Emily Rodda: Isle of the Dead

Lief shook his head, frowning. ‘Zeean of Tora knew Red Han. She says he was a simple man, but a man of good faith. He had been the Light keeper at Bone Point for twenty years. She does not believe he would have betrayed his trust.’

‘But he could not have resigned in the proper way, even if he wanted to, Lief!’ Jasmine exclaimed. ‘From what you say, by the time he left here, Tora was deserted.’

‘That does not explain why he is missing to this day,’ Lief said. ‘And it does not explain—’

He broke off, and glanced over his shoulder. The Kin were still some distance away, toiling along the road on their short, stubby legs.

‘All those who have entered the lighthouse feel—wickedness,’ he went on in a low voice. ‘They hear sounds, and see things that are not there. Many say that the place is haunted.’

Barda snorted. ‘Wind howls around a lighthouse. Birds cry, and the sea pounds. Add to that a room that cannot be entered, and a tale of a missing lighthouse keeper, and timid folk might easily imagine ghosts.’

‘Perhaps,’ Lief said. ‘But my mother is far from timid. She has been here, with Zeean of Tora. Both of them saw things that could not be explained. Bone Point has been a place of ill-omen in these parts for a long time, Barda. No-one will come near it.’

Barda grinned. ‘Indeed?’ he asked. ‘Well, plainly one soul at least is not afraid. Perhaps you should ask her to be the lighthouse keeper.’

‘Who?’ Lief asked, looking around.

‘Why, the girl on the shore!’ Barda exclaimed. ‘The girl painting the—’

He turned again towards the little bay. His jaw dropped.

Puzzled, Lief and Jasmine followed his eyes. But there was nothing to see. The bay was utterly deserted.

‘But—but she was there!’ Barda gasped. ‘A girl—about Jasmine’s age—with long red hair. She was painting a picture. She had an easel, and a brush. She was wearing a yellow skirt. It was tossing in the wind. I—I saw her plainly! Where is she?’

He turned this way and that, searching the flat land frantically. But there was no sign of anyone, and no footprints marked the weed-strewn sand.

‘I saw her!’ he repeated stubbornly.

Lief nodded. ‘I am sure you did,’ he said. ‘Red Han did not live here alone. And he was not the only one to disappear. Red Han had a daughter.’

3 – The Lighthouse

Barda stood stiff with shock. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Filli popped his head out from beneath Jasmine’s jacket and began chattering a welcome. Prin was panting up to the lighthouse with Bruna and Ailsa close behind her.

‘What are you looking for, Barda?’ Prin asked. ‘Have you lost something?’

Barda turned like one in a dream. ‘Only my senses, it seems,’ he mumbled.

Plainly he was going to say no more, so Prin turned her attention to the lighthouse.

‘Oh, it is much larger than it looks from a distance!’ she squealed. ‘And we can all fit through the door easily, I am sure of it! Shall I—?’

‘Wait!’ Lief exclaimed. Gently he pushed Prin aside and put his hand on the shining brass doorknob.

‘Jasmine and I will go in first,’ he said. ‘You Kin follow, close behind us. Barda will come last. It is very important that we stay together. Do you understand?’

The three Kin nodded, their eyes wide.

‘Is there… danger?’ whispered Bruna, glancing worriedly at Prin.

‘The lighthouse is deserted,’ Lief said carefully. ‘But we may see or hear things—things that are not real.’

‘Spirits!’ Prin squeaked in excitement.

Bruna made a frightened sound and clasped her small front paws.

‘Some say they are spirits,’ said Lief. ‘My mother says they are only visions from the past, kept alive by the walls of this place. The lighthouse is very old, and the magic of Tora is in every stone of it.’

He sighed. ‘The builders of Raladin have been asked to try to knock it down so that another lighthouse can be built in its place. But the Torans have little hope that this can be done.’

He turned the brass knob. The door opened smoothly, as though its hinges had been freshly oiled.

Inside it was very dark, and cold as death.

‘Something bad happened here,’ quavered Prin, stepping back. ‘Something very bad. I feel it.’

‘I, too,’ Bruna murmured.

‘And I,’ said Ailsa.

‘We will turn back, if you wish,’ Lief said.

‘No,’ said Ailsa in a small voice. ‘We will go on. Dreams cannot harm us.’

Lief and Barda lit their lanterns. As the flames flared up and began to glow, they saw in front of them a spiral staircase winding upwards. Shadows flickered on smooth, curved stone walls.

Looking up, Lief thought he saw a flash of yellow, like the swirling hem of a yellow skirt. He caught his breath.

‘It is not real,’ Jasmine murmured behind him. And he knew that she had seen what he had seen.

On the wall at the foot of the stairs hung a painting framed by polished sticks of driftwood. It was a picture of the little bay and the sea beyond, painted with love and skill.

The sea was glittering in early morning light. A red rowing boat was drawn up on the smooth, wet sand, which was marked with a wavy line of shells cast up by the tide. At the bottom of the painting was a signature.

Lief reached out and touched the name gently with the tips of his fingers.

Bubbling laughter floated down the stairs. Lief jumped violently.

‘Father!’ a high, excited voice called, echoing, echoing in the tall, hollow space. ‘A visitor is coming. Someone is rowing in from that ship! Go down to meet him, Father! Make haste!’

Bruna wailed softly.

‘I have caught some fish, too!’ the voice ran on. ‘And the water berries by the bay have ripened. Is it not wonderful? We will be able to give him a good dinner, if he will stay.’

Visions from the past… Not real…

Mother, Zeean and Peel saw only glimpses, and heard only muffled sounds, Lief thought. They reported nothing like this.

He touched the Belt of Deltora, hidden beneath his clothes. The great amethyst, the gem of Tora, the symbol of truth, is in its own territory now, he thought. It feels the power in the lighthouse stones. I must expect that we will see and hear more than others have done.

Gritting his teeth, he set his foot on the first stair, and began to climb.

He climbed fast, trying to keep his mind blank, concentrating on the sound of his companions’ footsteps close behind him.

Every now and then he would come to another painting fastened to the stone wall. There were paintings of seabirds, shells, the lighthouse from every angle, the sea in every mood. All had plainly been created by the same loving hand, and were signed in the same way. He took care not to touch them.

Verity, he thought. A girl with red hair who loved the birds, and the sea. A lighthouse keeper’s daughter, who rowed in a little red boat, and fished, and painted pictures of what she saw around her. What happened to her? Why does her shade linger here?

He remembered what his mother had told him of Verity.

‘Little was known of her except that she was born in the lighthouse,’ Sharn had said. ‘Her mother died when she was only one year old. The local folk say that she was raised by her father, and the sea.’

Lief realised that there was a door ahead of him. He climbed the last few steps and, holding his breath, pushed the door open. Holding the lantern high, he cautiously moved into the room beyond.

His companions crowded after him, the Kin squeezing through the doorway with grunts and groans.