15. Joy
JOY
“I need more time… She needs more time.”
- FLORENCE’S PRIVATE LETTERS.
Bodies roamed Harlow’s ship, some tall, some short, fat, thin, brown, white, black. It was as though every single person had come from a different corner of the world, like this was their meeting point. Smoke bloomed from one corner and spiced meats cooked in another. It was a living, breathing organism; everyone had a role. A tall black women balanced on the rim on the ship, a dagger between her teeth and a rope in her hands, she reached up, tying knots and fixing sails. A muscular man with buttery brown skin and cropped black hair, stood with his arms crossed. He grinned widely, clapping Harlow on the back as Florence hopped down onto the ship.
“Thought we’d ‘av to send a rescue party.” He eyed me and Florence, giving us a mock bow. “Welcome home, Flo,” he said with a grin.
“I am not home, Ewan.” She turned to Harlow. “This is merely a means to an end.” She smiled smugly.
“What of Markus?” Ewan rose his eyebrows with a smile.
“Gutted like a fish,” Harlow’s throwaway words lingered on the deck of the ship. “And then he fell overboard.”
Ewan laughed loudly, clapping Harlow on the back before sauntering toward the ship’s held, resting his hands on the steering wheel. The rain had stopped only moments ago but the dark cloud remained.
“What happened to… the, the SkyMaker?” I said softly.
“The SkyChanger,” he emphasized the word, irritated. “Settle down, we sent them a signal.” My broken ship bobbed behind us as we dragged it toward the island.
“Jameson is not here, is he?” I asked Florence, avoiding eye contact. She shook her head, dragging a hand through her sodden hair. Staring at her I noticed that the entire ship we stood on was dry.
Bone dry.
Cold water dripped down my back.
“He is… magic, isn’t he?” I motioned toward Captain Harlow, standing watch over his crew like a shepherd watching his lambs.
“He is… something.” Florence smiled shyly, staring at the approaching island as we got closer to it. “We should be there before sundown.” Her hand twitched as though she wished to reach for something. “Once the ship is fixed, we will set sail again, I promise.” She smiled again, turning to leave.
“Thank you, Florence.” I spoke before my mind could register what I was doing.
“That’s nice.” She spoke again and I raised an eyebrow. “I always wondered how my name would sound in your mouth.”
The sky was a swirl of burnt orange, like ink dropped in water. It felt as though the island was close enough to touch. Leaning against the edge of the ship my mind filled itself with images of the storm, the ship, the magic and the SkyChangers. I had never seen magic, my entire life I had thought it was a myth or a legend from a time long ago.
I thought it extinct.
But now, as I stood on a ship, clad in linen trousers and shirt, my damp hair drying into a crazy afro, I had no idea how I got here.
“Do you need help with that?” The tall women from earlier stood behind me, her dagger now safely tucked into her boot.
“Sorry?” I choked on my words, looking down at my outfit.
“Your hair,” she gestured to her own black hair, braided into beautiful swirls. “It’ll only get hotter on the island.”
I touched my hair, course from the rainwater and dry sun. Embarrassment flooded through my veins.
“I can braid it if you like?” She stepped closer, my head only just reaching her shoulders. I nodded enthusiastically.
“I’m Braisha.” She smiled brightly.
Just as the sun began to steady its descent down to its slumber, my hair was pinned in several beautiful box braids, coconut oil smeared thickly on my scalp and the tips of my hair.
“They’re beautiful, thank you so much.” I stared at my reflection in the cracked mirror, in that moment I realized how much I looked like my mother. I forced back the tears in my eyes. She had not had chance to teach me to braid my own hair.
I had not been this content in years. I touched my hair and scalp softly. Braisha held out an orange silk scarf.
“To protect your scalp from the sun,” she said with a smile. I opened my mouth to say thank you, but Captain Harlow interrupted me.
“Ready the sails, man the boundaries, Land ahead.” He smirked, looking at the figures awaiting our arrival on the beach. “Oh how lovely. A welcome party.”
