we’d caught: a bulgy-eyed, gaping-mouthed beast, with steaky-grey meat. We celebrated catching it with sips of rum.

  The rum had magically appeared, like other things, and we knew Stephan had a secret store somewhere. We wondered what else he had in it, though we didn’t ask.

  ‘We haven’t caught one of these before,’ I said. ‘It’s because I used the float and set the hook deep. What is it?’

  Stephan shrugged. ‘I cannot remember the name.’

  ‘You’re a fisherman and you don’t know the name of a fish like this?’ I scoffed. Aya glared at me.

  ‘We never catch this one,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah?’ I said. ‘What did you catch?’ The rum burned in my gut. I took another swig. ‘What kind of nets did you use?’

  ‘You ask too many questions,’ Stephan said quietly. He reached and grabbed the bottle off me. And kept it.

  ‘Why don’t you just be honest?’ I said.

  ‘Ho-nest?’ he said, frowning, as if he didn’t understand the word.

  ‘Yeah. About yourself. What’s your story?’

  He smiled. ‘I have no story to tell. I am no storyteller. But you, Aya, Bill says you are a teller of stories. Why don’t you tell one?’ he said, trying to change the subject.

  ‘But this is only for children,’ said Aya. ‘You do not want to hear a story for a child, Stephan.’

  He took the sarcasm, smiling and nodding. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘the nights are long.’

  ‘Please,’ I said to Aya. ‘Why not?’ It had been a long time, since the sea and the stories on the boat.

  ‘Yes,’ said Stephan. ‘Tell us.’

  ‘No,’ Aya said.

  But we kept on at her till she sighed and perched on a rock on the other side of the fire, with her knees under her chin, biting her cheek and frowning, thinking.

  ‘The sun was rising,’ said Aya. ‘Shahrazad had not finished the story of Lunja, the thief.’

  ‘So? How did Lunja save her life?’ I said. ‘What story did she tell the sultan?’

  Stephan looked from one to the other of us, confused because we had started where we had left off, with Lunja caught with her ruby and the sultan asking her to explain how she had got it.

  ‘Now you must listen, Bill,’ Aya scolded. ‘That evening Shahrazad told the king how Lunja had told the story of the great djinn to save her life, to explain how she came to own the great ruby. She tells him the story of the djinn, servant of the demon forged in the sun; servant of the Shay-ttan, who will never kneel and bow to man, who cannot be tamed. It was written that no man will defeat this djinn!

  ‘The king say to Shahrazad: “If the djinn cannot be defeated, why does he not walk the earth?”

  ‘“Oh, he was defeated,” said Shahrazad.

  ‘“But who can defeat the djinn? You said no man. A king?”

  ‘“No.”

  ‘“A great soldier, the champion of the king?”

  ‘“No. The Shadow Warrior was a girl.”

  ‘“A girl cannot defeat a djinn,” said the king. “This story is stupid.”

  ‘Shahrazad say: “If you like. Believe what you will.”

  ‘“You must not speak with me this way!” say the king.

  ‘“Why, Lord, will you have me killed?”

  �
�The king was silent. He had much pride and did not like Shahrazad to speak to him this way. But he was… what is word, Bill? If you want to know more and more and more?’

  ‘Curious.’

  Stephan watched and listened, sipping his rum.

  ‘Yes, the king was curious, like you and you!’ Aya pointed at each of us. ‘And he loved Shahrazad’s stories. He say: “How did the girl defeat the djinn?”

  ‘“My King,” said Shahrazad. “This is the question the sultan say to Lunja. And Lunja tell him the tale of…

  The Shadow Warrior

  There was a time before mosques, churches and synagogues. Before writing and law. A time when demons and monsters walked the land and ruled the sea and sky like kings.

  But after many years men, who had lived in fear of these demons and monsters, took control of the land. The trees of the forests were cut for wood, the plains filled with towns, the seas were sailed and mapped on charts.

  The world was tamed, like a wild horse is tamed, or a djinn can be trapped and put in a vase. Men grew rich and fat. The monsters were killed or banished.

