Unhooked(17)

He repeats my name, dragging out the syllables as he studies me, and I force myself to ignore the fluttering warmth I feel in my stomach as his voice makes my name sound almost musical. Then he gives a dismissive shrug, and all the warmth that had been threatening cools as quickly as if it had been doused with a bucket of ice. “I suppose it suits you well enough, though it doesn’t answer my question. Who are you and why have you come?”

“I told you, I’m just Gwen. I’m no one. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t even know where here is.”

But his expression never wavers as he take two menacing steps toward me, the glittering knife still in his hand. “I doubt very much that you are no one, Gwendolyn, else you’d not be here.”

“Please . . .” My voice breaks at the sight of the knife so close, and I have to start again. “I was taken by . . .” But I can’t make myself say it. Just thinking about the creatures, and I feel like it’s happening all over again.

The Captain regards me with narrowed eyes. “Well?” he asks expectantly.

“They were monsters,” I say, hating the way my voice falters.

His face doesn’t betray any emotion. “Great, dark, creatures with enormous black wings, aye?”

I nod, refusing to look away from his steady gaze. “You rescued me,” I realize, remembering more clearly now the dark eyes hovering over me as I floated back up toward the light. The firm hands that pressed the life back into me.

He quirks that annoying eyebrow of his again and gives a small nod in my direction. “In a manner of speaking, though I wouldn’t be getting too far ahead of yourself, lass.”

“But the fire, and . . . You pulled me from the water,” I push, remembering now the strong hands that grabbed me from the depths, the steellike arms that hoisted me up to the air.

“Aye. The Dark Ones came flying over us from the west, as they often do, but when we fired upon them, it was you who fell from the sky. It seemed the least I could do.”

“You’ve seen them too,” I whisper, relief and dread warring within me. “I didn’t imagine it.”

“No, lass. You didn’t.”

Something shifts in his eyes, and suddenly he closes the distance between us and raises the knife. I jerk away to fend off the cut, but the pain never comes. Instead, with a quick slip of his knife, I’m free from my binding.

I rub my sore wrists as the Captain settles himself on the table in front of me. There is a wary amusement in his eyes. “As the Dark Ones were those that brought you, I’d say you’ve more to worry about than me, lass.”

“Please . . .” But I’m not even sure what I’m asking for—an explanation? An ally? A way to wake from this nightmare? “I need to get home,” I say finally, settling on the one thing that matters.

From the way his expression goes grim, I know before he speaks what his answer will be. “Were there a way to get back to where you’ve come from, none of us would be in this fine mess, now would we?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper, as dread settles in my stomach.

“Don’t you, then?” His gloved hand reaches for me, and I think he will touch my cheek, but he stops short. Instead he grabs one of my hands and pulls me, not so gently, to my feet. “Come.” It is not a request, and I don’t have any choice but to follow him out of the cabin, out into the cool night air.

The sun has gone down by now. All around the ship, the sea has turned a dark sapphire-blue in the dimming twilight, and the sky has taken on the purple-red of an angry bruise.

“It’s best for all that you understand this now,” he says softly, dropping my hand and gesturing to the sea beyond. “As you can see, lass, the place you came from is very, very far away.”

I step closer to the bulwark, closer to the Captain. Far off in the distance, so far off and so small that I missed it earlier, a bit of land that’s too small to be England disturbs the level line of the horizon. I stare out across the darkened waves, trying to gauge the distance between the ship and the island. If I could get there, maybe I could find someone to help. If I could make it that far, maybe I could find a way home.

“If you’re thinking of visiting,” the Captain murmurs close to my ear, “I’d advise against it. The island is a difficult place to survive, you see. It’s constantly changing, and an unaware traveler might find herself quite lost. Or dinner for one of the beasts that roam there.” He hands me a spyglass and gestures that I should use it.

Its leather-covered body is solid and heavy in my hands, and when I raise it to my eye, the island comes into sharp focus. At first glance it looks like any island might, though its topography is extreme for such a small place. Most of the shoreline is nothing but sheer cliffs rising out of the sea. Here and there, tufts of vegetation cling to the craggy bluffs like daredevil climbers, but most of the rock face is flinty and bare. Above the rocky shoreline, the sharp hills and mountainous terrain reaches high toward the ever-darkening sky, and most is covered with a wild green that speaks the hidden dangers of jungles.

Which can’t be right. I know I was unconscious for a while, but we couldn’t possibly be far enough away from England to find jungles. Still, there they are, plain as day.

Then I notice something that makes my stomach feel like I’ve swallowed a ball of lead—the island is moving. It’s not moving in the water or like a ship. Instead, it’s the land itself that is shifting and changing before my eyes. The mountainous terrain ripples in the evening light, the rocks slowly shifting and rearranging themselves moment by moment. One peak steadily shrinks while another grows.