Flash Tales Page 3

  May shook her head from side to side, clearing the memory from her mind. Forgetting Daniel would be difficult. He and the pirates were all she knew. She stuck out her chin and placed her fists on her hips. The time had come to learn new things.

  In her softest, most ladylike voice, she said, “I am no longer a pirate.”

  Nor did she need the pirates, any of them.

  “Excellent. We’ll have you speaking like nobility by the time we reach land.”

  ***

  May slipped in and out of consciousness.

  She coughed. The inside of her mouth tasted like sandpaper. Her stomach cramped with emptiness. She opened her eyes and stretched out a hand, searching for something. A blob of orange with rumpled edges lay nearby. May squinted. As her eyes focused, lines and shades of light formed the shape of a parrot. Unable to continue flying, Swig had curled up in a corner of the boat.

  While staring at her friend, May wondered where Swig had come from—how he’d ended up on a pirate ship. She’d never thought to ask. She’d always taken his companionship for granted. Her old self, that is. Her selfish self, the part of her that had been a pirate.

  She turned over on her back and stared at the sky.

  A dolphin barked. Then another, answering the first call with high-pitched snaps and crackles. Before long, the dolphins’ song filled the air. The racket was symphonic, almost celebratory. Something was happening outside the boat, but what? May needed to know.

  She sat up. Weakness hit her full force, leaving her lightheaded and dizzy. With limbs that felt like lead covered with parchment, May stood. Her legs wobbled. She reached for the fishnet she’d tied into a hammock the day before. After multiple tries, she climbed up to where she could see outside the boat.

  An intake of breath scratched her throat, making it feel drier. “Wake up, Swig,” she rasped, her tongue thick like leather. “Ye—” Despite her discomfort, May remembered her goal to speak like a lady. She began again. “You have to see this.”

  The parrot remained still with one eye open.

  “Swig?”

  She’d seen him sleep that way before but never in such a weakened state. When he didn’t respond, May scooched herself up, as high as she dared without putting herself in danger of toppling over the edge of the boat. She was not fit for a swim, much less a rough landing.

  As the dolphins danced and played, their splashes created a mist, a sea spray of water particles. The spray was beautiful, but there wasn’t a shore in sight. May’s lips tugged downward. A pang of regret followed. She wasn’t upset about leaving the pirates but for having escaped without a thorough plan. And for listening to Swig about not taking along food and water.

  May mopped her forehead with a billowy sleeve. To her horror, she found it was possible to be thirstier than before.

  Sunlight mingled with sea spray created a double rainbow. Dolphins jumped and looped, driving the dory toward the mist. As the boat bobbed closer, the sea spray arched and the rainbows converged. The largest of the dolphins swam to the head of the pod, a group of twelve. It turned and whirled its head in a semicircle, toward the mist. It repeated the gesture twice more.

  “It’s as if he’s inviting them to follow,” May whispered.

  The lead dolphin barked again before it leaped through the mist. And disappeared. Its companions followed, driving the boat with their wake.

  May rubbed her eyes with scorched fists, wondering whether these were delusions brought on by dehydration. When she reopened her eyes, she continued to doubt what she saw. But she was too small—felt too helpless—to do anything about it.

  She, Swig, and the boat that carried them were about to pass through the sea spray.

  ***

  King Ezrek clenched and unclenched his hands, his skin now fissured with age. He mused, entranced by how the wrinkles disappeared while his hands were fisted, creating a translucent sheet across his veins. He relaxed, letting the skin pucker into ripples once more.

  “My daughter would be a young woman by now,” he muttered. “The kingdom would have a princess with smooth hands, capable of ministry and healing.”

  The king dropped his hands to his sides and looked up. Rheumy eyes lingered as they scanned various points in the room. He sighed, remembering the past and yearning for what had been better days. His throne room was bare and unwelcoming. Sixteen years ago, he’d torn down draperies and pulled up carpets in a fit of rage. The halls had remained empty and cold ever since.

