9. AyeNay

Chapter 9

Aye or Nay

T wo days later, the dried meat was spent.

They’d tried to make it stretch. Erran had even offered to halve his own portions, to give Mariel some of her vigor back, but she’d refused. With her injury, he was spending so much more energy than she was. Other than some light gathering by the cabin and throwing together bitter stews from what little they’d collected, she mostly slept. She said nothing beyond what was necessary, and neither did he.

He tidied the cabin and reached for the spear he’d whittled the day before. It might not have been enough against the monstrous boars, but it would hold its own for what he intended.

Erran cleared his throat before approaching the cot, to give her a small warning he was about to speak. Mariel lay facing the wall, but she wasn’t asleep. He could always tell because at rest, she seemed actually at peace instead of a tangle of tension. “I’m going to try my hand at fishing. I may be gone awhile.”

“Aye,” she said evenly. It was the same tone from her all the time anymore. She’d either lost her fight or was storing it up, but he feared more that she was succumbing to the hopelessness his father had warned him about; all men were susceptible to it, when the odds of survival were less than favorable. He’d take her screaming over her malaise any day.

“I’ve fished this way before. If those snook or seatrout are still hanging about in the tidal pools, I should fare well.”

She shifted under the blanket but didn’t turn. “All right.”

“I’ll take the crate.”

Mariel nodded.

“You know where to find me, but I recommend staying off the ankle a little longer. I’ll be back while there’s still light.”

“Aye.”

Erran pressed his mouth tight. She didn’t want to talk. Nor did he, but he would try again later, just the same. They had only each other.

“I’ll be back then. There’s still a bit of stew left, if you’re hungry. Plenty of figs too.”

Erran paused, knowing she’d only answer with silence, and when she did, he took the spear and headed for the beach.

Mariel waited until Erran left. She swung her swollen leg over the side of the cot and sat there for a long time before reaching for his conciliatory crutch.

She hobbled to the table and dropped onto a chair. It was another moment before she reached for her boot and slipped it over her good foot. It would be a while before her sprained ankle would fit into anything but Erran’s wraps.

The past two nights, she’d offered to take boar watch and tend the signal fire that had so far produced nothing, but Erran wouldn’t hear of it. She tried to tell him she wasn’t sleeping anyway, but those words, like so many others, refused to come. All the things she wanted to say remained unspoken, apologies and explanations unformed.

He was an easy outlet for her anger, but he wasn’t the source. Even her utter contempt for his father couldn’t hold a candle to the disgust she felt for her own self—her own failures, which she numerated again and again on her sleepless nights.

In her darkest moments, she accepted they would die there.

But sometimes... Sometimes she recalled the small but important moments when they’d worked together. They made a good team. His strengths balanced her weaknesses, and the reverse was also true.

Apologizing might be more than she could muster, but if he was going to spend the day trying to provide for them, she could do the same.

She locked the crutch he’d made her under her left arm. It wasn’t the most elegant solution, but without it, she’d be even more useless.

Never in her life had she used such a word to describe herself.

Mariel grabbed Erran’s makeshift satchel, from where it hung on a loose nail by the door, and ambled out into the bright, blinding morning. She maneuvered sideways down the steps. The smoky remnants of the night’s fire burned her nose, but it also made her wonder how Erran’s nights had been. He couldn’t be sleeping either. Sometimes he’d catch small naps on the floor, but it could not have been enough to make up for what he’d been losing.

They’d explored south of the cabin, in the stretch between their encampment and the shore, and west, but not east or north. She randomly chose east and limped carefully into the forest in search of anything she recognized as edible.

Mariel picked more fennel and dandelions, gagging with every tug; if she survived the ordeal, she’d never eat either ever again. She found a lone lagerberry bush she robbed of its entire contents, stuffing a handful in her mouth before continuing.

The world shook, and she stumbled into a tree. The red eyes of a boar pinned her there. She was too injured to outrun it, and by the time she drew her dagger, those long, curving horns would have her impaled. But this creature, unlike the ones she’d heard shrieking in the forest, seemed more curious than dangerous.

Mariel closed her eyes and whispered a brief prayer. When she opened them, the boar was gone.

She waited for the panic to subside and kept straight on, marking arrows on trees as she went. When the brush grew denser, weaving together to prevent smooth ingress, she turned back. That was when she spotted the mushrooms.

When she and her siblings were children, their mother had taught them all about how to spot poisonous toadstools. The ones in the kingdom had one of three defining characteristics; they either had pale spots lining the cap, uneven truffling, or the tiniest spikes along the stem, like the stinging barbs of nettles.

