We Will Never Speak Again, Will We?

I haven’t set foot on my uncle’s ship in months. He probably believes I am dead by now. Running into him now would be the worst case scenario. Too much has happened and there is not enough time to explain everything. I need to leave the island of Wystari before they find me.

The deck creaks softly under my weight, the hull swaying on the quiet waters under the clear moonlight. As far as I know, the crew is not here, and if they so happen to be, they are sound asleep and somehow have overcome snoring. It’s not particularly cold tonight, but the marina usually maintains a brisk chill during midnight. At least the hooded cloak Adeline gifted me some time ago grants me both some warmth and discretion.

After recent events, after what I have done, I refuse to think of her. If all goes according to plan, I won’t see her again. I have to be long gone before dawn.

Scrolls and boxes of meaningless junk that he has shoved in here litter the main cabin. It is dark except for a dim, almost burnt out candle on the wooden desk in the middle, also covered in various sheets of paper, ink, and maps. Exactly the items that I am looking for. I already know how to sail the ship, but making it to the winter island of Milori will require direction.

Before I can reach them, a golden glow seeps under the door. A pair of heavy footsteps approaches. My heart races, my breath caught in my throat. How could they have found me already? I was quick in running, I’m certain—they had to have been at least a few hours behind me and yet somehow they have already come to take me and the opal. There is no time to think, and my only instinct is to sail away on this boat no matter the cost.

A man emerges, a lantern in hand that illuminates the cabin further. My hooded cloak prevents me from taking in any other details. The next few seconds blur as the figure sets down his lantern and closes the door behind him.

I lunge, dagger now unsheathed from under the cloak. The blade pierces his abdomen. He yells, but I immediately smother his mouth with my hand. The impact alone sends us tumbling into the armchair in the corner. I wrench my dagger from him. He contorts, twisting as a muffled cry coming from under my palm. My legs feel weak now, and I realize I’m breathing heavy. His blood is the first my dagger has tasted when in pursuit of death.

The man still squirms in attempt to fight me off, wincing yet every time.

“It’s futile,” I say, almost breathless. I sound so small, so naive in my violence. I need to appear as if I have done this before—killed a man or tried to, at least. I press the tip of my blade to the side of his throat. That gets him to stop flailing around. “I’m removing my hand now so you can speak. Try anything and I will ensure that you will never utter another sound again, understand?”

The man nods stiffly with pained effort. I have my face turned away from him, not having looked at him directly yet. I’d rather not have him remember my face if he gets out of here. If I let him go, that is. Taking hostages definitely had no part in my plan, and it won’t be unless it is absolutely necessary for my survival.

I slowly remove my hand.

“My friend,” he says calmly, and firm exterior falters immediately. “I don’t want any trouble.” Only one person I know would call any stranger a friend in that tone. “This my ship. What do you want from her and me?”

My dagger against his throat falters. My uncle takes the opening.

A wounded groan escapes him as throws me off of him. I fall helplessly to the floorboards. He has my wrist seized and steals my blade. He is going to strike.

It can’t end this way. Not by his unknowing hand.

I claw at my cloak. It’s impossible but it drops and meet the eyes of my father’s brother. My uncle freezes as if some unnatural force had stopped time.

A few seconds pass before I remember how to breathe, no longer suffocated by the heavy weight of the cloak. I am the first to break the gaze, swiftly rising to my feet. My hip feels lighter, realizing now. I must have dropped the pouch in all the commotion.

“Elina,” my uncle says. Not in disbelief that I am breathing in front of him, but more of an acknowledgment. “You stabbed me.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I’m bleeding out on this chair right now.”

“I… was aware of that when I stabbed you.”

His eyes are on me while I pick the pouch from the floor. He refuses to say anything again until I face him. His hair and beard are a little longer and scragglier than I remember, and the usually bright color of his eyes has faded to a muted brown. My uncle looks deprived of whatever brought him joy. My disappearance could not have been the only thing to have caused his demeanor to appear this dull. Something else has happened.