  Once he’d learned that his wife had died after bearing a daughter, his world and his desire to rule had ended. Search parties for the princess had returned empty-handed. The kingdom was in shambles. Most of its subjects had given up and moved on. Two loyal subjects remained within the boundaries of his kingdom: an old crone who’d stayed on as the king’s healer and a nurse who’d denied any knowledge of what had happened to the baby.

  Too depressed to light the evening candles, King Ezrek rose from his throne and made his way toward his bedchamber. He passed the dining hall, which housed a table that stretched nearly forty feet long. What had once been a site for grand banquets and merriment was now covered in cobwebs. Spiders feasted among blankets of dust. Minstrels were no longer welcome.

  The king and the late queen had hoped for a son, perhaps too much. Together, they’d chosen a name for a male child. The king regretted having neglected to decide on a backup name should a female baby be born.

  “If only I’d given her a name,” he said, pulling at wisps of grey beard, striped with white, “perhaps I’d know whom to seek and where to search.”

  He paused to look out a window that looked upon his land. “Where are you, my daughter? Are you alive and well? Is there any chance the world will return you to me?”

  ***

  Swig’s other eye popped open once the boat passed through the sea spray. “What happened?” he said, raising his wings. “I’m as refreshed as if I’ve drunk from the sweetest waters.” He squawked and flew upward. “I feel as if I’ve been granted a new set of wings. I’m a whole new bird!”

  May grinned. “I feel better too.” Her mouth and throat were no longer parched. Sensations of warmth and contentment filled the emptiness in her belly. “Ye—you missed it, Swig! The dolphins, they danced and sang. Then they drove th’—the boat through mist surrounded by rainbows.” Her iris eyes sparkled. “Is this real? Please tell me this en’t—” She cringed at having made three speech errors in a row. “That this isn’t a dream.”

  Swig dipped his beak. “I hope not because that would mean the land I see up ahead is not real.”

  May bounced up and down inside the hammock, unsure what else to do with the happiness bubbling inside of her.

  Dolphins continued to lead the way with clicks and squeaks that played off the sounds of their splashing. The largest of the pod fell back to join its friends as the group split in two lines. Six silver crescents swam along the dory’s right side as the other half fell into position on its left. From Swig’s aerial view, the small fishing boat was a chariot ushered by creatures of the sea.

  Once the boat reached the shore, the dolphins retreated into the water and swam away. May felt a pang of loss as she watched them go. “Thank ye, I mean, you,” she called out, waving after them. They’d done so much for her without expecting or asking for anything in return. They’d saved her life and Swig’s.

  May climbed out of the boat and jumped to land. Her boots sank into the sand, almost up to her knees. She laughed and kicked her heels free before falling backward and stretching her limbs. “I’m happy to have a boat, but I hope not to sail again anytime soon.”

  “Nor I,” said Swig, landing beside her. He looked past the beach, toward a copse that was wild and overgrown. “Something about this place feels familiar. Why would the dolphins have led us here?”

  “I wish I knew. Either way, we’ll need to find shelter for the night.”

  “Well done, young lady!”

  May’s brow furrowed
. “What do you mean? I haven’t done anything.”

  “You haven’t sounded like a pirate since we touched ground.”

  May blushed. It couldn’t have been the mist. She’d made four mistakes just after they’d passed through. Was it the shore? The sand? Or something she’d accomplished on her own through practice? She puffed her chest out the slightest bit. Maybe she had something to do with it. Perhaps a person’s inner magic could be just as effective as an enchanted sea spray.

  She and Swig walked away from the shore in high spirits. Two-inch footprints and claw prints trailed behind them, side by side.

  As they traveled, the sand became more compact until it formed a black soil covered in moss and vines. Scattered trees thickened into a copse as they wandered deeper inside. A canopy of trees blocked the sun, as well as a palace that lay ahead in the center of the island.

  May shivered. She crossed her arms and squeezed each opposite limb with her fingers, trying to conserve the warmth they’d left behind at the shore. Darkness accompanied the chill of the shade.

