Isle of Swords by Wayne Thomas Batson Page A

the river. After peeling potatoes and eating lunch, Cat had returned to the deck. A massive cliff wall overshadowed the turn in the Roseau. Clefts and nooks in the gray rock gave it the appearance of a scowling skull face.
    Adding to the effect, wide violent splashes of red surrounded the two cleft eye sockets. Yellow streaks were painted beneath each eye and down from the corners of the mouthlike cave. They made Cat shiver. And then the voices came.
    It’s looking at me, came one voice, young and anxious.
    Do not be afraid, answered a woman’s voice, tender . . . loving.
    It means we’re almost there.
    Cat coughed, fell to one knee on the deck. His ears rang. His vision blurred. He rose, leaned over the rail, and vomited.

    Anne watched Cat from her perch in the crow’s-nest on the mainmast. She’d been observing him with a mix of anger . . . and fascination. But when she saw him go down and retch over the side, such thoughts were blasted away by worry. She grabbed the web of rigging and slung herself down to the deck. She ran to him and put a careful hand on his shoulder.
    â€œCat, what’s wrong?” she said. “What happened?”
    â€œI heard something,” he said, spitting over the side. He didn’t know why he was telling her. But somehow, of all the crew he had met so far, he felt a connection to Anne. “There were voices . . . in my head.”
    â€œVoices?” Anne leaned over the rail to look at him. “Cat, did you remember something?”
    â€œI . . . I don’t know.” He coughed, spat again. “I didn’t recognize the voices. But . . .” His voice trailed off. He looked up at the skull face of the cliff. “I think I’ve been here before.”

    â€œAbsolutely not,” Declan Ross said, marching up the stairs from his quarters. Cat was right on his heels. “Not in your condition.”
    â€œBut, Captain,” Cat argued. “You saw me climb the rigging. I can handle carrying a few sacks of grain.”
    The captain did not turn around but continued striding up on deck. “You’ll be strong as an ox when you’re well, but I heard what happened today with Red Eye. Nubby said you looked like you were about to pass out. And it won’t be just sacks of grain. We’re talking hundreds of pounds of rope, barrels of black powder, and crates of cannon shot. This is heavy stuff.”
    â€œBut, sir,” Cat said, and he made the mistake of grabbing the captain’s arm. “I—”
    â€œDon’t!” Ross turned around and brushed off Cat’s arm. “Don’t ever do that again. I am the captain of this ship.” He saw the crestfallen look in Cat’s eyes and wished he hadn’t been so abrupt. He softened. “What on earth has you so on fire to visit the shores of Dominica anyway?”
    Cat glowered. “I recognized that face in the cliff.”
    Ross looked up at the scowling rock. “That?” He pointed.
    â€œThat’s an old warning talisman. Carib Indians painted those rocks years ago to warn the English—and the French—not to come any farther inland. Scary folk, those Carib. Even today, it’s best not to mess around in the forests up north. You’ve seen this place before?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” Cat replied. “But I think if . . . if I go ashore, I might start to remember.”
    Ross felt like something had a grapple-hold on his heart. Cat couldn’t remember anything. Not one thing. Here was a chance that he could maybe trigger something, bring his identity back. And yet, Ross knew he had to say no. The thing that really troubled him:
    He couldn’t tell if he was saying no purely because he was worried about Cat’s health.
    â€œI’m sorry, Cat,” Ross said finally. “We’ve a lot to do, in a very short time, and we cannot take the risk of you getting yourself hurt.
    Besides, the British navy