text: &#x200B; The Archipelago publishes every Wednesday. See the pinned comment for links to the contents. \ The skeletal remains of the campfire taunted me. Now nothing more than a memorial to my failure. As daylight arrived I set about trying to retread where others had and work out how to make a fire. I tried simply rubbing them against each other as hard as I could. Then I decided that maybe the bark was preventing success, so I picked away at the outer layer to reveal the woody flesh beneath. I applied as much friction as I could, enough to produce heat. But no smoke. Never fire. I reasoned maybe I needed a different type of wood. Maybe the ones I was using were too porous or too dense. I returned to the forest and came back with a few different types of branch and tried again. Still, nothing. With each attempt, I kept up the short repetitive thrusts of my arm, pushing as much energy into the wood as I could until the burning in my muscles was too much, until I could grit my teeth against the pain no more, and I let go. As the day wore on, each attempt grew shorter and shorter till the pain was instantaneous, the first brush of the wood enough to cause my arms to spasm and falter. My back ached from being arched all day and my legs and chest stung from the cold chill that ran through them. Yet, despite all the exertion: no smoke, never fire. I had no more to give. I stopped for the evening, my muscles hot through effort yet my skin cold from exposure. I lay down and stared at the sea, trying to ignore the stones digging into my kidneys. Slow, peaceful waves rolled over the horizon, crawling towards me, till they brushed against the shore just a few metres away - so close, yet never touching - before they retreated and returned out to sea. I traced those waves back, back across the ocean, and back through time, to where this all began, back on Kadear. I remembered when I was a prisoner in the Citadel, tidying one of the council’s homes. A song had played from that artefact. The first miracle the Archipelago had shown me. The words from that song had stayed with me across the islands. *I had a good idea* *Let’s lay these bones to rest* *Build it all over and start again* *Cause I know, that if you dare to hope* *That if you dare to try* *To rebuild the pieces of your life* *Then you’ll find, the things you held so dear* *The things you held so close* *Were never really yours* *And what’s left* *That vacuous empty shell* *Is ready to be refilled* *With all the love you should have had* Here I was. My bones laid to rest, stuck on this island. But how well those words had mirrored my journey to here. I found out my dreams of the citadel were a lie, and I lost everything. A moment on Yotese Over Haven came back to me, a moment of regret. In a fit of anger I had told Alessia that everything since Kadear had been loss. “Everything?” she had said, the question heavy with an unmentioned hurt. I ignored it. I ignored it because I knew I was talking nonsense. Sometimes, when anger and hurt overtake you, you can’t admit that there can be any good. There can only be pain. In reality, since I left Kadear I had experienced so much grief. But, that vacuous empty shell was refilled, with so much love. Despite every bit of hardship, despite the death of friends, I had somehow never been more full. Love from Xander, Kurbani and her children. Love from all the people of Deer Drum. And love from Alessia. Love for Alessia. Here, alone, hope fading at the same rate as the light dimming on the horizon, I no longer had the energy to run from thoughts that had been circling round my mind for several islands now. The woman who had saved me so many times. The woman who had survived the hard seas through bravery, but also tenderness. The woman who put others first. The woman who believed in me and my stupid mission to explore the origins of The Archipelago. I thought of the way strands of hair blew across her face in the breeze. I pictured her wry smile when she teased, the tongue perched on her teeth. I remembered how serious she was about everything she did, and how much fun she had doing it. That love that had filled me, wasn’t common kinship. The ignored cognitions boiled over, no longer suppressible by the distractions of another island and another chase. I didn’t love Alessia. I was in love with Alessia. And she might be dead. I had feared losing her twice before. On Talin Barier when I heard of the attack on the island where she had been. On Granite Vowhorn when we parted ways and headed into the warzone. She would survive a third time... wouldn’t she? I had seen that mast hit her. I had seen her fall to the water. I hadn’t seen her resurface. A new pain formed in my chest. Not for my own peril but at the thought of what else might be in those oceans. Suddenly the waves in front of me weren’t calming, they were taunting. Gleefully celebrating that they held the wet, dark grave of the greatest person I knew. Was she dead? She couldn’t be. She wasn’t allowed to be. Because I loved her. And love could keep people alive. Couldn’t it? I closed my eyes, keeping the waves out and the tears in. I took deep breaths, feeling my chest heave through the strange concoctions. Perfectly still. Cold. Alone. Grieving and hoping. I tried to sleep. I had little success. ---------------------------------------------- The cold was beginning to make me weak. After three days without heat, my bones felt heavy, weighed down with a frost that had crystallised the marrow. I was struggling to maintain body temperature, my blood pumped fast and hard as the skin tingled from the cold outside and the heat beneath. I was also losing weight rapidly, what fat I had being burned off just staying warm. I needed to replace it. The leftover meat from the previous bird kill had run dry, and if I wanted to eat again, I would have to use what was left as bait. The kills had been a matter of learning the moves, understanding how and when to run for the prey. But as I lay still among the rocks again I wondered if I would be able to make the same steps. Just how quickly were my muscles weakening and my reactions slowing from the creeping frost. I would soon find out. A bird landed, I jabbed the stick, the gull rolled over, and I