Jonah trudged forward, each step burdened with a weight he could hardly bear. The gangway, bustling with life moments earlier, now stretched before him in its emptiness, Shelby having ushered the crew members away.
The ship itself, cloaked in the darkness, radiated an unsettling stillness without its inhabitants. A stillness mirrored by the heaviness in Jonah’s heart, and the gravity of his mistake. If only he had paid more attention. If only he were faster. If only he didn’t think of the thrill of battle, but the lives that were at stake, then maybe Felix would be alive.
Delia seemed to think Felix's death was her fault for whatever reason. She wasn’t the ship guard. She wasn’t the one tasked with keeping everyone alive from physical threats, nor did she make a vow to do so. Jonah did. And after almost a decade since that day, he had failed.
It wasn’t the first death on the ship; the sea was far too dangerous for that. Illness, storms, and pirates had claimed many lives during Jonah’s tenure but never had someone died when he could have stopped it.
Maybe this one wasn’t his fault either; perhaps Felix was gone before Delia had woken him up. It was possible, and though Jonah understood it logically, it didn’t stop the guilt gnawing at him from within. It would take a few days before his mind and heart would come to an understanding. Until then, he had to do as Greg ordered: find the two men of the house of El, and tell them they would meet in the morning.
The captain planned to speak to each of the crew members and find out what they knew. He would then divide them into groups. Those blessed with ignorance would set out in the morning, travelling to the city Khaleel and his men hailed from. The others… Greg didn’t say what they would do, did he? If he did, then Jonah wasn’t paying attention, likely being swallowed by self-pity — the thought only frustrated him more.
He slowed his pace and inhaled sharply, refocusing his sporadic thoughts.
Separated from the others, Jonah supposed they would go to the village too, if only so they didn’t cause havoc on the ship. After months on the sea, denying them land was cruel, and the captain understood the mind of men better than most. Greg also said those who knew needed to join the guild, so setting out towards a city or town was inevitable. With this in mind, Jonah would need Elrayn and Elrasik to split and guide one group each.
Jonah made his way off the gangway, feet finally finding solid ground for the first time in months. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savouring the long-awaited scent of freedom — a symphony of smells. Earthly notes of the sun-warmed sand, a subtle mineral aroma, and the faint traces of decaying seaweed, carried by the gentle breeze. It was refreshing. An intertwining, delicate dance he could only appreciate after the months away on the waters — months of just the smell of brine and booze.
This was the moment everyone was looking forward to, and a moment tarnished by an unwelcome thought; Felix was days away from experiencing this himself. The consonance of smells, enchanting seconds ago, suddenly seemed laced with uncertainty. Doubt, like a silent spectre, infiltrated his mind, casting shadows over his conviction. It whispered insidiously, questioning his strength.
This island is dangerous, even more so than the ocean.
The mention of staying on the Island had caused Cassie's eyes to widen, filled with fear and disbelief. The scene left an indelible mark on Jonah's memory. Even the captain — a man who spoke of dangers with gravitas — gave sombre warnings of this foreign land. Was Jonah ready? Could he rise above his shortcomings and protect those left?
No.
Jonah was too weak. The phantom of his failures gripped him like the Kraken until a flicker of light banished the suffocating shadow. Candlelight. Jonah exhaled deeply, his breath coming out like a ragged gasp. He turned to find Delia standing behind him, the forced smile on her face morphing into a gaze of concern.
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“Jonah? Are you okay?”
She was probably there the whole time he was moping.
“Jonah?” Delia repeated.
“I’m fine.”
"It's not your fault, you know."
"I know," he said, his words a fragile façade.
Her lips trembled as she continued, guilt-laden words tumbling forth. "It’s my fault. I didn't realise in time. I didn't-"
“No, Del, it isn’t,” Jonah said, cutting her off. “And it doesn’t matter. What's done is done.” There was no point mulling on who to blame, and he didn’t deserve her consolation. In the end, he had failed his task, and regret wouldn't bring anyone back.
Jonah sighed, noticing her tear-filled eyes and recognising the dismissiveness of his voice. He was projecting his frustration. "Let's go," he said more softly, casting his gaze to the solid ground. Jonah took in the odd colour of the jetty, an onyx wood that seemed to gulp the candlelight. An exotic wood, perhaps. He followed the path with his eyes until he couldn’t anymore. It seemed to stretch endlessly, merging with the sandy bay beyond the limits of his vision.
More impressive were the rows upon rows of parallel paths, mirroring the one he stood on. The harbour was large. How many ships could it hold? Stranger still, why was it so empty? A disquieting stillness hung in the air, amplifying the eerie emptiness enveloping the scene.
A tug of his sleeve almost made him jolt and Jonah jerked his head to face Delia, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his blade.
“Sorry,” she said. “Did I spook you?”
“No,” he lied.
Delia flashed him a quick smile, her hands wrapping around his wrist like a child. “This feels creepy,” she said. “It feels like a graveyard.”
He nodded, understanding her trepidation. Something felt wrong.
“There are no ships,” he said.
“No, not a graveyard of ships,” Delia said. “Like an actual graveyard. It feels like people died here.”
“You… think it’s haunted?” Jonah asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No… but,” her eyebrows knitted into a frown. “I don’t know. It feels weird.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?” Jonah said, confused by her hesitation.
“I don’t.” Delia looked at him with a troubled expression in her eyes. “But… you feel it, don’t you? Something feels wrong.”
He understood what she meant. The air felt thick, suffocating. The smell of seaweed and algae seemed reminiscent of decaying flesh. Even the ringing in his ears mutated into a melody of distant screams. The island felt ominous.
“It’s like… ever since I stepped off the gangway, everything changed,” Delia continued. “The candlelight seems dimmer, and the shadows starker. The jetty seems longer, and… Well, I can explain all of that,” she said, shuddering. “Perhaps the ship is casting a shadow over the candlelight. And we’re at lower ground, so our perspective has changed… But how do I explain the air feeling oppressive? Am I going crazy, or do you know what I mean?”
Jonah nodded. “I thought that was just me.”
“Also, it’s freezing.” She let out a cloud of vapour emphasising her point.
“Greg's the one who said it’ll be hot.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“He told Karl to put in anything that gets ruined by heat into coolers…”
“He–Yes, but there could be plenty of reasons for that. To preserve food, to…”
Jonah turned his attention back to the sandy shore. Delia would likely list out all the reasons she was right, and he honestly didn’t care. What intrigued him more was this island. She was right. Something felt supernatural.
A sharp pain blossomed across his chest and Jonah turned to face Delia again.
“You weren’t listening, were you?” she accused.
“I was. And that hurt.”
“Oh. Sorry,” she gave an apologetic smile.
“It’s fine. You were saying,” Jonah prompted.
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s go. I want to head inside quickly.”
Jonah agreed.
The pair began making their way down the jetty, the biting cold that nipped at their skin — and to some degree, fear — fueling them forward. It made Jonah reminisce about their time as children, running the hallways of the ship, fleeing imaginary monsters lurking in the darkness. Only now, monsters weren’t imaginary.