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“We need to find our friend first,” Chesrie replies.
We scurry northeast in the direction of the shore through some brush and trees, avoiding the village entirely. Once we reach it, we move even more quickly. Kindra struggles to keep pace, so I pick her up and carry her in my arms. I see our boat drifting near the shore and smile in relief, but that smile disappears as I look around and realize that Anwir is missing.
“Anwir,” Chesrie calls out repeatedly.
No response. I set Kindra down and try to find footprints in the sand, but I can only see ours along with a couple from Anwir that lead inland before cutting off at the tall grass, which conceals their direction.
“He knew to stay here no matter what,” Chesrie huffs.
Chesrie then begins falling apart, breathing like she’s gasping for air and pacing back and forth. The horror of this situation has finally sunk in. It’s strange that someone as self-assured as her can become almost useless in a moment like this. This is just one of the many ways that she and I are opposites. Before, I was extremely hesitant because I didn’t know what was coming next. Because I’ve become acclimated to this nightmare we’re in, I’m now focused and alert. I’ll need to be the one to keep us level-headed and going in the right direction.
“It doesn’t matter why he’s not here. We got what we came for and can leave right now, but do we really want to do that?”
Leaving now will ensure our safety, but I’m also confident that doing so will haunt me for the rest of my life. It has been a long time since I have allowed my moral compass into any of my decision-making, but here it’s inescapable. If we leave now, we won’t just be abandoning Anwir to some unknown fate. We’ll also be leaving Kindra without a mother.
Chesrie glances at me and then over at Kindra, who stands stiff and doesn’t say a word. Chesrie’s eyes stay on her for a while, too long, I imagine, to be able to tell her that she should forget about ever seeing her mother again. By the time Chesrie looks back at me, tears are slowly gliding down her cheeks. She rubs them away as she speaks emotionally.
“I’m scared,” she sobs, “but we can’t leave like this.”
I walk over and give her a long hug. Over her shoulder, I watch Kindra, who smiles weakly, appreciatively.
“We should go to the west harbor on the other side of the island,” she explains confidently. “That’s where everyone will be, so that’s where they would have taken my mother. We can go get her and come back.”
“How do we get there?” Chesrie asks, wiping her face off as she releases herself from my embrace.
“By following the beach. We can walk along the trees for cover.”
“Okay,” I say. “Then we better get going.”
It takes half-an-hour to follow the northern tip of the island and reach its western coast, which faces off into the unknown. Black clouds in the distant horizon hang ominously above the dark surface of the water. A hollow cold fills my body as I realize that there is nothing in that direction, only the Dead Seas and the end of the world.
This side of the island is much bumpier, with hills popping up everywhere. The tree line isn’t always close to shore, and we have to cut up into those hills at a couple of points to avoid any watchful eyes. The whole time, I feel as though someone is breathing hot air onto my neck. The darkened man with the axe is still out here somewhere. I can only hope he hasn’t figured out quite where we’ve run off to.
“The harbor is on the other side of this hill,” Kindra says quietly, rushing a little ahead of us to reach its top.
Chesrie and I share a look. It is strange that a girl so confined to a secret hideaway is this familiar with the island. She did say that she sneaks out during the night, but it still troubles me, and I assume my sister as well, though we don’t put words to it. Instead, we simply hasten our steps to catch up with her.
The hilltop gives a good vantage point for the whole bay. The harbor is built closer to our side of it and is made up of just a couple of buildings. A large number of people have gathered on the pier between those buildings and the water. All are dressed in dark colors. That is except for one, a woman dressed in white, who is kneeling next to a man holding a torch.
“It’s my mom, but they haven’t lit it yet. There’s still time.”
Chesrie and I stare at Kindra confused.
“Sorry, I mean the beacon. The man holding the flame is standing next to it. That’s what signals Maltehom to come.”
Her words send a shiver up my spine. I’ve been trying not to think about that part, pretending that this whole business about the Dead Seas is just silly superstition. But the eerie solemnity with which the townsfolk stand together makes me feel like he’s actually going to come.
“Well how are we—” I stop, hearing the rush of steps behind me as I turn, but I’m too late to react.
A person has emerged from the cover behind us and strikes me in the side of the head with something heavy, blunt. I hear Kindra scream as I collapse. The last thing I see before blacking out is Chesrie, who is also falling to the ground.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I come to, but my head kills and my hands and legs are bound to a chair. A sense of urgency suddenly rushes through me as I remember what happened.
“Chesrie,” I call out.
“I’m here,” she answers softly to my right.
I try to turn my head toward her, but it is also bound and held in an upright position. I can rotate it only a little, but enough to see in the corner of my eye that she is still in one piece, confined to a chair just like me.