A close examination revealed the cluster had none of these. They were all a boring, dull brown, with no other features to note. She considered the possibility the island might have different species than the realm proper, but one of the core learnings her mother had impressed upon her was that a poisonous plant always had some trait meant to deter predators from consuming it.

Mariel broke one off and nibbled the tiniest spot off the edge. She waited a few minutes, and when no ill effects kicked in, she took another bite and then another, eventually finishing the entire mushroom.

Still alive. And slightly less hungry.

She balanced on her crutch and her good leg. Her knee wobbled, weak and exhausted like the rest of her, but it held long enough for her to clear the entire patch and load it into her slinged bag.

By the time she finished, sweat was pouring off her. Her vision wavered with the heat as well, so she continued heading back, allowing herself another mushroom along the way. The surrounding leaves shimmered, some taking on more hues of blue than she was aware even existed. Some reached out to grab her, and she reached back, gasping in delight when one seemed to actually hold her hand. A mushroom, holding her hand!

Mariel was full-on grinning and giggling by the time she returned, delirious with joy from imagining Erran’s face when he returned to find she’d roasted up a delicious—and surprisingly congenial!—lunch for them.

Erran’s optimism had only earned him two seatrout, despite the hours he’d toiled in the sun.

He’d waited through three changes of the tide before calling it. Though he’d been wishing for a more plentiful run, confirming there was fish and he could spear them gave him hope for the future. The smoke signal might or might not call a passing ship, as few traveled too close to the islands intentionally, and while there was a chance the men who had built the structures would come back, there was no telling when. They needed the ability to sustain themselves indefinitely, and he was beginning to see it was possible.

On the way back, he refilled his waterskin. He lingered long enough to rehydrate and wonder if Mariel had moved from the cot at all.

She would when she saw the delectable dinner ahead of them. The fennel would be a nice seasoning for the fish.

When he reached the clearing, the sight of Mariel sitting cross-legged on the ground stopped him dead. She was playing with a pile of mushrooms. Counting them... tossing and catching them.

Talking to them.

Erran couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.

“Erran!” she cried, failing a clumsy leap forward and falling sideways. “I... I was going to... Wow, did you see that? Did you see the way it... the colors ?”

He was speechless. Everything he attempted to say never formed. But he knew right away what was happening. Mariel had foraged hallucinogenic mushrooms, and Guardians knew how many she’d consumed.

Erran set the crate by the door and sank onto a log near her. “Mariel, how many of those did you eat?”

“Eat?” Mariel craned her neck toward him, horrified. “They’re my friends. You don’t eat your friends. It’s true, some of them found their way to my belly, but they wanted to go there. They told me. They...”

“All right.” He leaned down to scoop the mushrooms, and she practically clobbered him. “Mariel, I’m just bringing them inside.”

“But they want to be out here ! Do you not feel the leaves? The way the forest speaks and holds everything dear and... Even the boars know not to upset them. The boars are afraid of them, and they’re afraid of us, my friends told me.”

“Right.” Erran steadied himself, imagining the long hours ahead. He sighed. “Well, tell your friends there’s another storm coming. Wouldn’t they...” He braced for the inanity of what he was about to say. “Be happier and warmer inside when it comes?”

Mariel lit up, her eyes and mouth widening in tandem. She glanced between the fungi and him. He was glad he couldn’t read whatever strange little thoughts were brewing in her mind. “Aye. Aye, they would prefer that. You are so wickedly smart and kind, and they would very much like to be your friend too.”

“Aye,” he muttered and finished picking up the mushrooms. He dropped them in with the fish and then went to gather her as well. He’d have to wait until she was sleeping to throw her “friends” out. “Nay,” he said when she tried to stand without her crutch, her tongue between her teeth and her hands straight out like she was about to walk a tightrope. “ Nay, Mariel.”

“I want to show my friends?—”

“I’ve spoken to your friends, and they would like you to listen to me.” For once.

“Oh.” Mariel’s mouth puckered, her brows knitting. “Oh, I see. I wouldn’t want to disappoint them after all the fun we’ve had today.”

“That would be a travesty,” he mumbled as he scooped her up and into his arms. He bent to grab the crutch and saw she’d used it to draw some nonsensical loops and lines in the sandy dirt. “They also suggested you all take a nice nap before supper.”

“Will they nap with me?”

Erran nudged the door open. He laid her atop the cot. “They said they would.”

She flashed her fingers, curling them into her palms. “Bring them.”

