Separation

Krysty, on the same boat as Mildred, observed Sineta as she cast a last look around.

“Perhaps you should go and be with her,” she whispered to Mildred.

Mildred shook her head. “No, she needs to be alone right now. I can understand that. After all, she’ll go down in Pilatan history as the woman who led them away from their homeland. It must be kind of hard to know that posterity will label you that way, even if you had no choice.”

“It could be a good thing, in the long run as well as the short,” Krysty countered.

Mildred smiled. “Yeah, but would you think of that right now?”

Meanwhile, on the shore, the last of the islanders had boarded their boats, which were moored off a wooden pier built out into the depths of the inlet. Everyone and every animal had walked the long, planked pier to board the boats, which were then anchored a short distance away to allow the next boat to tie up and finish loading. It was this changeover that took time, and so it was past noon by the time that all the boats were finally ready. The islanders had never had to deal with more than two boats at a time during the days spent fishing, and so were ill equipped for a mass exodus. The waiting had increased the air of melancholy that hung like a pall over the small fleet. As Sineta and Markos—the last two Pilatans on the island—took the walk down the wooden pier to board their boat, it was as though they were walking into a fog that threatened to envelop them.

The last boat cast off from the pier and, under the direction of a Pilatan fisherman and the sec boss, took the lead as the other boats lifted their anchors and began to heave to and follow in the wake of the craft that was to take them away to a new life.

Krysty, Mildred and Jak were on one boat. Ryan and Dean on another. J.B. and Doc traveled on the lead boat. They hadn’t been split as a deliberate decision. Places on the boats were allocated according to a draw that had been made in the ville square the night before. Its purpose was to alleviate any possibility of argument among the islanders; the only exceptions had been the fishermen, who were to pilot the boats and so were exempt from any random process.

Although a fair means in one way, it also divided families and friends who would have wished to face the perils of the sea together. The apprehension this lottery engendered did little to detract from the general air of depression that lay over the traveling party.

The sea was calm as they headed out into the open water before turning to round the island and make their way toward the mainland. There was a strong breeze that caught in the patched sails of the crafts, billowing the material and driving the heavily laden boats through the water. Ryan peered over the side of his craft as he joined the ship’s pilot, Orthos, at the tiller.

“Moving low in the water,” the one-eyed man commented in a neutral tone.

The sailor fixed him with a stare that probed for any meaning, then spoke in an equally neutral tone.

“It is true that we sail close to the waves, but there is yet enough buoyancy to keep us afloat.”

Ryan returned the sailor’s stare. “I wasn’t commenting on your people’s abilities as seamen, but I’m on this ship, too, and it’s not that long ago that my people were caught in the white water.”

Orthos was silent for a moment, pondering his answer. “Very well, I will agree with you that we are too low in the water for my liking. Nothing must be said, as panic would be a greater enemy, but I feel that we have too much in too few ships. If only they had given us more time…”

Ryan nodded. “Do you reckon we’ll be able to ride out the roughs?”

Orthos gave a small shrug, his face still impassive. “Trust, hope and faith are all I can offer, but a helping hand from you and your son if things get rough would not go amiss. You have both experienced the waters and you could be of use.”

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