Fate's Isle

She was floating in the water, a lone figure, gently rocked by the lolling waves. Starlight filtered through dirty black clouds, the terror that had cast her from ship and safety. That same damp evil had wiped out most of her shipmates with one well-placed bolt of lightning. Her eyelids flickered open, revealing dark orbs that reflected the starry sky beyond the storm clouds. She realized her back was sore, and, after laying while and staring at the clouds, she forced her tingling limbs to awaken. The girl tried to turn over, but the smooth, damp wood of a door or plank met her cheek, stabbing splinters into the soft flesh.

A chill wind blew across the wide expanse of ocean, cutting through the denim jeans and jacket she wore. Her body shivered in response, goose-flesh rising on the back of her neck and on her arms, bare beneath the waterlogged jacket. She clenched her teeth tightly to prevent them from chattering while she desperately sought a way out of the water, onto land, onto anything that could keep her alive. The wind shuddered around her, and her shivering grew worse. Then, all was black.

The next time she opened her eyes, grit had caked along the edges of their lids, had stuck to her nose and mouth, filtered in, coating her tongue and her throat. The girl sat up, then heaved a wracking cough that sent loose particles of sand flying from her face. The fine sand had caked itself into her clothing, now stiff from the salt in the water, as well. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, blazing a brilliant orange-red that tinged the fluffy white clouds with pink and gold. Tears welled up in her eyes as she struggled to her feet, clinging to a waving palm tree for support and comfort.

She wavered, her legs nearly giving out on her, but she forced her way forward, taking one slow, agonizing step at a time. Her sneakers pushed through the loose sand around her, gathering more of the fine white particles as they clung to the soaked cloth. Her hands trembled, exhaustion and lack of food sapping away what was left of her energy. A low rumbling sound reached her ears, and with a start, the girl realized it was her own stomach, begging for food. Brown eyes so dark they appeared black searched the beach for signs of food. Seeing none, she staggered forward, making her way along the shoreline, her eyes straining, trying to find any signs of food.

After what seemed like an hour, a strong odor reached her. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled the smell of raw fish, her lips curling upward slightly in disgust. Tired and sore, she came to a halt at what had been a tidepool. A few fish flapped meekly in what water remained, their gills working hard as they tried to breathe in the rocky crevice. She was tired and sore, and she knew that if she didn’t eat soon or find fresh water, she would die. Food was first. Small, pale hands reached into the water and grabbed at one of the silvery fish, a muttered curse flowing between her lips as it slipped out of her grasp. She tried again, and managed to keep a firm hold on the dying creature.

The girl sat heavily, a few puffs of sand escaping her with the sudden gust of wind she’d created. She looked around, swallowing hard as she realized she had nothing to cut or cook the fish with. Tears sprang to her eyes, the first sign of her turmoil that she’d shown since awakening. Bile rose in her throat, but she forced it back down as she prepared to take a bite out of the raw fish, scales and all. A snap somewhere to her left caught her attention, and she jerked slightly, her head whipping toward the sound. There was nothing there, no movement to give the sound away. She sighed slightly, convincing herself she’d been hearing things, and was about to go back to the fish when something caught her eye.

Curious, the girl shifted forward on her knees, fish still in hand. The object she’d spotted was a rock, about the size of her hand, and flat. One edge was ragged, like a steak knife from home. She set the fish down gingerly in her lap and picked up the rock. Cautiously, she tapped it against the tide pool’s rocky edge, and a piece of it chipped off. She stifled a cry as it rose in her throat, her eyes wide as she recognized the object for what it was. Flint. She held flint in her hand. Tears rose again, and she let them slide from her eyes as she searched for a piece of a good, solid stone. When she found one, she began to slam it against the jagged edge of the flint, working steadily until the edge was sharp and as smooth as it was going to be. She had no time for the proper process of making a knife. This would have to do.

Thanking fate for her luck, she picked up the fish with one hand, flint knife in the other, and began to strip it of its scales. It was a slow, tedious process, but after an hour, the fish had finally been cleaned, its guts removed. Ravenous, the girl bit into the raw flesh of the fish, tearing it apart, barely stopping long enough to chew. The fish made a wet sound as it was being devoured, and had she not been starving, she would have thought it disgusting. As it was, she had gone too long without food and thus was far too hungry to care.

Only later, when she had eaten her fill of fish, did she stop to wonder about the noise that had preceded the flint. She attributed it again to luck, and decided that some animal had made the sound, curious as to her smell, and then fled at her sudden movement. After all, it seemed reasonable. The fish had satiated her appetite and slaked some of her thirst, but the sun’s rays beating down on her reminded her to get to shade and to find fresh water. Heat sickness was not something she wanted to experience, and especially not when she was alone.

She pushed herself to her feet and began to stumble toward the interior of the island, grasping her newfound knife and listening intently for the sound of rushing water that would signify fresh, drinkable water. The sun had climbed highed in the sky since she’d first found the fish and the flint, and it was nearing noon, by her best guess. She glanced down automatically at the watch on her wrist, sighing when she realized it had gotten so waterlogged that it was now useless. The trees had grown thicker as she went further into the island, shielding her from the worst of the sun’s heat, though the humidity made things almost as unbearable.

The denim jacket she’d worn the night before on the ship, when the storm’s winds had brought a chill to the air, was removed and tied around her waist. Beneath it she wore a simple tank top, still damp from her storm-tossed night in the sea. It had escaped most of the salt encrustations that the jacket had received, but she could smell the sea in its wetness.

Insects swarmed around her in enormous numbers, getting in her eyes and nose and mouth, occasionally choking off her breath and leading her to wracking, spasmodic coughs that left her feeling much worse than before. Her vision began to blur, and the world seemed to spin around her. Still she pressed on, using trees as support and resting whenever she felt it was necessary. Still she heard no sign of water, saw nothing that would even point her in the right direction. She still smelled the tang of the salty sea air, pervasive and constant in the background of her senses.

She stumbled, caught herself, then stumbled again, landing with a loud splash into… a stream. A stream that did not smell of salt! With a hoarse cry of delight, she began to drink, scooping handfuls of the sweet liquid and draining them in seconds. When her thirst was sated, she began to wash, removing grit and salt from her face, feeling revitalized for the first time since she’d awoken on the island. And when she was done, she found a hollow in a nest of trees and went to sleep, the sound of the stream soothing her to a restful state.