Chapter 12
Pain woke me first, throbbing in the back of my head and tracing out over my skull and down my neck like a spider.
Scorching heat pulsed in my bad knee, in a palm that felt scourged and bathed in salt.
The steady crash of waves and unfamiliar birdsong, all of it laced with gentle weeping, arrived next, and I groaned, trying to pull myself out of a fog of unconsciousness.
“Amina?” Majed’s voice was soft. “My nakhudha, can you hear me?”
I murmured what assent I could manage, and hands lifted me to a more elevated position, placing a wooden thimble at my lips.
“Drink,” Majed urged. “You need water, and Dalila has put herbs in it for the swelling—No, don’t touch,” he warned as I went to do just that and then he placed a light straw hat atop my head. “We have already dressed the wound, and this should help with the sun’s glare.”
I attempted to squint, but even a shaded glimpse of the bright sun made my head pound worse. “Firoz,” I muttered. “The boy. Did you . . .”
The sorrow radiating from Majed was almost physical.
“I am sorry, nakhudha. We were still cutting through the sail’s rigging and when the ship righted itself, one of the supports snapped and struck you.
The waves were terribly violent and by the time we pulled you in, the boy was already gone.
” He cleared his throat. “He was not the only loss.”
“How many?”
“An additional five.”
Six. “Oh, God.” Six of my men gone in one night. It was not the worst loss of my career, but it was damned close. I sucked for air. “Who?”
“Dawud, Yusuf’s cousin from Aden, and Jabbir, a sailor we picked up there as well. Burhan, Vahbiz, and Kuttan,” he continued, each name landing heavier in my heart. “And, of course . . . Firoz.”
I swore. “The weather, the wind . . . had I have known—”
Majed touched my shoulder. “No one could have known; I have never experienced a storm like that either.” His voice gentled. “It’s the life, Amina, and no one who takes to the sea is unaware of the risk. It is God’s will.”
God’s will. Did that make me the instrument, then? I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. “Let me up,” I said gruffly, pulling at his arm.
“Sister, I do not believe that wise. You took an exceptionally bad blow—”
“Am I not your nakhudha?” I shoved myself upward, surprised to find a damp weight in my lap and dislodging it as it gave a startled purr.
Payasam. I was oddly relieved and touched that the useless little cat had not only survived but chosen to rest upon me.
I opened my eyes, tilting the wide straw brim of my hat to better survey my surroundings, and then staggered to my feet, only for pain to explode in the back of my head, stars bursting across my vision.
I took a few deep breaths, forcing myself to stay upright and finally behold my Marawati.
The crashing surf hadn’t been a hallucination; we had indeed made landfall, which I tried to tell myself was preferable to sinking to the bottom of the sea.
But such a fate was difficult to accept when I stared at my ruined ship, driven up onto the soft sand.
The main mast was reduced to a stump, its costly sail long gone.
One of the rudders was cracked, a lethal splinter running its entire length.
A gash was torn in the hull and the entire vessel lay slumped in a way that indicated a good deal of its ribs were broken.
And I had no doubt that there were less visible injuries, an entire inventory of reasons the Marawati would never get off this beach, let alone sail safely back home under skies whose stars swapped positions.
Majed joined me. “We tried to keep her together as best we could, but neither Tinbu nor I have your surety and with the storm . . .”
“You did good, brother. We are alive. The ship is beached. I would not dare ask for more.” I turned around and frowned at the sight of the land before me, appearing as though someone had transposed a foreign film upon the typical shores of the Persian Gulf.
Rocky mountains stood mighty and nearly sheer against the sky, unnaturally still in comparison with the dancing wisps of clouds and churning sea; mountains that reminded me of the coasts around Julfar.
But instead of the fishing villages and thickly clustered date orchards I would have expected at their foot, a thin ribbon of black sand beach devoid of human presence hugged a dark verdant forest whose uncommon hue hinted at towering coniferous trees and dense hardwood jungle.
The shore was narrow, pummeled by waves that crashed and tore at lines of shells and seaweed striping the damp sand.
The salty air was heavy, with little wind to lift the humidity or dance among the emerald boughs of the forest.
