****Check out this awesome guest post by Maria Mainero! You can find her at: her blog http://nevermindwastingtime.blogspot.com/
or on Twitter @MariaAnnaWitt
The oars plip plop in the water, sounding distant and
close at the same time. I clutch my shawl tighter, a meaningless gesture that
can’t protect me. The oarsman winks, then curls up his lip and hisses, flashing
his fangs.
“Don’t rock the boat, sweetie,” he chortles as I
jump.
They never said that only one of us would make it.
Never. The way our mothers fussed and coached us, the way they
celebrated, I figured. . .
I gulp and try to stop my thoughts before they turn to tears.
I’m supposed to be strong. That’s why I was given this chance, wasn’t it? The
chance to live as a free human, the future of our species. The reason we put
aside our grief for the ones who were sent back from their Trial, and rejoiced
for everyone who made it though.
Will would get another chance, when he turned eighteen, after
his three years of breeding. But at twenty-five, having produced five live
children, it had been Sal’s final trial. My own mother never passed the Trial;
she was taken when I was three, and I was given a new mother. At age eight, I
said goodbye again. Sal has been my mother ever since.
To lose her seems unbearable, and I start to hope for
something I never would have wished until now.
We all swore we’d take death instead. We had to say that. Our
own would kill us first if we dared to breathe that Vampire was the better life.
Better than being farmed as food. Better than being set loose like wild animals,
hunted for sport.
A hollow thump stops the boat. “Don’t forget your satchel,
sweetie. Full of wooden stakes?” He snorts at his joke and I wish I had
staked him. I could have done it. I could have slipped the stake from my
satchel, and plunged it into his chest, just slightly to the left of the center
of his white cravat.
Unless I missed, like I had at the Trial. Out here, there
were no rules—no one to drag me out of the arena to an empty cell. I sat there
alone, fearing there was only one fate, until they put me on this boat, without
a word, without a bite.
I scramble onto the dock, gripping the clammy iron railing.
The oarsman beats hastily away, leaving me in darkness. Then another lantern
brightens the fog. “Welcome to the Wilderness,” says a cracked, high-pitched
voice. Shadows fill the deep wrinkles on his face. “A gal? We’ll take ye. If
y’ c’n break the skin, you’re in, so they say.”
I’ve never seen a man so old before or hair so white. “They
really let us live?”
“Aye. Best we can figure, we’re their executioners. From time
to time, they’ll dump a vampire on this island, and we. . . .dispatch it. Did ye
get in a good blow?”
“Through the arm,” I admit.
“We’ll improve yer aim.”
“Am I the only one?”
“There were three yesterday. They don’t bring you in groups
anymore. Lost too many boatmen that way.”
“Who? Who were they?” I ask eagerly.
“Who they were doesn’t matter. Put the past behind ye. Who we
are now, is what must matter t’ ye.”
I follow the old man up the dock, but he stops at the
splashing of oars. “Will!” I shout, when I see him rowing alone. I feel gloating
pride that he singlehandedly staked his boatman.
He disembarks, smiling with the quiet restraint he always
displays. I rush to hug him, but he brushes past me, his hand outstretched to
our welcomer. In a flash, Will jerks the old man off his feet and twists his
head, bones popping and snapping.
He turns to me, catching up the lantern. “They said if I
could get you, you can come with me.”
I gasp out a foggy breath and sobs fill my chest. “How can
I?”
“I can do it, but not now. It’s not safe for me here.
Please, Annika, hurry, into the boat.” He’s still holding the old man’s lifeless
body.
“How could you, Will?”
“Don’t, Anna,” he pleads. “You’d do the same, if it was your
only choice.”
“Is it?” I say. He’s as silent as death. “Is it my only
choice, Will?”
He looks down at the limp body in his arms. “I had to, Anna.
What if you’d been waiting for me?”
He’s right, I would have done the same. . . .
If it was my only choice.
I clutch my satchel to my chest and take a shaking step
towards him. His eyes brighten like citrine, a new luminous clarity to their
brown. He smiles, and I shrink back, even though the smile is familiar, and his
fangs are puppy-dog small.
“Let me just. . . before you come. . . “ he says, unable to
speak the words for what his kind does. He bends his head, holding the man like
he’s his turkey drumstick at Trial banquet.
I turn away and reach into the carpetbag. Who he was
doesn’t matter. I hold the stake hidden in the folds of my skirt. We trained
together, surely he’ll recognize my feeble attempt at stealth.
Will drops the old man into the lake and wipes his mouth with
the back of his hand, like he’s just drained a mug of milk. Dark stains line his
teeth, as he smiles at me, his eyes wide in anticipation, his arms outstretched,
his heart unprotected.
I spring at him with all my strength. I know my aim is bad,
I’ve only wounded him. There are no rules out here. He’ll defend himself, and
like him, I won’t have a choice.
“Best of luck to you, Annika,” he says, stumbling into the
boat. He pulls the stake from his neck, and it falls into the water with a
splash, followed by the plip plop of oars fading away into the fog.
Story by: Maria Mainero
Photo by: Jim Crossley
Wow, there's a lot of intrigue here with the Trial and what this means for Will and Annika. I really like that you start and end with the sound of the oars, it casts an overall eeriness to the piece and I can feel Annika's loneliness and sense of caution throughout. Great job. The fog, water, oars work perfectly here.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for sharing your work with us, Maria!