Emily Rodda - Isle of the Dead

With a roar, huge waves rose and crashed onto the deck of The Lady Luck, knocking Laughing Jack from his feet, tumbling him over and over in swirling foam. Coffin’s dead body tumbled with him, battered and beaten against the deck.

More waves rose, and more, pounding down as if the sea was a mighty beast trying to tear the ship to pieces. Awash with foaming water, the ship rocked violently, tipping first to one side then the other. With a groaning shriek the tall mast snapped and crashed to the deck.

Below, the chained men screamed in terror, screamed for release as water poured into their prison and engulfed them. But Laughing Jack paid no attention to them. He did not even glance at the door that led to the rowing bay.

Intent only on his own survival, he was crawling to the lifeboat, tumbling into it, sawing with his knife at the ropes that held the boat above the water.

‘Master, save me!’ he babbled. ‘Master, I beg you…!

Red-rimmed clouds swept in from the east. The sound of the storm mingled with the crashing of the waves. And in the midst of the storm, a voice spoke, hissing like meat on a spit:

‘You are a fool, slave. You deserve to perish. But I still have need of you…’

There was a flash of brilliant light, and a terrifying clap of thunder. Lief and Barda staggered back, clutching one another, deafened and half-blinded.

And when they looked again, the golden frame was filled once more with the painted view of the Bone Point Light.

The six errors Lief had corrected were glowing still, and the Light was shining like a star. When they turned to look at the rest of the room, however, all they saw was darkness. The candles had died at last.

They stood, motionless, calming themselves, vainly trying to make out the shapes of tables, chairs, the carved door and the treasure chest at the other end of the room. But all they could see was the painting behind them, and the small patch of red carpet at their feet. It was as if they were on a tiny island in the midst of a coal black sea.

‘Our time has run out, it seems,’ Barda muttered.

It was then that Lief became aware that the groans and cries from below had ceased. They had been replaced by a tense, waiting silence that was even more terrifying.

For a moment the silence held. Then Lief stiffened. A stealthy, sliding, brushing sound was coming from somewhere ahead, at floor level.

‘What is that?’ he hissed. He jumped as he heard the sound again, this time from somewhere to his right.

Suddenly there were brushing, sliding sounds by the dozen, coming from every direction. There were gusts of freezing air, thick with a smell so vile that he could hardly breathe.

And there was the drone of muttering voices.

‘Beware!’ Barda exclaimed, jerking him back.

Only then did Lief see his danger. A square section of the scarlet floor directly in front of him was sliding away, sliding slowly aside with that same, faint brushing sound, revealing a yawning pit of inky darkness.

The stench of decay and stagnant water rose from the pit. And, in the darkness, things moved. The painting’s soft glow fell first on the mottled tips of grasping, ruined fingers, then on arm bones, reaching, clad in tatters and clinking with chains. Below were the ghastly, upturned faces of dead rowers, hollow eyes burning, grinning mouths muttering, muttering…

‘My replacement… mine, mine…’

Lief shrank back as the grasping fingers felt around the edge of the pit, close, so close to his feet that he imagined he could feel the cold breathing from the scraps of flesh that still clung to the bones.

He did not dare speak. His ears were filled with the sound of his frantically beating heart.

He longed to run from the evil-smelling pit, the seeking, clawing hands. But looking out into the darkness, he knew that traps like the one before them must riddle the floor of the room.

He and Barda could not move. One false step, and they would be lost.

He touched the Belt of Deltora. The topaz, the gem of faith. The lapis-lazuli, the heavenly stone. The amethyst, for peace, and truth.

Faith. Truth…

Verity’s words seemed to ring in his ears.

I may die, but the truth will live for those who wish to see it, and the truth will set them free.

Slowly, carefully, Lief turned to face the painting. Without comment, Barda turned too. Barda knew, now, that this was their one hope.

They were so close to the wall that their faces were almost touching the image. It was hard to see it. But…

Seven errors. Seven… There must be…

The road!’ Barda whispered suddenly. ‘The road to the lighthouse is missing! It was neglected and overgrown when we saw it, but surely in the time of Red Han it was—’

‘Of course!’ Lief pressed his finger on the place where the road should have wound from the hills.

His fingertip grew hot. The painting seemed to shimmer as the road appeared, a snaking, glowing ribbon leading away to the distant hills. And the Light… the Light was suddenly blazing like a beacon.

I will shine like Truth through the darkness…

Lief spun around. The Light pierced the dark. Its broad, brilliant beam made a bright path over the red carpet, lighting up the black squares that squirmed with grasping fingers. The path led directly to the sealed, carved door.

And the door was opening!

Howls rose from below.

‘Run!’ Barda roared.

Together they ran along the path of light, dodging the pits filled with claws reaching up to seize their ankles. They reached the doorway and hurtled through it, pounding up onto the deck.

The angry cries of the cheated rowers floated after them. The deck trembled beneath their feet as unseen hands beat it from below. At the prow, just visible through the mist, the figurehead that had been Verity stared forward gravely, hands pressed to its heart.

Both heard the soft voice in their minds at the same time.

Flee this place. Trust the clean sea.

And without hesitation both of them ran to the side of the ship and leaped overboard—plunging recklessly into the cold, dark water.

11 – In the Dunes

Afterwards, Lief and Barda remembered nothing but that desperate leap into the sea, and black water closing over their heads. When they regained their senses, they were lying on a golden shore in a tumble of shells and seaweed.

They could see by the sky that it was early dawn. Dimly they could hear waves rolling in, regular as a great heartbeat. But where they lay, all was still. The sea had cast them up in the night, and left them to sleep.

Stiffly they sat up, staring around them, then at one another. They could not believe that they were alive.

The shore stretched away on either side of them, marked only by the shells and weed of the tide line and the stick-like tracks of birds. Before them was the open sea. Behind them were sand dunes, rising one behind the other as though mimicking the waves.

‘We have been swept south, I think,’ Barda said after a moment, his voice rough with salt. ‘Far south of Bone Point—beyond the Maze of the Beast, beyond the mouth of the Tor. How could this be?’

‘Before we leaped into the sea, the ship was moving,’ Lief rasped in reply. ‘It was moving for quite a time. It…’

He scrambled unsteadily to his feet. Now that he was fully awake, he was aware of an uneasy, prickling feeling—like a warning of danger. Perhaps he had felt it even as he slept, he thought. He seemed to remember the scraps of dreams, urging him to wake.

He scanned the sea, but saw no sign of The Lady Luck. He looked left and right. The shore was deserted. He turned towards the silent dunes. And at once the uneasy feeling grew stronger.