  “It’s quiet, Swig. What if no one lives here? The dolphins are gone! We don’t know whether they’ll ever come back.”

  “Don’t panic, my dear. From up above, the island appeared quite large. We’re bound to bump into someone at some point.”

  “And fresh water, I hope.”

  “As well as a feast of nuts and seeds.”

  May shot him a look.

  “You, of course, are under no obligation to abide by my vegetarian diet. If need be, I’ll accompany you back to the shore. The captain’s dory is well-equipped with nets and hooks. We’d just have to find someone larger to help us reel in and cook the catch.”

  “If we wander around long enough, nuts and seeds might taste good to me too.” They were her least favorite foods, bland and hard to chew with her tiny teeth. Nuts were especially bothersome. Cracking them reminded her just how easy it would be to bust open her own skull.

  As they walked, the thicket of trees opened into a clearing. May’s legs ached. She’d done more walking in a day than she had living aboard the Water Lily.

  The path steepened, making her miss her days of riding within the protection of Daniel’s satchel. She clenched her fists, determined to be strong without him. The more she thought about it, the more certain she became that his attentions had made her soft and useless.

  ***

  The pair trudged along until they were forced to stop at a hill that looked like it had grown out of nowhere. A pimple of earth, covered in moss and vines just like the ground below them.

  To May, the hill looked as wide as it was tall. “Can you fly up above it?” she said, pointing. “Can you tell whether it will be easier to climb over it or to go around?”

  “A fine idea.” Swig took flight.

  May watched as he drew an invisible circle in the sky. When he reached the airspace to her left he plummeted until she lost sight of him. She covered her mouth, suppressing a gasp. “No,” she said. “Swig wouldn’t leave me behind.”

  The words barely left her mouth when a flash of orange shot up from where the parrot had disappeared. Wings flapped toward her, this time in a straight line.

  Swig landed, feathers ruffled and out of breath. “A light,” he said. “I saw light—coming from the side of the hill.”

  May blinked. “Light from inside the earth must have been made by living creatures. We’re not alone out here!” She grasped the tips of Swig’s wings. They danced around in a circle.

  “I’m too heavy for you to fly back with me,” she said. “That’s never worked.”

  “But we can walk around the hill to the source of the light.”

  They felt along the hillside until they reached its westmost side. They slowed when they noticed a faint glow.

  May piled several flat stones, one on top the other, and stepped up. “You didn’t tell me there was a window. Could this be someone’s house?”

  Swig beat his wings, gently enough to stay aloft while he looked past May’s shoulder. “I hadn’t inspected this closely. I didn’t want you to worry, so I flew back as quickly as—”

  He and May simultaneously gasped as the shadow of a person came into view. A shriveled hand, that hadn’t felt the sun in decades, picked up a wand. Sour sounds—words that May couldn’t quite make out—escaped a tangle of skin and gums.

  May’s heart stuttered. She’d seen many things as a pirate but nothing as frightening as this. She pulled her eyes away from the crone and scanned the rest of the room. A frail woman regarded the crone with great interest. She didn’t seem frightened at all. Coils of gray stuck out from a heavy braided bun tied at the top of her head. The woman sat with her hands folded across her lap, which was covered with an apron that frayed at the edges. The dress underneath spilled alongside a tree stump.

  The eavesdropping pair exchanged glances. As if their look confirmed an agreement, they pressed in closer toward the window. May slipped and toppled forward. Her nose crunched against a sheet of glass.

  Flotsam. She blushed, grateful that the word screamed inside her head where no one could hear it. The impact of nose to glass had barely made a sound, but it was strong enough to push the glass toward the interior of the room, opening the window just a crack.

  “The king still lives, eh nurse?”

  “He does. Is it possible your enchantment failed?”

  “It would have worked by now if the flour sack hadn’t been stolen!” All listening jumped at the crone’s rage. May dug her fingers in the side of the house to keep from slipping again.

  “Who would have expected pirates to invade your home?”