Sand and salt scratched against wood as the ship was heaved upon the shore, sailors ankle deep in bright blue waters, damp ropes heavy in their hands. Jameson would have loved this, the camaraderie, everyone working together for the same goal. It took until sundown to haul my broken ship onto the sand, I watched the agonizingly slow process, aching to be part of it, but I had already been shrugged off, separated from the group.
“Don’t interrupt the process, Killer.” Harlow had loved branding me with a new nickname. “You’ll only slow them down.”
Three strangers, presumably native islanders, stood watching our process. They did not move throughout the entire night, one of them lighting a torch, fire flowing from their hands. We occupied only a small portion of the sprawling beach, craning our necks more often than not, hoping to view the island beyond the tall clusters of trees.
“We will not dock here long,” Captain Harlow spoke softly, interrupting my lonesome thoughts. “And I will not leave without Florence,” he said nonchalantly.
“Without Florence I am stranded, I need her.” My voice was strong and demanding. “You only want her for some petty revenge.”
“Why I need Florence is none of your business.” He stepped closer to me, our faces mere inches away. “I had her and she fled, do not think I will make the same mistake twice.” His shoulder cropped hair swished as he spun on his heel. Blood rushed to my cheeks and my fists clenched.
I focused on the soft sand in-between my toes, on the salty breeze, on the setting sun. Two women of a similar age to me stood on the sand a few feet away from me, the taller one with her short blonde hair tucked into a red head scarf and the other with long blonde hair flowing down her back. Their pale skin was bronzed by the sun rays; their cheeks scattered with freckles. They were attempting to pitch a tent, their voices rising as their struggle continued.
“Jodes! Listen to me! We need the wood to cross over.” The taller one stood with a hand on her hip.
“No! When Dad taught me, he said they go parallel!” the other shouted back.
“How do they balance if they are parallel?”
“Erin! You. Are. Not. Listening. To. Me!”
I walked over cautiously, thankful for my headscarf as the sun continued to burn.
“She’s right,” they both turned to me “They need to cross over.”
The taller one, Erin I guessed, stared at me.
“You’re Joy.” She stepped closer to me and I looked down at her ankle, at the 444 tattooed there, I nodded.
“Captain Harlow is not happy with you.” Jodie stood up from beside the tent, her cropped t-shirt showing an identical 444 tattoo above her hip. Did all of Harlow’s crew share this particular tattoo or just the two of them?
“Is Captain Harlow ever happy?” I ask, bending down to look at their handy work. Jodie knelt beside me, grinning.
“You’ll have to excuse my sister… she likes us to stay under the radar and with you here…” Her voice trailed off.
“I understand.” I began to cross the wood. “I mean only to help you, I promise.”
Erin stood, watching me closely. I understood her unease, I was a stranger and she wanted to protect her sister. I would have done the exact same with Jameson.
“You know Florence, right?” Erin’s voice rang out over the crashing shore and screeching gulls. I looked up slowly, careful over my choice of words.
“She’s helping me find someone.” I returned to the wood.
“She’s a good woman.”
“I suppose. I am still yet to see that side of her,” I muttered to myself.
“Who are you looking for?” Jodie looked up from the collapsing stack of wood. I paused, unsure whether to share my most precious secrets with strangers.
“He is…” I paused, looking at the sisters. “I suppose you could say he is my brother.” I swallowed back against the sudden flow of emotion that filled me.
“You’ll need a new boat,” Jodie said, pointing to my broken one. I nodded solely.
“Do you have a crew?” Jodie asked softly.
“Jodie,” Erin warned quietly, oozing maturity despite the women being a similar age.
“What?” Jodie raised an eyebrow. “I’m just asking.”
“You are never just asking.” Erin rolled her eyes.
“Perhaps this is what we have been waiting for.” Jodie stood, clasping her sister’s hand. “A chance to do father proud.” She looked back at me.
“Do you have a crew?” she asked again and I shook my head.
“She needs our help, she has no one… just like us.” Erin pulled her into an embrace, the sisters’ pain clearly fresh. They turned to me simultaneously, but it was Erin that spoke.
“Do you want a crew?” She rose her eyebrows.
I couldn’t help the smile that snaked across my face.