set off on my sprint. Each push of my legs felt like a snap, the same pain when you bend your knee slightly the wrong way, and you get a jarring thud through the limb. My lungs panted coarse air that stung against my trachea. I ignored the pain, outstretched my arms, and leaped for the bird. I grabbed a wing, a victorious yelp escaping my lips just in time for my torso to smack against the rocks. A stone rammed into my abdomen, and my body went limp, the fingers loosened, and the bird flew away. It took four attempts. With each one the pain subsided, but it didn’t feel easier. The aches and stings merely replaced by a numbness, my body unsure if my legs were even there. Still, I won. I would eat. Plucking the bird felt like a relief. After the many, many failed attempts at starting the fire, the routine of a task that I could do was a kindness. This time, I also tried to keep the feathers, lining them around the area where I slept. One bird’s worth wouldn’t provide much warmth, but it had to be something. I would take anything. However, as I finished preparing the meat, the problem I had been avoiding became an inevitability. There was no fire. I couldn’t cook. I stared at the plucked, but importantly, raw flesh in front of me. The pale skin was lined with bumps where the feathers had been ripped out, pale veins and patches of white fat could be seen below the surface. The skin felt rubbery and wet. The thought of eating the raw white meat already turned my stomach. The same stomach longed for me to cram down the meal as quickly as possible. My mind tried to process the two contradicting signals of don’t eat that, and eat that now. I turned it slowly in my hands trying to find the best place to start my meal, but that only made my eyes spot new things to be appalled by. Bloody sinew draped across bones, organs ready to spill out to the ground. There would be no way to ease myself in. I closed my eyes and bit down on the meat, tearing away at the soft, squishy flesh. Fresh blood dripped down my chin, watery and warm. It was refreshing yet the taste clung to my tongue like a fungus. It pooled and mixed with my saliva as my nose smelt the iron. Slippery bits of meat rolled in my mouth. It felt like they wriggled - though dead, not dead enough. I could feel the tendons and arteries snap between my teeth, the muscles rip and release their contents into my throat. I swallowed just as the nausea rose to meet the food. But I managed to hold it down. Hunger, the drive for energy at all costs, won out. I knew raw meat would go bad quicker, I couldn’t save any for later, and so I kept eating. I kept chewing away at the gamey, yet fishy meat until my stomach could hold no more. Till even my hunger ridden body begged me to stop. My head tilted back, triumphant and smug, my chin and neck red and sticky. I had over-delivered on the need. Satiated a drive so hard that every signal in my body pleaded for it to end. I exhaled with conquest, and I turned to look at the sea. My hands immediately dropped the remainder of the bird. A ship. I leaped to my feet. The ship was miles away, clinging to the edge of the horizon, yet its size meant it was still visible. It was a great metal beast, one of the warships sold by Tima Voreef. They had little chance of seeing me this far away, but maybe one would be looking out with a telescope. If I danced enough, jumped enough, screamed and shouted, just maybe they would see me. With the raw gull still folding in my stomach, I dug into my reserve energies, and waved my hands high in the air. I hollered, an inevitable futile shout. My screams fell into the oceans as I tried to muster the energy to jump even just a few inches. With each leap I could feel the still digesting meat bounce and slosh within me. Acid rose to the oesophagus, and my throat slowly burned. I reached down to the cold, dead fire - how much I wished it were alive now - and grabbed the two largest sticks I could find, waving them as extensions of my arms. The extra weight ached my biceps, and I could feel my elbows contract with each lift, my screams more now through resistance than excitement. The boat stuck to its path, hanging at the very edge of the earth, as I continued waving slow great arches with the sticks. Eventually the branches were too heavy and they dropped to the ground, clattering against the stones. My tired arms continued to wave, a small resurgence of life now free of the extra weight. I couldn’t jump anymore, and my screams had become a squeal, yet I made myself big, and made what noise I could, as that boat continued its slow, slow, painful journey. I watched night come and light fade - hope with it. I watched the lanterns on the boat flicker on one by one, evidence of human life, proof that rescuers were there. But they never turned, and eventually the ship disappeared off the edge of my world. I collapsed, my legs giving way as the last strands of muscle capitulated through strain and defeat. My head landed against the stones with a thud, and I could feel my vision shake with the impact. “Where are you, Alessia?” I cried, my voice stuttered. Above me the stars drifted in and out of focus. “You were supposed to be here by now.” She didn’t respond. She had three weeks to find safety, get the boat repaired and come find me. Now is when she should arrive. If she could arrive. I picked up a stone next to me, and with a grunt threw it at the sea. A pointless exertion borne of nothing but anger. More joules wasted in fits of emotion. “Please. I’m not strong enough to carry on here. I need you. I need a lifeline. Please.” My chest shuddered as beaten tears reached my eyes, phlegm bubbling in my mouth. I felt something shift in my stomach. My body froze with the moment. The mourning stopped, as a more physical urge took precedence. I rolled over, just as the contents of my stomach reached my mouth. Bits of lightly-digested raw gull spewed out over the rocky beach, the liquid running between the stones. My stomach spasmed in agony, as my mind felt dizzy with the smell. My head flopped back, too tired to shift away from the acidic smell drifting towards me. In the darkness, I could already hear happy flies gathering at the banquet. My demise, their feast. More wasted joules.