Phoenix

Oroton

She woke in a sweaty tangle of disorientated sheets, her mind still in the boat, rocking to and fro, stomach acids rising from the tumultuous storm. It took her a moment to realise she was no longer lying in a dank cabin, but on a mattress set upon a straw matted floor. All around, thin walls made from translucent paper, crosshatched with dark wood panelling glowed in the dim light. A grandfather clock, carved from oak and varnished so that each knot shone with the glaze of wild eyes, gave a hollow ticking in the corner. She listened to the pendulum swing and felt her heart slow to match the steady sound.

Her breathing evened, allowing her mind to play catch up with the sequence of events that had brought her there. They came back in flashes, marked by ill-feeling.

They'd lain in that dank cabin through most of the night and into the morning, the heat from their bodies making a tepid slosh of the water. A fog had crept into her mind, unnoticed at first, then eventually coaxing her into fitful sleep. She'd woken in a fever, hot, cold, hot and cold, shaking and sweating in alternation. At one stage, she'd vomited, affording her only momentary relief, before the smell engulfed her senses and made her wretch again and again.

She'd barely noticed when Eli threw open the shutters to a pale blue sky and mirror calm water and had barely had the strength to lift her head at the excited cries of the others when the island appeared out of nowhere like a bright green pimple on the sea monster's backside.

They'd berthed on white sand shores to the deafening racket of tropical birds in the bright green palms overhead. All she'd been able to do was cover her eyes and block her ears.

Gunner had carried her ashore, stopping only dip her in the ocean to wash the vomit off her clothes. Eventually, she'd come to rest in the room with the grandfather clock and the panelled walls and slept.

The grandfather clock chimed one, two, three, four, five,sixo'clock, interrupting her wandering thoughts. Another sound accompanied it, a steady creaking of wood against wood in perfect syncopation. Slowly, she turned to find she was not alone. An old man sat in a rocking chair next to her bed, so old, he seemed to have become part of the wood. He was cloaked in a royal blue satin robe, similar to the blood red one she'd seen Eli wearing in the street. His eyes were closed and his hands were neatly folded in his lap.

He seemed to be asleep, until his rocking chair stilled and he opened his eyes. "You're awake." He smiled in a small, sad way that made his eyes droop downwards at the edges. "Shock can be a nasty thing. How do you feel now?"

She shifted uncomfortably. She'd never get used to people asking how she was feeling. Truth was, apart from the fact that her arms and legs were brick heavy from sleep, she was fine. It was her mind that whirled and rejected everything, kept searching for hidden dangers in the shadowy corners of the room.

The silence extended and the gentle ticking of the clock grew louder. Eventually, the old man spoke again. "My name's Oroton. I'm the keeper of this tavern."

Oroton. Gigi had mentioned the name. Perhaps the two were related. They had the same nut brown eyes flecked with amber and ringed like a tree trunk. The same soft voices tendered with age.

"And what should I call you?" Oroton asked.

Ash glanced towards the window, as though searching for an answer in the dusk-deepened light beyond. "Ash," she said so quietly, it came out as a breathy huff.

Oroton leaned forward, the wood of his rocking chair groaning. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

Ash didn't have the courage to repeat it.

"Sprout it is until you're ready," he said, leaning back again. "I happen to have an affinity for gardening."

Ash let out a rattling breath. It was better he didn't know her name. That way, he had no identifying information to give to the authorities should he decide to turn her in.