At the northernmost point of Lighthouse Island, a huge stone jutted out from the shore over the sea. Kelp and all manner of sea creatures sheltered in the lee of the stone, and from this little hollow the two inhabitants of the island pulled a sizable proportion of the shellfish which served as the staple of their diet.
Charlotte stood at the edge of this stone less than a week before her twenty-first birthday. She looked out at the sea, northward, where she had no reason to believe any civilized or inhabited land lay. She rarely stood atop the lighthouse and looked out at civilized lands. She had not often done so for years. As far as Charlotte knew, the sea stretched northward to the very ends of the Earth. It was a direction in which she could look without feeling pangs of regret, of severe gut-wrenching sensation that, with every day she lived on Lighthouse Island, she threw away the rest of her life.
But she had to look outward. She could not fixate on the island tower any longer and retain her sanity. So she stood, wrapped in seal fur, her hair blowing around her face in the winter wind. The salty flecks of the sea with their tinges of subtle putrefaction blew upward and froze against her eyelashes.
A whale crested in the far distance. The enormous creatures always struck wonder into Charlotte’s heart. They made her question how vast and deep the ocean really was. Exactly how far were the ends of the Earth? The ocean floor dropped further and further as one moved away from shore, but how deep would one be required to dive to reach its deepest point? How could creatures live in a place so perpetually dark as the bottom of the ocean?
Charlotte wished she could be as content with her life as lobsters and clams were in the sea’s darkness. Through these past few years, the coming of winter had always dragged upon her heart. The hope for a better future seemed to fade along with the hot days of summer, while the snow when it fell seemed to sap away the warmth in her very spirit.
She used to love winter. So had Grandfather. Charlotte was convinced that if Grandfather only returned to his old habit of coming along with her to the mainland that they could both be happy again. Lately he had been complaining that his peg leg made it too hard to walk even around their island, but Charlotte believed this was only due to disuse. Grandfather claimed to feel weaker and more tired with every passing day, but he simply did not exercise his muscles as he had once upon a time, when Charlotte had been younger.
The wind shifted and blew into Charlotte’s face. She turned and dismounted from the stone, returning to the gravel shore of Lighthouse Island. She moved to the warped door which Grandfather had said years ago he would repair, but never had, the door whose disrepair allowed the icy drafts of winter to assail them every hour of day and night.
To ward away this cold, Grandfather sat now, as he always did, before the fire. Since he had taken to sitting before it every single day, not warming his bones with physical activity and seeming to gain no benefit from the furs which he wrapped around himself all the time, Charlotte had taken to working on the mainland several days a week to afford the blocks of processed seal oil which were far more efficient than firewood for providing heat.
Though Charlotte’s hands had always been calloused and tough from her work angling with Grandfather, following the long months of cookery work in the town’s tavern, her forearms were likewise covered in scars from cuts and burns. They were a permanent reminder of not only Grandfather’s continued torpor but also the fact that Charlotte had never learned the skills which were expected of a young woman.
Her mother had died when she was too young to now remember. Though Charlotte prepared and cooked their meals in the lighthouse, the work was nothing compared to the chopping, slicing, scalding, and frying needed at the tavern. Three nights a week she labored with a handful of other women to cook dishes for dozens of men and women at a time, people hungry and impatient after long days of work in the biting cold.
She could not apply the lessons Grandfather had taught her of doing things slowly, carefully, and properly the first time around. Girls younger than her who had grown up in the large families of the mainland had to learn from a young age to prepare feasts deftly and without mistakes. It was what the world expected of a young woman, a vital skill required to provide for a family with, typically, many more hungry mouths than one’s self and an additional, listless grandparent.
Charlotte thought of all these things as she stared at Grandfather in his chair. As best as she could tell by looking at the back of his chair, he was fast asleep.
She crept across the crooked flagstones of the floor until she peered around and saw that his chin was indeed bobbing against his chest, while his eyes were closed. A low and phlegmy cough came from Grandfather’s chest, and he shifted, but did not wake.
Charlotte slipped up to the second floor, where she retrieved a piece of shale and a stick of chalk. She scribed a brief note explaining that she was rowing into the archipelago to fetch Grandfather’s medicine, then tiptoed back downstairs and placed the stone beside Grandfather’s feet so he would see it when he woke.