It’s like dealing with a child, he thought, shaking his head in bewilderment as he entertained her delusions. But there was no way he was letting her consume more. “They said they would like to sleep on the floor. They, ah, prefer the ground.”

“Of course they do. Of course, that makes perfect sense. They like the dark.” Mariel wiped her smile onto the pillow as she settled in. “How thoughtful of you to listen to them.”

A few hours. Just a few hours and she’ll be back to ignoring me or cursing me.

Erran pulled a chair across the floor and placed it next to her cot. He’d been excited for a nap, but waking to find her climbing a tree or challenging boars to fistfights was not on his list of things he was prepared to deal with.

“Just rest,” he said, suppressing a yawn.

A delectable scent roused Mariel from a series of the most bizarre dreams she’d ever had. In them, she was dancing on top of the ocean with her brother, Destin, climbing the waves like steps. Then it was Augustine, who faded to Remy. Erran was last, sweeping her across the waves with the same effortless finesse he’d used on the sails. Observing them was an endless sea of boars, all wearing beautiful lace dresses and bonnets.

Rain battered the roof and windows. She sat up, worried about everything still outside, but Erran would have taken care of it already.

A familiar sizzle made her heart skip. Meat cooking on a pan. Fish. He’d fished today and brought some back, and oh, how she couldn’t wait to shove it all down her gullet.

“Still having conversations with your new friends?” Erran asked, turning just his head as he flipped the fish on the iron pan with a stick.

“Friends?” Mariel rubbed her head, heavy with the remnants of a headache. “What...” The afternoon filtered in. She’d gathered a ton of mushrooms, even eaten a few, and she’d...

Hallucinated. That was what she’d done.

“Oh, Guardians.” She moaned, flopping back, her arms crossed over her face. “Whatever I said or did when... I’m sorry. I don’t know...”

“Never seen you so happy,” he said. “Maybe you should eat them more often.”

“Ha ha,” she quipped, wondering what else she’d said or done. If she even wanted to know. “The fish smells amazing.”

“Got two today. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Were there so few in the pools?”

“Not as many as I thought, and they’re fast. I’ll need to work on my reflexes.” Erran wrapped his vest around the handle of the pan and brought it to the table. The mouthwatering scent pulled Mariel from her mortified stupor, and she went to join him.

“Don’t see any spoons or forks, so we’ll have to eat with our...” He grinned when she started picking at the flesh and eating. “Hands.”

They ate in silence, Erran finishing first. When he was done, he moved to the door, watching the storm.

“I’ve been thinking about the boars,” she said after licking all remaining evidence of the delicious fish from her fingers. “How we could take one down.”

“Before or after you devoured mind-altering mushrooms?”

Mariel hung her head in fake contrition. “We have a spear now. Between it and your sword, we’d have the advantage. Spear it to slow it, then stab it when its energy has dwindled. Weeks it would last us.”

Erran shook his head firmly. “Not worth the risk. We get too close and miss? He’ll be having us for supper.”

“Do boars eat people or just murder them?”

“Don’t know, but is this how you’d like to find out?”

Mariel laughed. The sound compelled Erran to turn.

“Still intoxicated?” he teased.

“Nay, but I am feeling relaxed for the first time in...” She nearly said days , but the truth was years. Years and years. Her work was fulfilling, but peace never followed, only the satisfaction of knowing they’d helped another family. Another village. Another mining crew.

“I hate to even bring this up when you’re in such a good mood, but I’ve been trying to work up the courage for days. And then I think to myself, why should I need courage to ask for the truth?” He rejoined her at the table. “Mariel, there’s a good chance we’re never leaving this island. And if by some miracle we do, neither of us will be the same person we were when we leaped from that cliff. So... tell me.” He paused before adding “please.”

Mariel’s eyes lowered to her lap. She’d been waiting for him to ask again, but she still had no idea what to say. She no longer cared if he knew about her, but she could never implicate the others. He wouldn’t believe she’d done it all by herself, and would push for names. Maybe they would die there... Maybe it didn’t matter. But maybe wasn’t good enough.

“I can see you devising another lie in there.” He tapped his head and pointed at hers.

“Not a lie, just... Telling you isn’t so simple.”

“The truth shouldn’t be complicated.”

“Aye, but it is. This truth is.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “It just is.”

Erran twisted his mouth, cast his eyes in thought. “What if I asked you aye or nay questions?”

Mariel considered that. “I ken we could try. But if you ask something I’m not ready to answer, we stop.”

