The Island Of Destiny. Cameron Stelzer
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him with guilt. What good was the map without the key – the key he’d lost?
You should have been more careful, he scolded himself. You could have put it in a pocket, or left it in the navigation room.
He sat on a rock and wallowed in guilt. The Captain hadn’t spoken a word since Whisker had dragged him from the ocean, but Whisker could feel his black eye watching him closely. The key was Whisker’s responsibility. This was the second time he’d lost it and there were no excuses. He had to come clean.
‘I-I dropped the key in the lagoon,’ he blurted out. ‘I’m sorry.’
The Captain remained expressionless. ‘You risked your life to save me, Whisker. I’m hardly going to give you a lecture about losing a key.’
Whisker sighed and turned back to the ocean.
‘Thank you,’ the Captain added. ‘You didn’t have to come after me. It was more than anyone could have asked. I’m supposed to be keeping you alive, remember?’
Whisker was unsure how to respond.
‘I kind of just fell in,’ he replied humbly, . ‘Besides, what’s an apprentice without a captain?’
‘What’s a captain without his crew?’ the Captain said, the smile draining from his face. ‘Or his ship?’ He stared out at the horizon. ‘You and I are two peas in a mushy pea pie, Whisker. You’ve lost your family and now I’ve lost mine.’
‘B-but they’ll come back for us,’ Whisker stammered. ‘After they escape from the eel … Ruby and Horace and the others … we’ll see them again – won’t we?’
The Captain put a shaky paw on Whisker’s shoulder and Whisker felt a double pang of sadness in his aching chest – the Pie Rats were his family, too.
‘We can only hope,’ the Captain said slowly.
Whisker nodded. He was no stranger to hope. He carried it everywhere he went, in the form of a gold anchor pendant hanging around his neck. It wasn’t a charm, it was a reminder.
He touched its golden surface. The faces of his parents flashed before his eyes: Faye, the green thumb, patient and kind; Robert, the circus rat, crafty and inventive. Then he saw his little sister Anna, the lover of stories, followed by the faces of the Pie Rats: Ruby, Horace, Fred, Smudge, the mice, even Pete. He couldn’t give up on any of them. He refused to give up on any of them.
‘It’s getting dark,’ the Captain said, breaking Whisker’s thoughts. ‘Do you have the energy to swim to shore?’
Whisker peered across the lagoon to the Rock of Hope, its smooth surface radiating the pink and purple hues of the twilight sky. It was a shining beacon on a rough sea. A short distance away, a barrel bobbed in the waves, and broken deck-boards and strands of rope drifted nearby.
‘I can make it to the barrel,’ Whisker said hoarsely. ‘I think it’s safer if we paddle across.’
The Captain agreed. ‘Who knows what other creatures lurk beneath these waters?’
The two rats anxiously rowed their barrel-boat across the choppy surface of the lagoon. Fortunately, there were no signs of giant eels, stinging bluebottles or hungry fish.
They reached the sandy shallows, slid from the barrel and dragged themselves onto the shore. It wasn’t the triumphant landing Whisker had hoped for, but he had finally reached the Island of Destiny.
Grateful to be alive, he squeezed the water from his clothes and staggered up the sand. The Captain limped beside him, wincing with every step. From the safety of their spiral shells, hermit crabs watched the waterlogged rats approach the Rock of Hope.
Whisker knelt down in the centre of the estuary and drank from the cool water flowing around the rock. It was pure and thirst-quenching and tasted refreshingly sweet after the salty water of the ocean.
With renewed strength, he stood up and stared at the giant rock in the centre of the river. In the fading light, it appeared as a ball of pale blue, framed by the black silhouettes of the twin mountains. Whisker could hear the wind howling through the foothills and the waves crashing against the cliffs. The Rock of Hope was like the calm eye of a cyclone – a place of peace in the midst of its turbulent surroundings.
He saw a flicker of movement from the upper edge of the rock. When he looked again, it was gone. He scanned the estuary, puzzled.
‘Is something wrong?’ the Captain asked with a furrowed brow.
‘No,’ Whisker said. ‘I thought I saw … oh, never mind.’
The Captain glanced warily at the rock. ‘I suggest we head into the foothills and find shelter for the night. The further we are from the lagoon, the safer I’ll feel.’
The two rats followed the beach past the Rock of Hope and ascended a grass-covered dune to the east. The wind raced over the crest, spraying grains of sand into their eyes. Whisker raised his arm to protect his face and squeezed his eyes until they were almost shut.
Blindly, they pressed on.
The dune dropped down into a sandy valley and then rose to meet a line of sprawling pine trees. Whisker scrambled up the bank, his toes sinking into the sand. The Captain trudged warily beside him, his eye darting from the trees to the dunes.
They’d almost reached the crooked trunk of a huge pine tree, when the Captain threw out his arm and stopped Whisker in his tracks.
‘Stay perfectly still,’ he hissed.
Whisker froze.
‘What is it?’ he whispered.
The Captain sniffed the air and moved his paw to the handle of his sword.
‘Something’s following us,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Don’t turn around – not until I give the signal, understand?’
‘Y-yes, Captain,’ Whisker trembled.
Cautiously, the rats entered the pine forest, their eyes adjusting to the gloom. The wind whistled above them, and dry needles crackled under their feet. Their pursuer was silent.
As they moved further into the forest, the dense canopy of branches and pine needles blocked the faint light of evening stars. Whisker caught a strong scent of onion in the air and stopped. The Captain pulled him behind a tree and drew his sword.
‘It’s here,’ he whispered, ‘whatever it is …’
‘What do we do?’ Whisker asked, hoping the creature was nothing more than a large onion rolling along in the wind.
The Captain felt the rough, flaking bark of the tree.
‘We either fight the beast or climb and hope our pursuer has vertigo,’ he said. ‘What’s it to be?’
Whisker drew his sword. Although he was still a novice at sword fighting, he’d already faced Sabre, the dreaded captain of the Cat Fish, and survived. Cowering in a tree didn’t seem like a Pie Rat thing to do.
There was a soft crunch from the opposite side of the tree. The Captain pointed at Whisker and gestured to his left, his fingers twitching on the handle of his scissor sword.
Whisker nodded.
The Captain raised three fingers and then lowered them, silently counting, three … two … one … NOW.
The rats attacked. Swords raised, they leapt from either side of the tree to face their enemy. The forest floor was deserted, but the onion smell lingered. Back to back, Whisker and the Captain scanned their surrounds for any sign of life.
‘It must be close,’ the Captain whispered. ‘Watch your feet for hidden burrows …’
Suddenly there was a loud cackling sound from the branches above him and Whisker jumped in fright.
‘Noisy sailors choose to fight,’ laughed a thin, raspy voice. ‘Hermit chooses to