“And you think this may be that island? That they still exist, and made it past skydark and prospered?” J.B. queried.
Krysty shrugged. “I’m not saying that this is that island…but mebbe it’s one just like it.”
MILDRED OPENED her eyes. Slowly she had emerged from the fog of unconsciousness, driven onward by the throbbing of pain at the back of her skull. A wave of nausea swept through her with each throb and she wondered in some part of her mind that had started to function why it was that she hadn’t already vomited and choked as a result.
There was little noise around her, apart from the rustling of fabric and the soft footfalls of one person, moving quietly. The clink of a bowl or cup against a jug and the sound of pouring liquid indicated that she was somewhere with a degree of civilization. She was apart from her companions. She could tell by the lack of ambient sound, with no breathing, speech or movement apart from the single person in the room with her. Yes, she was sure that she was in a building or shelter of some kind, as it was warm and dry, with no discernible breeze. Other feelings: she was aching all over, that much was for sure. Muscles felt torn in her stomach and in her left leg and arm. Then there was that lump on her head that was causing so much pain. Lying on it, she could feel it was about the size of an egg. No concussion as far as she could tell, though, as she was thinking clearly, wasn’t delirious, and despite the waves of nausea she wasn’t actually vomiting continuously. An ominous ache in her ribs on the right side increasing in intensity when she took breath. Muscles torn or bones cracked? She couldn’t be sure.
One thing that she could be sure of was that she was lying on a bed of some kind. It had a hard base, but there was softness laid on top, as though the board was covered with blankets. And she could also feel the weight of blankets on her, itching her skin.
Where were her clothes? It suddenly occurred to her that she had to have been undressed and her clothes removed somewhere. She should be wet through, but instead she was dry.
What the hell was going on?
The room was delicately perfumed with herbs and there was the scent of burning sandalwood. So she was lying naked in a bed, separated from her companions and in the company of an unknown person.
Dammit, this she had to get straight, and soon. But she would have to open her eyes. And in truth, Mildred was a little scared to do that. Not because of where she may be, or who she may be with. Rather, because she knew that the light, however dim, would hurt while her head throbbed like this, and the room may spin and add the finishing touches to her nausea, making her vomit and strain muscles that already ached.
But she knew it had to be faced, so she opened her eyes.
Slowly…
Yeah, it hurt. The light was like an incredible volley of tiny needles that pierced the membrane, making her wince, despite the fact that it was low level. Probably a lamp of some kind and not located directly over where she lay. All she could see was a whitewashed ceiling, decorated with paintings of huntsmen and dancing women. There was something about it that she knew should mean something to her, yet she couldn’t quite grasp it. The women were dancing a little too vigorously at present, and she closed her eyes again to try to gain respite from the spinning. No good, even the lights that danced behind her closed eyelids spun in a way that made her want to—
Opening her eyes wide regardless of the pain and dizziness, and moving swiftly despite the pain from her protesting stomach and ribs, Mildred turned onto her side and leaned over the bed. Rush matting lay at the side, on a packed earth floor that was remarkably flat and dry…though dry for not much longer, as the spasm in her gut reached its conclusion and she retched heavily, vomiting bile and seawater that splattered onto the matting.