“How about this,” he said. “I ask you one, you ask me one. And we go until one of us refuses to answer.”

She nodded. It seemed fair enough of a compromise. “Aye. I suppose you should go first, since this is your game.”

“The whole point of this is to be done with games.”

Mariel scoffed and waved a hand. “Don’t be pedantic. I said we could try.”

“All right.” He linked his hands and flexed them. His knuckles popped. “Let’s start with an easy one. You grew up in Mistgrave, aye or nay?”

“Aye.” Her heart had already begun to race, and they hadn’t even gotten to a tough question.

“Your turn.”

“Ah...” What did she want to know about him? She’d never cared before, but the past days had her feeling like another woman altogether, and he, almost a stranger, as though she’d just met him. This man, the one who could play the sails, spear fish, and scout and track, she liked him, which was a startling thing to realize. “You learned all this survival stuff from your father?”

“Aye.” He cleared his throat. “My mother mentioned you had another sibling. A sister. Is she alive?”

Mariel swallowed and tilted her head toward the warmth of the hearth. “Nay.”

Erran breathed deep. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” she said softly. “I know you want to ask how she died, so I’ll just tell you. She died of malnutrition. Like my mother and my father.”

It was a moment before he said, “I’m so sorry, Mariel.”

She licked her lips. “Ah, I guess it’s my turn then? Were you telling me the truth in Mistgrave when you claimed not to know the property we spent our idyllmoon on used to be Ashdown land?”

“Aye,” he stated firmly, leaning in. “Aye, I was telling you the truth. And maybe sometime you’ll tell me?—”

“Your turn,” she blurted.

“Is...” Erran paused. “Is there really an aunt named Anna?”

Mariel’s jaw peeled back in a wince. “Nay.”

He watched her closely for another second or two before sighing. “Is Destin the Flame?”

“Nay.” Her stomach clenched. “Are you still in love with Yesenia?”

Erran balked a bit, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t know.”

“It’s an aye or nay question,” she replied.

“Aye, and I don’t have an answer for you.”

“Why?”

“You can’t ask me that. Is Remy the Flame?”

“Nay. Would you rather it was Yesenia here with you on Feck-All Island?”

His neck twitched. “Nay.” He spread his hands over the table and looked directly at her. “Are you the Flame?”

Blood flooded her face, then rushed away. Her heart thumped wildly, her skin a graveyard of raised flesh. Her breath in was more of a shudder. “Aye.”

Erran closed his eyes. He pulled his hands down his face with a protracted groan. “So it is true. Guardians deliver us.” He shook his head. “ Now I understand why you married me. Finally .”

Mariel asked her next question without thinking. “Do you hate me for it?”

Concern filled his expression. He shook his head slowly. “Nay.”

“Nay?”

“Nay, I don’t hate you. I never did.” His eyes swam with what seemed like pain. “You’re the only one who brought hatred into our marriage.”

“That’s... veering too far from the rules,” she said shakily. “Your turn.”

He held out his hands, his mouth parted. “I ken I’m done.”

“So that’s it? You have no more questions for me?”

“I have tons of fucking questions for you, Mariel!” His hands fell to the table with a thud. “But you won’t answer them. And I won’t make you.”

Mariel held her tongue. There wasn’t anything else to say, because there was nothing she was comfortable telling. He already knew her darkest secret. The rest belonged to others as much as her.

The room lit up. Thunder split the sky. She started to stand when he spoke up.

“Nay, I have one more for you. I do have one more.” He rapped his knuckles on the table. His cheeks were flushed. “Were you trying to stop the auction?”

“Uh...” Mariel was caught off guard by the question, but he’d already put it together, and he was after confirmation, not revelation. “Aye.”

Erran cast his gaze away, nodding. “I ken we don’t need a watch tonight. The boars will be sheltering from the storm, not conspiring to eat us.”

“Erran—”

“Nay. Nay, Mariel. I don’t have any talk left in me tonight unless you’re willing to tell me the whole story. And you’re not, are you?”

Tears pooled in her eyes as she shook her head. She didn’t know where they’d come from.

“Thought not.” He reached into the first aid basket and handed her a strip of cloth.

Mariel stared at it in wonder until she realized he’d given it to her to dry her eyes. She looked up at him, for once seeing a man not tied to her greatest heartaches. He was just the beautiful, raven-haired, mossy-eyed man who had followed the woman who had treated him with nothing but contempt into the doom of the unknown, knowing full well it would spell the end of his aspirations. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

He made a line with his mouth and nodded once.

She watched him exit the cabin, into the storm.