After, I tell myself.

“What have you been doing all this time?” he asks just as I tell him, “I have something to show you.”

He grimaces as he props himself up on the armchair, then looks at me expectantly. I crouch reluctantly by his seat, crossing my legs as a child does, my fingers glued onto the top of the bag.

“Uncle Jorge, I found it.”

His eyes flicker. “Found what?”

“The opal.”

“No, Elina, that’s a children’s story. An urban legend.”

“No, uncle, it’s not. I promise you!”

“Elina.”

I pull the object from the pouch and place it in his hand. “I have it right here, Jorge. They weren’t just stories. And if this one exists, then it is certain the other gems given to the other islands are bound to exist too.”

My uncle’s eyes now have a dash of disbelief dancing across them, but what I see clearly is awe. Except for me and him, and the others who are after me now, everyone else has no clue that the legends of the stones are true and those gems exist. My uncle and I are the only ones in the world who have one in our grasp.

I rise from the floorboards, nearing the desk littered with maps. I find another candle and light it here, my eyes scanning over the different star charts and titles of different sea navigation pamphlets. I know how to sail, and I know how to read a map, but I can’t arrive at a desired destination without both working together.

“That opal will heal our land. And if I can get—no, when I get the others, our economy and our people will be saved. The kingdom of Solode can revert back to how it was hundreds of years ago.”

My uncle inhales sharply and calls my name, lifting his head up to me once more.

“It’s common knowledge from the stories that those stones have healing properties of different sorts.” I continue on, sifting through maps until I find one of the island of Milori. I can use that for when I get there at least. “Here. Milori. That’s my next stop to grab the gem that Solode gifted them. It will be a pain finding exactly where it’s at, but I did find the opal that no one believed to be true.”

“You can’t go to Milori, Elina,” my uncle rasps, clutching the stone in hand.

I shake my head, setting aside two navigation charts. “I can sail your ship, uncle.” No more documents here, so I move towards a crate filled with more papers that hopefully are important to my journey. “That’s all I need from you. I can handle the rest on my own.”

And I have to do it quickly before they catch up to me, uncle. I can’t be caught or else this is all for nothing.

“Elina, your sister—” he coughs. I pause my frenzy. “your sister… she is not doing well, my dear.”

I knew she had my mother’s chronic disease. I knew that disease had no cure. But I at least thought I would have more time to get each gem to save her before it got worse.

“That ruins everything,” I say quietly, clenching a scroll in hand.

“Elina, my dear…” He then goes quiet.

“I need to get to her. Maybe… maybe the opal alone can save her. Or at least hold her over, give me more time to find the rest. Uncle, I—”

When I turn to face him again, the light has completely abandoned his eyes. I see the blood now. How it has spread to the point where it has completely soaked through his cotton tunic. His head is tilted, mouth slightly ajar, his chestnut hair streaked with a few strands of silver slightly mask his face. And in the palm of his hand—the opal enveloped in his skilled fingers.

I look down on myself. Speckles of red cover my arms, and across my abdomen is a smaller, similar shape of blood that mirrors my uncle’s. I sink to the floor.

I did that to him.

My heart feels heavy, but no tears come. Instead, I bring myself to my feet, secure the opal from his hand, and place it safely on the desk. I heft the limp body over my shoulder, exerting my legs to lift him up, but that fails halfway out the cabin door. I settle for dragging him by his ankles.

The wind is sharper now, making my hair whip in all directions. We get to the edge of the deck, and that’s where I haul him overboard. I withhold from looking at his body. Any dead body, I would have set sail already. But this is my uncle. When they find him, they’ll give him a proper burial.

I’m sorry, Uncle Jorge. I didn’t mean to hurt you in more ways than one.

This time around, I ditch the maps leading to Milori and find the charts that lead back to the island of Solode, my home. If anything, Adeline would have told them that the island full of snow would be my next target. When I’m gone, that’s where they will be heading next if they care to go that far. They won’t find me there, anyway.