She left the lighthouse and walked to their small dock, where the fine skiff which Grandfather had made in his younger years bobbed in the tide. Charlotte undid the mooring line, peeled back the tarp which protected it from the snow, and stepped into it with a basket of trading supplies. Fixing her eyes on the horizon, Charlotte began to row.
Less than a half hour later, the shore of Rook Island came into view, upon which lived the Rook Tribe, to which Ai’kalak belong to.
The tribes of the archipelago had lived on these islands for centuries. As best as Charlotte could tell by their stories, the tribes had arrived well after humans had escaped the vampires, having come from a continent over the sea after earthquakes had destroyed their entire way of living and thrown entire towns into the ocean.
Their skin was very pale, their hair various shades of apple-red. The people of the tribes came even less frequently than Charlotte to the mainland, almost always to trade for chemical reagents which they could not procure on their island homes.
The Rook Tribe were a lot of geniuses at cultivating plants and raising healthy livestock. Even in the winter, their cultivars grew strong so long as they were near a source of heat and in the light of the Sun throughout the day. The tribe carried these plants around in clay pots filled with earth, allowing them to place the plants in the greatest amount of sunlight over the course of a winter day. It was due to this careful work that they could produce the medicines which they created from these plants all year long.
One of these medicines was that which kept Grandfather alive, kept his cancer at bay. It was for the purpose of obtaining this that Charlotte now visited the tribe.
The tribe had raised walls of closely set stones not too far past the line of high tide, walls which broke the ocean winds to some degree. Charlotte had to walk for a long minute across the gravel and the sharp seashells before she reached the heavy wooden gate which the tribe had commissioned from a craftsman on the mainland.
Charlotte unfastened the gate and moved through it while clutching the basket of trading goods which she had brought along to exchange for medicine. She shut the gate behind her and continued forward to the Rook Tribe’s squat stone buildings which lay a quarter mile inland. The tribe had built their tiny civilization in concentric rings: walls on the outside, dwellings inward. They placed the fields for their crops and livestock in the center, the location best protected against the dangers of the sea.
Charlotte had seen none of the tribe’s fishermen on her approach, nor had seen anyone on the shore of the beach itself. But as she approached the dwellings, she saw children, bundled up warmly, playing with an inflated seal bladder. She smelled the scents of roast pork, citrus, and coriander on the air, signs that the tribe must be celebrating some momentous event.
She felt a twinge of shame at invading their privacy, but her arms were tired from the short voyage and Grandfather needed his medicine. Charlotte approached one of the children, a diminutive boy whose cherry-red hair was tied up with colorful string in a topknot.
Charlotte squatted down. “Good morning, Gekki! What’s going on here today?”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The other children continued playing, one of them screeching that the rules of their game were unfair, but Gekki turned and said “Oh, hi, Challa! Ai’kalak and my brother are getting married so we’re going to have a giant dinner and everyone’s invited!” He stood up on his tiptoes and grabbed at Charlotte’s free hand. “You should come on too! You’re our neighbor, and Mama says good people always give a neighbor dinner!”
Ai’kalak was getting married. The news sent jolts of warm happiness and strange, uncomfortable resentment through Charlotte’s heart. Ai’kalak had been Charlotte’s close friend for years. She was kind, strong, and witty. Everything Charlotte wanted to be. Ai’kalak explored dark caves without fear, dove deeper than anyone else, could even out-row some of the young men of Charlotte and Ai’kalak’s age. Charlotte always looked forward to seeing her friend when she visited the islands, helping to tend the plants or to repair and varnish skiffs before returning with Grandfather’s medicine. Ai’kalak’s family were the most skilled chemists of the Rook Tribe, and it was through them that Charlotte had met Ai’kalak to begin with when Grandfather had first taken her along to fetch his medicine, so many years ago.
And now Ai’kalak was getting married. Ai’kalak had never been one to dream about romance or marriage or having children, as far as Charlotte was aware, so this came as a sudden surprise. And Gekki’s brother... The little boy had two older brothers, neither of which was memorable to Charlotte, so she had no idea what Ai’kalak might have seen in either of them.
