I step closer to the bulwark, closer to the Captain. Far off in the distance, so far off and so small that I missed it earlier, a bit of land that’s too small to be England disturbs the level line of the horizon. I stare out across the darkened waves, trying to gauge the distance between the ship and the island. If I could get there, maybe I could find someone to help. If I could make it that far, maybe I could find a way home.
“If you’re thinking of visiting,” the Captain murmurs close to my ear, “I’d advise against it. The island is a difficult place to survive, you see. It’s constantly changing, and an unaware traveler might find herself quite lost. Or dinner for one of the beasts that roam there.” He hands me a spyglass and gestures that I should use it.
Its leather-covered body is solid and heavy in my hands, and when I raise it to my eye, the island comes into sharp focus. At first glance it looks like any island might, though its topography is extreme for such a small place. Most of the shoreline is nothing but sheer cliffs rising out of the sea. Here and there, tufts of vegetation cling to the craggy bluffs like daredevil climbers, but most of the rock face is flinty and bare. Above the rocky shoreline, the sharp hills and mountainous terrain reaches high toward the ever-darkening sky, and most is covered with a wild green that speaks the hidden dangers of jungles.
Which can’t be right. I know I was unconscious for a while, but we couldn’t possibly be far enough away from England to find jungles. Still, there they are, plain as day.
Then I notice something that makes my stomach feel like I’ve swallowed a ball of lead—the island is moving. It’s not moving in the water or like a ship. Instead, it’s the land itself that is shifting and changing before my eyes. The mountainous terrain ripples in the evening light, the rocks slowly shifting and rearranging themselves moment by moment. One peak steadily shrinks while another grows.
The lush green of the jungle, too, looks unbearably alive. It shakes and shifts with a constant, steady movement. Trees melt into the earth only to be replaced by different types of vegetation as the jungle ruffles and shakes itself into a new tangle of overgrowth. The whole island continually changes, like a great sleeping beast breathing on the horizon.
“What—” My brain isn’t even close to catching up to what my eyes are seeing. I lower the heavy glass and look to the Captain. “Please tell me you see that.” I hesitate. “The way it’s moving, I mean.”
He raises his brows quizzically. “And why wouldn’t I see what’s right in front of me?”
But his words don’t make me feel any better. “Things like that—they don’t . . . It’s not possible,” I tell him.
“Maybe not in the world you were taken from. In this one, though”—he gives a shrug that looks more tired than careless—“I’ve seen more than most would care to, and I learned well enough that nothing’s impossible.”
Unease trickles down my spine. He spoke so casually, that I know I can’t be hearing him right. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself for the question I can’t believe I’m about to ask.
“What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” I say slowly.
“I thought I spoke clearly enough.” He glances at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Have you seen or heard of many islands, then, that move and dance to their own heartbeat in your world?” He takes a step closer, and I resist the urge to back away. “Have you seen a forest rise and fall with its own will and of its own wanting?”
I swallow hard and, unable to form the words, shake my head. Of course I haven’t, because such things do not exist. They cannot exist.
“And having seen such wonders, is it so hard to believe that you are no longer in the human world? Is it so impossible, after what you’ve seen through that glass, to believe you’ve found yourself somewhere else entirely?” His mouth goes grim once again. “It may look on the surface like the world you know, lass, but don’t let that be fooling you. Though the sky is broad, there is nothing to this world but the sea and that,” he says, pointing to the island. “And there are dangers on those shores you cannot have imagined.”
“There has to be something else,” I said, thinking about how impossible what he’s saying sounds.
“You’d think it, wouldn’t you? But I’ve tried myself to escape. I’ve sailed this ship for weeks on end, until my crew was near starvation, and I thought for sure we’d all die from the icy cold that coats the sea beyond. After weeks of sailing, what do you think appeared on the horizon?” He points toward the island again. “It’s as though this entire world is centered on that one heartless piece of land. All directions lead there.”
“That’s impossible,” I say, wondering how bad of a Captain you have to be to sail in circles like that without realizing it.
“Perhaps in the world you’re from,” he tells me, and his voice is so rough and worn, I almost believe he’s telling me the truth.
“But even if I believe you, even if I accept we are in another world, it can’t just be the sea and that island,” I tell him. “There has to be a way out.”