  This was a golden time. But there was one djinn – the servant of he who was once an angel, banished from heaven because he would not bow to man – who could not be defeated.

  He would vanish for many years. People believed he had been sent to another world. But then, quick as a summer storm on the sea, he appeared.

  He destroyed a village on the coast with a giant wave. On the plains he made a whirlwind that smashed crops and broke houses like twigs. To the city, packed with people like berries in a jar, he sent a great plague.

  He killed without mercy. And wherever he went, he would leave a message, whispered in the ears of poets. In the marketplaces and courts, they spoke the words:

  I am darker than the grave at midnight.

  I am more powerful and terrible than fire.

  I am more evil than the Shay-ttan.

  There were many stories of the djinn across the land. For every fear that had a name, there was a tale:

  ‘The djinn has many arms and claws, and feasts on the flesh of his enemies.’

  ‘The djinn is a giant snake that breathes fire like the sun.’

  ‘The djinn is a beautiful woman with a song that lures sailors to their death.’

  ‘The djinn is a man, but if you fight with a sword, his body becomes a shield of steel. If you wrestle with him in water and try to drown him, he becomes like a fish.’

  No one knew what the djinn looked like. Those who saw him did not live to tell the tale.

  In this time a great king ruled the land. The people obeyed him in all things. But one thing they asked of him was for the djinn to be banished from the world.

  So he said: ‘One true champion will defeat the djinn! Any weapon, or treasure the champion asks for shall be given.’

  Of course the people wanted the djinn killed, but no one wanted to fight it.

  So the king said: ‘Kill the djinn, and you will marry my daughter and be my son and you shall rule together when I am gone.’

  Many came. The first warrior was a great archer. He believed he could kill the djinn, with one shot from far away.

  He went to the mountains over many days. When he returned he had been blinded by the light of the djinn.

  He cried: ‘The djinn was too quick. Now I shall never lift my bow again.’

  The second warrior was the greatest horseman in the land. He believed he could ride fast and cut the legs off the djinn, so he would fall like a tree. Then the warrior would put a knife in the heart of the djinn.

  But he too came home after many days. A leg and an arm had been cut from his body and he had to walk with a stick.

  The great horseman wailed: ‘I shall never ride a horse or swing a sword again.’

  The people became ever more afraid.

  ‘What did the djinn look like? What did the djinn do?’ they cried.

  ‘I saw him from afar. A moving shadow, cutting through the trees. He surprised me. I thrashed my sword and rode away fast, but he was quicker!’

  Next, the cleverest man in the land – a great philosopher – went to the mountain. He knew the djinn was strong and fast but also proud. He knew he could never defeat the djinn with a sword or with great strength, but only with his mind.

  He challenged the djinn. He would say a riddle and if the djinn could not answer, the djinn would leave and be gone to the sun, the home of the Shay-ttan.

  But, after many days, the man returned, ranting; his brain was as simple as a baby’s.

  This happened again and again. No matter what skills the warrior had, no matter how strong, how clever: the djinn defeated them all.

  But one day, a girl, whose name was Thiyya, which means beauty, said she would talk to the djinn, and make him leave the kingdom.

  The king laughed. ‘You are a girl. You cannot ride a horse, you cannot swing a sword, you do not have the strength to pull a bow. You are too poor to be educated. You are not clever, but stupid to think you will defeat the djinn.’

  Thiyya stood before the king and looked him in the eye. She spoke with a voice clear and strong: ‘I am bright-eyed like a hawk. Strong, not like a mighty oak, but a young tree that bends with the wind and can live through all storms. I am clever; not like the merchant, who steals from the people, but like the thief who steals from the merchant.’

  The king said: ‘If you defeat the djinn, what reward shall you have? What do you wish?’

  ‘My family, O King, are poor and starving servants, no more than slaves and I am promised to a man I would not marry. We want our freedom. My family are free people.’

  The courtiers held their breath. There was a tale, a whisper, that some of the free people were worshippers of beasts and monsters and the angel who did not bow to man.