This news would mean Ai’kalak would have less time for Charlotte in the future, and it was yet another reminder that Charlotte could not truly live a life of her own, not without abandoning Grandfather.
Charlotte smiled faintly and thanked Gekki for his invitation. “Thank you, but I need to get back to my Grandfather,” she said. “I’m just here to trade for some medicine. I suppose Ai’kalak is busy if the whole party’s for her?”
Gekki nodded furiously. He seemed overjoyed to have the important and grown-up role of explaining current events to Charlotte. “Yeah, but Mother Ke’a is at home. She was making a giant pot of tea for dessert and she said she would be there all day. I had to see her earlier when I hurt my hand.”
He pulled one of his tiny mittens from his hand and solemnly showed Charlotte the telltale, clean-cut wound of a carelessly handled razor clam shell. The cut had been pinched back together with thin strips of adhesive and smeared with some kind of clear ointment.
“Oh my,” said Charlotte. “You’re very brave to be out and about with an injury like that.”
She thanked Gekki and let him return to his game as she made her way to the house of Ai’kalak’s family. All children of the tribe referred to adults as “mother” or “father,” a practice which continued until one married. Even Charlotte referred to the pretty but prematurely gray-haired woman as Mother Ke’a, as the smallest of the tribal children did.
Charlotte knocked several times against the thick wooden door of her friend’s home. The leather gloves which protected her skin against the winds also muffled the sound of her knocking, but the force rattled the door on its hinges. Within a few moments, the door opened inward to reveal the tired face of Ke’a.
“Oh, Challa. How are you?”
“I’m well, Mother Ke’a.” Charlotte faltered. “Um, may I come in?”
Ke’a stood to the side and allowed her guest entry, then shut the door. There was indeed a great cauldron of clay in the middle of the floor. Charlotte knew it was ordinarily used to prepare medicine, but within it now bubbled a liquid from which rose the scent of a handful of different sweet and spicy herbs.
Ke’a stretched out her fingers and her arms, then returned to the cauldron and continued stirring it. Three strokes clockwise, three counterclockwise, three again the other way.
“I can’t leave it for long,” explained Ke’a, “or the bottom burns. It’s very delicate.
“I see,” said Charlotte. “Mother Ke’a, I heard that Ai’kalak’s getting married. I was, well, surprised.”
Ke’a grunted. “While you’re here, would you mind giving me a hand so I can rest my arm?”
Charlotte approached, took the wooden spatula, and did as Ke’a asked.
The broad-shouldered woman stooped and picked up Charlotte’s basket, then looked inside. “Raisins. Lovely. They’ll make a nice surprise for dinner tonight. And I’ll never say no to blue dye.” She looked up. “Ai’kalak got pregnant,” she said flatly. “I hadn’t thought she’d be such an idiot, but children will be children.”
Charlotte said nothing. The words, of course, brought to mind Grandfather’s cruel retort when Charlotte had returned from the festival nearly five years ago. So long ago, and yet she could never push out of her mind the day Grandfather had seemed to treat her like a stupid stranger instead of his own granddaughter.
“But, well, we’re making the best of it,” Ke’a continued. Her voice softened. “I’m sorry we didn’t invite you. I brought it up, but Ai’kalak was too ashamed. She thinks a lot of you, you know. She thought you’d look down on her and be ashamed of her for fooling around with that hollow-brained boy.”
Ke’a waved a hand slick with moisturizing ointment. “I told my girl she insulted you by thinking that.” She peered into Charlotte’s face, clearly trying to discern what her guest felt about the matter.
“Ai’kalak is my friend,” said Charlotte softly, “and I want her to be happy. She’s still surrounded by people who love her, and the baby will be, too. That’s what matters, right?”
Ke’a sighed. “The little punk isn’t a bad boy, but my girl really deserves better. She’s smarter than him. Stronger in some ways, too! He’d better get himself into shape. More will be expected of him.” The woman seemed to talk more to herself than to her guest.
Charlotte wondered if Ke’a had cooped herself up in the house, tending the tea which seemed to require a whole day of preparation, just so that she didn’t have to be around the bustle of celebration.
“I don’t know what else to say,” said Charlotte. “I don’t... I don’t want to make Ai’kalak embarrassed. It probably would be best if I didn’t show my face.”
