All the Stars and Teeth(73)
It must have been beautiful once, but now the white beams are covered by a light gray film and scorch marks. Several of the windows are broken, revealing nothing but empty darkness within. On the roof, nearly all the panels sit twisted and ready to fall, while the charred front door tilts on frosted hinges.
“What is that place?” I ask, breath fogging in the air. By Cato’s blood, it’s cold as late winter here.
Bastian stares first at the building, then at the endless sand surrounding us. His brows sink, creasing his forehead in a series of thick, worried lines.
“It was a workshop,” he says, though his voice is barely a whisper, cracking at the edges. “We made medicine and protective charms, and engineered new materials, like the wood of our trees—” He moves as if to point, but his words cut off swiftly. There are hardly any trees, and the ones that exist are half-charred.
Bastian jerks his head to the other side, toward shipless docks. Planks of wood that haven’t been burned away are rotted through, many of them crumpling into the water. With each passing breeze, the wood groans with despair that Bastian echoes.
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”
Zudoh’s sand is not white or tan, but gray. The closer it gets to the water, the darker it becomes. The water has formed a thick tar-like ring near the low tide as rotten algae clings to the shoreline. It’s green and crusty like dried blood, and I grimace knowing that’s what we swam through, and what clings to my curls and my clothes, slicking them down.
I try not to look at the pile of bones scattered on the ground, too large to belong to any animal I can imagine. There’s no trace of skin or muscles; the bones have long since been cleaned by maggots and scavengers. Small, frayed pieces of rope and chips of wood dot the bones.
“What did it look like before?” I ask, keeping my voice low. It’s quiet here, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe.
“It was beautiful,” he says. “Bright white sand. As bustling as Ikae. The people were happy. There were trees everywhere, even here on the sand.”
I squint at the gray ground and realize it’s not just sand we’re stepping on. It’s ash.
This part of Zudoh’s been burned to a crisp.
Bastian crouches upon the sand. He scoops up a handful, examines it, makes a fist around it. I don’t follow him, because I understand what he’s feeling. He was born here, and though he’s been gone for many years, Zudoh’s still his home. If something happened to Arida while I was gone, I’d never forgive myself.
Even the ocean is silent, nothing more than a whisper licking my ear. For once, it doesn’t put me at ease. It chills my bones and raises the hairs along the back of my neck, plaguing me with paranoia.
Where are the people? The animals? The life?
“There were hardly any fish left alive in the water,” Vataea says. I shiver, remember the feeling of slimy scales and decaying fish we swam through. “That’s probably why the Lusca attacked. The legends always said it liked to roam the cold waters near Zudoh, but if there’s no fish for it to eat here…”
“Then it has to start looking elsewhere.” Bastian sighs. “There’s no way my people can live this way forever. We have to fix this.”
“And we will,” I say, not needing to touch the earth to know its struggles. “You said there were trees here, before?”
“Hundreds of them,” Bastian says. “They’ve all just … burned away.”
“Not all of them.” Ferrick steps forward and points toward the south side of the island. I follow his focus, blinking a few times to ensure I’m not seeing things. About a mile ahead, a thicket of startling white birch trees stretches across the island like a wall.
“It’s dangerous that way,” Vataea says. “I sense more Zudian curses.”
“Then that’s our way to Kaven.” Bastian straightens, determination hardening his stare. “We should get going.”
Something within those woods causes the magic within me to stir, curious. It urges me forward, lulling me toward the trees. But Vataea doesn’t move. She turns her stony face toward craggy limestone mountains across from us instead, where a sea-slick cavern is formed at the edge of the beach.
She nods her head to the side, silently willing me to follow her as she starts toward it. Her eyes are sharp as daggers as she scans the space, but it’s nothing more than a few boulders nestled at the edge of a mountain.
I glance behind me. Though the sun has finally made an appearance, it’s already late afternoon. We’ve no idea where Kaven is or how long the journey through Zudoh will take us, and the last thing we need is to have to travel through unfamiliar territory at night. Especially when we’re wet, freezing, and with a pirate who gets sicker the longer he’s away from his ship.
“We should keep going.” Gently, I take Vataea’s arm.
She hesitates for only a moment, still glaring at the cave, but eventually relents. The moment we go to turn and walk away, a strange squawking sound pierces the air behind us. I reel, weapon in hand, but there’s nothing but gravel and giant stones looking back at us.
“Is someone here?” I ask, trying to peek behind the stones and into the mountain.
After the Barracuda Lounge, nothing would surprise me anymore.
Zudoh answers with unsettling silence, as though holding its breath and waiting for us to leave. The discomfort wraps around me, flooding my arms with goose bumps.