  ‘No! I cannot give this. You may have treasure!’

  ‘We do not want treasure. We want freedom.’

  ‘I will not give this,’ said the king.

  ‘Then you will never defeat the djinn.’

  So the king promised Thiyya. What did he have to lose? He did not believe the girl would return from the mountain. If she did, she would also be a cripple, blind, mad, or something even more terrible.

  Thiyya went alone. She wandered far from village or field. She travelled where trees do not grow, high in the mountains where there is only sky and rock and snow. When she stood in a place where no man, woman or child had ever hunted, or made a fire, she stopped. Here, she knew, she would find the djinn. She knelt and faced the sun.

  ‘Come, djinn, appear you, who…

  Is darker than the grave at midnight

  Is more powerful and terrible than fire

  Is more evil than the Shay-ttan.’

  And a voice that whispered in the ears of poets said:

  I am here.

  ‘But I cannot see you.’

  Yet I am here. And I cannot be defeated.

  ‘I know you, djinn. I know your power. I have no nightmares for you to make real. My family is starving and poor and they are slaves. My life is bound to a man I will not marry. If you kill me it will be a mercy.

  ‘It is you who cannot defeat me. Because you feed on fear. The fear of the archer was to lose his sight, the fear of the horseman was to lose his speed, and the fear of the philosopher was to lose his mind.

  ‘I fear nothing. I know your secret. More than this I know your name!’

  The earth shook, the air trembled.

  My name? said the djinn. And Thiyya knew she would win.

  ‘Yes, your name. You are Nothing.

  ‘Nothing is darker than the grave at midnight.

  ‘Nothing is more powerful and terrible than fire.

  ‘Nothing is more evil than the Shay-ttan.

  ‘Your light burns and shines but there are places such power cannot go. And that is the shadow in my heart, which is empty because I am not afraid.’

  The djinn had no power before Thiyya. Because she w
as right. She had no nightmares it could take to make itself real.

  To know me is to defeat me, said the djinn, and I will leave, but I will give you a gift. And he gave to her a jewel.

  This is Fire-heart, he said. It burns with a fire made in the sun. Let its light fill the shadow in your heart. For it is not wise to live without fear.

  And so the djinn left and returned to its master, who burns in the sun forever. And Thiyya returned to the king, who kept his promise: Thiyya and her people were free.

  Lunja bowed.

  The sultan looked at the ruby. He looked very closely. But his coat was now shining so strong with the jewels he’d stolen from his people that the light was blinding. He was like the sun! And the light of this sun was so strong, the ruby Fire-heart seemed dull in his eyes. It was not the ruby of his dreams.

  He said: ‘How did you come to own this ruby?’

  ‘Thiyya was my mother, great Sultan,’ said Lunja.

  Then the sultan laughed. ‘It is an incredible story. But I do not believe you, thief. I think you stole this… this…’ And he looked closely again. ‘This piece of glass.’

  ‘No, no, great Sultan,’ Lunja said, begging. ‘This is a dazzling jewel, it will be the greatest piece on your magnificent coat. Please, take it.’ And she offered Fire-heart to him. He looked at her, and thought: I do not want a girl thief to make me a fool. So he knocked her hand and the ruby fell in the dust. And the sultan laughed, and all the men laughed.

  And they walked away.

  Each morning the sun takes the light of all the stars. This is the sultan taking the jewels of the land for his coat. But he cannot see the light of the morning star, though it was put before him. And he searches for it. Each day. Forever.

  *

  ‘And Lunja?’

  ‘She was free.’

  ‘But her mother was the true queen. Thiyya wasn’t really her mother. So Lunja was the rightful ruler.’

  ‘Yes, but it was enough that she was free. Maybe, in a different story, Lunja becomes the queen. But not in this story. It is enough that she had made a story to save her life.’

  ‘Aya, all these Sun Lords and kings and sultans,’ I said. ‘Stories within stories. It’s confusing. Are you making it up?’