Ke’a stepped into the smaller adjoining room in which her family slept. She shortly returned, having retrieved a bundle of powder wrapped in broad leaves, a month’s supply of Grandfather’s medication.
“Well,” said the tribal woman, “do what you must. Whatever she feels now, my daughter will be grateful to see you again later. Tell her how you feel in private, yeah? Get the silly notion out of her head that you’ll despise her. But yes, maybe don’t do all that right now.”
Charlotte felt a little awkward that Ke’a had not in fact tried to convince her to come to the marriage dinner of her best friend, but she simply nodded and hoped her flush of embarrassment wouldn’t show too much. The tribe had a few customs and social nuances which Charlotte simply couldn’t discern even after years of visiting them, befriending them, spending long hours with them. Ke’a was a wise and insightful woman, and Charlotte trusted that she knew better than an outsider how her own daughter would react.
Charlotte handed back the spatula and nestled the medicine block into her now-empty basket. She left the steaming warmth of the house and returned to the frigidity of the outdoors. The smells of the feast filled her nose, but Charlotte turned her back to them and made her way to the shore where her skiff awaited. A thin layer of snow covered it, for Charlotte had not bothered to place the tarp over it upon disembarking, but she cleared this away and soon began the trip back home.
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The skiff secured and covered, her basket on her arm, Charlotte approached the lighthouse again warmed by the comfortable tiredness of physical exertion. She opened the lighthouse door softly and poked her head in to find Grandfather’s standing and cutting a slice from the big wheel of white cheese which she had procured last week on the mainland.
“How did you sleep?” she asked.
Grandfather turned and nodded in greeting. He seemed in a good mood. “Well enough,” he said. “Hungry now. Feel like I could eat a horse.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Charlotte. Grandfather had complained of an upset stomach lately and hadn’t touched his food much. The wedge of cheese on the wooden plate he carried back to his chair was a tremendous portion, at least enough for two strong men after a long morning’s work.
“Do you want anything else with that?” Charlotte asked. “We still have some cabbage and onions left. I could boil some tea.”
“No,” said Grandfather. “This will do me for now.” He paused, his voice strangely casual, as though he had practiced his next line to himself in her absence. “You got my medicine, right? Would you mind boiling me a double dose of that?”
Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat. “Double dose?” She asked cautiously. “Grandfather, are you all right?”
“My wound’s just bothering me more than usual,” said Grandfather. “That medicine always makes it feel better, far better than the painkillers you get from the quack on the mainland. Brew it up, there’s a good girl.”
Charlotte silently put a kettle on the fire and ground out a portion of medicine one and one-half times the usual dose. She was wary of giving him the whole double dose he had requested. Ke’a had told Charlotte years ago there were some side effects to the medicine, and though Charlotte could not quite remember what they were now, she wanted to reduce the unknown risk as much as possible. She knew that the ordinary painkillers which Grandfather had just referenced as being useless could kill a man if too many were taken, or if they were taken with a belly full of liquor. Was the medicine similar?
Charlotte brought Grandfather his medicinal tea. Though he usually turned up his face at the bitter stuff, he slugged it all back in two gulps, shuttering a bit but keeping the whole dose down.
“Thank you,” he said, sounding relieved. “Anything interesting happening over on the island?”
“Ai’kalak’s getting married,” Charlotte said in a dreary tone. She felt suddenly exhausted.
“Well, why didn’t you stay?” Grandfather asked.
Charlotte felt that if she told the whole story, this would give Grandfather an excuse to say “See, I told you so, that’s all that boys want.”
Instead, she said “Mother Ke’a didn’t think it was appropriate, so I came home.”
Grandfather grunted. “That’s too bad,” he said. His eyes fluttered, and he tilted his grizzly head back to look up at the ceiling. His food and medicine were both gone. “I’m going to take another nap,” he said. “Wake me in a few hours, would you?”
Charlotte stepped outside again. She looked to the rock that faced northward. She looked at the skiff which could take her to the archipelago, or even beyond.
And she turned again to the lighthouse which blocked her view of the mainland, which she might otherwise see just barely on the horizon, feeling utterly alone in the world.