The Way to Impossible Island by Sophie Kirtley

Author:Sophie Kirtley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

‘Ow!’ said Dara, squirming his arm out of Mothga’s too-tight grip.

He followed the line of her pointing finger to where the beam from the East Lighthouse swept out like a searchlight across the dark waves.

Why would Mothga’s brother be out there in the lighthouse on Lathrin Island? He couldn’t be the lighthouse keeper, there hadn’t been any lighthouse keepers at all since all the lighthouses were automated way back when. It didn’t make sense.

‘Are you sure your brother’s out there?’ asked Dara, giving Mothga a sideways glance. ‘Lathrin Island’s been uninhabited for about a hundred years.’

‘Hart lost,’ she said, with certainty. ‘Hart lost. I find Hart. I bring Hart home.’ She nodded, like a full stop. Then Mothga lifted the oar and began to paddle towards the island, steady and strong and sure.

Dara sat on the boat bench and took careful little gasps of the wild sea air, but no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, he could tell that the Pink Pill of Power’s power was gone now and his chest was starting to feel all locked and tight. He wriggled off his backpack, quickly found his inhaler. Then closed his eyes and took a puff. Better.

He opened his eyes. Mothga was staring at him, curiously, her head on one side.

‘What?’ he said, embarrassed.

‘Breath-sick,’ she said with a sharp nod.

‘Thanks for the diagnosis, Doctor,’ said Dara, rolling his eyes.

Mothga rolled her own eyes back dramatically, then turned to face the island once more. Silently Dara did his breathing exercises, relieved and pleased that his heart seemed to be OK again. For now anyway. He looked at his watch. He just needed to wait five hours and then he could take another pill – so long as he took it easy between now and the morning he’d be fine.

Dara counted in his head and as he counted he gazed curiously at Mothga, at her black-nailed fingers, and at the five thin bracelets on her strong arms, and at the animal skins she was wearing, and at her bare feet, and at her wild hair. ‘Mothga,’ he asked softly, ‘where are you from? Where is … home?’

‘Home!’ said Mothga, and she turned away from the island and pointed with the oar, back across the silvery black sea. Dara stared where she pointed – all the way back to the mainland, to the moonlit twists of the River Bann, and upstream, right to the furthest hilltop.

‘Mandel?’ asked Dara in confusion, pointing to the distant orange street-lit glow of the town where he himself was from. ‘You don’t sound like you’re from Mandel, Mothga? Are you sure Mandel is your home?’

Mothga had stopped paddling. She blinked back at Mandel, her eyes clouded and puzzled. ‘Is home,’ she whispered, her head on one side, uncertain suddenly as she too stared at far-off Mandel. ‘Is home and is not home. Home is trees. Home is creatures. Home is …’ She shook her head like she’d run out of words.

Then she squinted her eyes into the distance and suddenly she grinned.

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