The Disjointed Tales Of Renryre Island

04-1: A Little Too Much Salt

It was a hot morning. It was always a hot morning, no matter how cool the night or how fresh the breeze. The sun would rise, and it would bake Rhytheport, and damn near boil everyone living there. Thirty-something years had passed since Talyreina had been dropped off in a bag and left for dead in this godsforsaken town, yet she was still the most recent arrival, the last one. No one wanted to live there, or to even visit for that matter, only... they couldn't leave.

Talyreina finished her cup of lukewarm tea. Imported from Helen's Bay on the west coast, she could only afford the luxury once or twice a week, but still it always tasted like a cup of salt with some slight exotic flavour to make it marginally more interesting. It didn't matter how long the tea was left to brew, it still tasted like salt. Everything tasted like bloody salt.

She wrapped herself in a white cloth, covering as much skin as she could. She would spend most of the day in the sun, more than enough to return burnt and blistered, head throbbing, stomach convulsing. The sun was no friend to the residents of Rhytheport, but their lives still depended on it. Talyreina's especially.

Reluctantly, she left the house, hurrying out of the front door without glancing back. Built from baked clay bricks, it looked the same as every other building there. The town's creativity had been sapped years before, monotony becoming the norm, in both sight and thought. A newcomer would stand no chance finding their way home. Though, if she ever spotted one, she would probably throw them back into the sea for their stupidity.

"Morning, Tally," called a voice passing her in the street.

"Good morning to you, Witsen," she replied, trying to sound as cheerful as she could.

Witsen was on his way back from the docks. If he was heading home already, it suggested his catch was light. And he was probably hungry and broke, in a bad mood and, above all, thirsty. She could let it go. She could let him walk home in peace without anyone reminding him how bad life could be, as any decent person would do.

"Catch anything this morning?" she asked, stifling a wry smile.

"Nothing to catch," moaned Witsen. "I swear there are no more fish in the sea."

Not a good prospect for a town that relied on the catch to survive. It was not as if they could just buy food from Helen's Bay. The main city was in the only fertile region, the rich area, on the opposite end of the island. Rhytheport was wedged between two hundred leagues of desert, and thousands of leagues of sea. It had nothing to offer, except salt. And nothing to eat, except fish. Worse yet, there was nothing to drink; no fresh water to be found anywhere.

Talyreina knew what Witsen was going to ask next. She could tell by the pleading expression he was preparing.

"Please, Tally," he whimpered. "I haven't had anything to drink today. Do you have any spare water? A few drops perhaps?"

She did. But that's because she was smart. She saved it up, kept a few spare bottles hidden here and there, in places no one else could find them. She kept enough to last her a week, just in case she couldn't work. In Rhytheport, not having spare water was as good as hanging yourself. She always had a store.

"Sorry, Witsen, I drank the last of it this morning. I had a cup of tea. It was very nice. Very... refreshing."

Except it tasted like salt. Everything tasted like bloody salt.

"Thanks anyway," said Witsen, a dour, pitiful expression swallowing his face. "Have a good day at work."

About time that man fell overboard, Talyreina thought to herself; he would make a good meal for the tailsharks. There may well be a shortage of fish around, but there were always plenty of tailshark fins cutting through the surf. Witsen was too soft by far, and too stupid. Talyreina couldn't understand how he had survived so long in Rhytheport. Worse, the man seemed to think he stood a chance with her. Ten years of rejection hadn't thrown him down.