“Never mind, I will ask for more. Where the hells are we?”
Majed shook his head. “I wish I knew. We have not yet ventured far but . . .”
“But?” I pressed when he trailed off.
Worry creased his eyes. “We spotted two more shipwrecks. The first is just past those rocks,” he added, gesturing north.
“And the other is not much farther. All that is left is debris: a few stitched planks, the remnants of a sail, and broken crates. With the sky and weather so unnatural, I fear a great number of vessels might have met a similar doom.”
Goose bumps erupted across my skin. A land of shipwrecks and few survivors; the blazing white city set in an emerald coast that had appeared before my eyes and vanished in a wink, leaving temptation pulling at my soul.
I reached for Khayzur’s feather—while at sea, I’d taken to wearing it on a thong around my neck.
Relief washed over me. The feather was still there, reminding me of my mission.
“I think this is it,” I said softly. I sensed no magic, but it was impossible not to see a supernatural hand in the stars that had spun and changed locations every night, and I didn’t believe in coincidences. “I think this is the island we seek.”
Dread crossed Majed’s expression. “So, what now?”
That was an excellent question. I’d hoped to arrive to Lab’s island like a thief in the night, to steal away the spindle and flee on my reliable ship. Instead I’d washed up as a refugee—responsible for the lives of two dozen others—on a shattered vessel.
“Let us take stock of our circumstances first,” I decided. “But every man carries a weapon and none ventures out alone.”
“That might be a problem. Dalila is already gone.”
“Gone?”
“Foraging—or so she claimed.” Majed shook his head in resignation. “She was so excited by the prospect of new plants that I’m not sure she even realized we lost six men.”
I flinched. Dalila must have been more callous than usual to have earned such words from Majed. Despite their constant bickering, he considered her family. But many of the newer sailors didn’t, had already been backbiting about her . . .
But I had more than Dalila to worry about right now. “I’ll speak to her when she returns,” I promised before limping across the sand to join my first mate.
Tinbu was sitting in obvious despair as he stared at the broken ship he had adored and doted upon for nearly two decades. He glanced up when I approached, his eyes bloodshot. “Forgive me, nakhudha.”
“There is nothing to forgive, my friend. Can she be fixed?”
He blinked. “I . . . we would need so many supplies. A sturdy beam for the mast, bitumen, and rope . . . Half our tools were washed away.”
“Can it be done?” I demanded.
For a moment, I wasn’t certain—Tinbu was looking away to study the Marawati. “It will take a very long time and more luck than we’ve ever had before . . . but I can try,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Then off your ass,” I ordered, turning around to survey the knots of men clustered in various spots on the beach, many of whom looked shocked to see me standing.
Judging from the rosy hue of the morning sky and the fact that most were still visibly soaked, the Marawati must not have beached too long ago.
“Listen up!” I shouted, my head hurting at the volume.
“We have suffered a blow, yes. Six of our own have joined God, and the ship is badly damaged.
We appear to be in an isolated land and may be stranded with our own resources and wits for a while yet.
But we are not doomed, understand? This looks a fertile country and I have seen vessels in far worse shape with far less talented boatwrights, made eminently seaworthy.
The labor will be arduous, but I will get you home, by the grace of God.
“But first, we work. And swiftly. The ship needs to be scoured for supplies and taken farther from the tide line. Our injured need care and a shelter set up. We’ll send a proper party out to forage but not yet.
Just two people to find fresh water. Keep your eyes sharp and your weapons close,” I added, cautioning, “I fear there may be dangers here we do not understand.”
That seemed to shake them from their stupor, and we thus attuned ourselves to survival.
It was not the first time I’d been stranded upon a strange shore—even if my Marawati had never been so injured—and I knew my men would find comfort and purpose in staying busy, so I divided them into groups and we got to work, setting up a shelter underneath the trees that fronted the beach, a safe distance from the water, where we could sleep and store supplies while keeping a close eye on the ship.
Without Dalila, Jabril tended to broken bones and gashes alone.
Another team scavenged the Marawati and surrounding waters while I oversaw the creation of a cradle of felled trees and fallen logs in which my maimed vessel could be safely repaired.