  Mucous dripped from the crone’s nose. “Nothing’s more disgusting than a pirate,” she said, wiping her nose. A thread of snot stretched from the end of her nose to where the tips of her fingers clutched the wand.

  “But I can’t believe no one has called the child by her given name. You wrote it on the babe’s forehead in blood. It should have happened by now.”

  This time, instead of stuttering, May’s heart stopped. Pirates. A sack of flour. A baby—stolen. A king. An old witch with a wand and everything...discussing her!

  “Perhaps her captors were too stupid to read.” The crone wiped her nose again. “Those idiots ruined my plans!” She danced around the room as she mocked the pirates. “All any one of them had to do was wait until her sixteenth birthday and say her name, to her, in front of a witness. Is that asking so much?”

  “That would have been a suitable replacement for what you and I intended to do when she was of age. It would have worked, had we managed to keep her hidden inside the sack.”

  “Then the king would fall over dead, and the princess would assume her true form and take the throne. As her counsellors, we could have ruled the land.”

  “Instead, he stands in our way—”

  “With the kingdom ruined.”

  “It’s as bad as if he’d broken the enchantment by saying her name to her himself.”

  “You’re sure he doesn’t know—” The crone’s eyes darkened, her gaze pointed and cruel.

  Hands flew up from the nurse’s apron. “I’ve kept the secret all this time, never revealing her name to his highness.”

  The crone exhaled a stale breath. “And yet the child’s still missing. Likely still among those disgusting, filthy pirates.”

  The nurse held out her arms as if cradling a doll. “And still the size of a baby.” She shook her head. “Poor, dear, Maya.”

  ***

  Buckles flashed as soles of boots sank into the sand. A weathered pair, studded with skulls and fish bones, stopped before a boat.

  “Avast ye, Samuel, Simon! Collect me property and hitch it to th’ ship.”

  “Aye, captain!”

  “Aye!”

  Two pirates hastily claimed the dory and dragged it toward the Water Lily.

  A third pirate stood by, waiting for his orders. The captain turned to him. Mismatched eyes—one brown
, one blue—regarded the young man with a coldness reserved for battle. His face, trained from years of gambling, betrayed no emotion.

  “Fetch yer girl, Daniel, and anythin’ else of worth ye find along th’ way,” he said, his voice cold.

  “Aye.”

  The captain squinted at Sprite Island with no intention of straying deeper than where he stood upon the shore. “Magic plagues this land, both th’ good kind and th’ bad. I want leave of it before its curses be ours.”

  Daniel looked at the captain, his eyes focusing on one eye and then the other. “Aye, thank ye.”

  A massive hand grabbed Daniel by the shirt, raising him so that their noses met. The jewels strapped to the captain’s fingers dug into fabric and flesh. “If ye en’t returned before the sun falls, we leave without ye.” His words shook the shells and plumes that adorned his hat, including a carroty-orange feather, the sight of which would have made Swig faint.

  “Aye,” wheezed Daniel, forcing out the air left in his lungs.

  ***

  Tiny legs dangled from a rock along a stream. May splashed her face clean. Holding her hands as a cup, she drank deeply. She missed her thimble. Her lack of thimble would have made her think of Daniel, if her mind hadn’t been full to the brim.

  Swig paced back and forth as he rambled. “If there’s a king, then there must be a palace. If you’re the child that was stolen, then you are a princess. I knew there was something more to your—”

  “But my name is May. All the pirates called me that, even the captain. It’s the only name I remember.”

  “I saw what was written on your head when I found you. M-A-Y.” Swig frowned. “Oh.”

  “There was an O?”

  “No, but now that I think more about it, there was a smudge after the Y, as if somebody had wiped it away. I had no way of knowing that your name was Ma—”

  “Nooo! Don’t say it!” She smothered his beak with her hands. “You heard what the nurse and the crone said. If you say my name and I really am a princess, then the king—my father—will die. He has to be the first to say it, to call me by my true name—to break the enchantment.” She unclasped his beak from her grip. “There could be witnesses in the trees. We can’t let those rotten women get their way.”