3 Merrin

  Back on the mainland, checking on her meagre finances later in the month, Merrin tentatively made the decision she had been building towards for nearly two years. Tomorrow she would leave. Tomorrow she would find her way inland and search for a new life.

  Some days ago, a cart full of scraggly men had arrived by cart and been driven straight onto the bobbing craft. They had earlier gathered to push the boat down to the water in the rare calm water at the turn of the tide. Pulling out to sea, the craft was dismissed from the minds of the people of landing, knowing it would probably return in about seven days.

  However, the returning ship was long overdue so up before dawn, Merrin gathered her few belongings, clothes, tools, water bottles, and prepared to head out and away from the sorry excuse for a coastal village. She wouldn’t look back; there was nothing remotely homely about the hut and the life she was leaving.

  She left that soulless place and climbed up and over the rise that then protected her from even the sight of the race. Smiling as she climbed, panting but happy, Merrin believed that she was beginning a new life.

  This decision spared her the sight of the finally returning, heavily laden, barque, struggling across the race to the relative safety of the shallow bay. On board were stack after stack of cloth, trunks of personal belongings and all the prison staff. They had been called back due to diminishing returns and were destined for another life. Hope filled them with glee; they were leaving the slow-paced life of running an isolated prison on a remote island. Their prospects looked fair to good.

  However, fully stacked and pushed far beyond its limits, the ship foundered and crashed into the torrid, foaming waters, broken up and swept under the grey waters taking everything with it. Seen by few, except Ansell in his lofty position, the tragedy caused a slowly spreading despair in landing. No survivors were possible under the stormy conditions, and no one set out to see what salvage they could glean from the raging tides. The sea was just too vicious to tempt even the most desperate wrecker that day. No-one missed Merrin! To be honest, Ansell might well have been glad to see the back of a worker he had to pay reasonably well but having to pay no-one, he just turned away and contemplated his own prospects.

  Sending his final message to the unhappy owners, Ansell packed his belongings and headed west. The next bay, the next town, hope against hope that there would be a new start for him.

  This time, receiving this hard blow, losing their minions, their last loads of silken cloth, their total investment, in effect, the owners of the expected craft bitterly wrote off the loss and withdrew interest and support of the remote, yellow rock. It had no name and now seemed to be deserted, abandoned and lost, out there across the race.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The last of the stormy weather then passed with the destruction of the final boat from the rock to the mainland. Seeming to have exhausted itself, the winds died down and the sun shone again on the vicious stretch of sea. Work on the replacement boat ceased. No-one wanted nor needed a hull just now, so it sat, partially built, on the unforgiving shore. Craftsmen left for pastures new, anything useful that could be carried, they took, abandoning the rest to the weather.

  In the cove of Landing, hope vanished with the lost ship. Seeing Ansell leave was the last straw. Others followed. West, we’ll go west, they muttered amongst themselves. The goods go west, so there must be something there. Take what you can carry and go. Just go.

  Merrin was oblivious of all that had happened, the day she left.

  For Merrin, the choice of paths was limited to East (forage and little else), West (coastal path that led to other, suspected, miserable places) or South (unknown). No choice really, Merrin chose South. The path was stoney and steep, at first, switch backing up the cliff face to the summit and a view of her future destination options. The view was not inspiring. Scrubland, hills and small pockets of trees. Sighing at the poor choices open to her, Merrin set out bravely for the nearest clump of woodland, hoping to find forage at least to supplement her meagre store of food.

  Here on the mainland, the season had changed with very little to show for it, but that did mean – mushrooms! Exhausted from the trek South and the lack of good eating over the past months, Merrin fell on the bounty and cut enough for a meal and then more to dry and carry. By the time she had made a tiny fire just clear of the trees, Merrin was fairly drooling at the prospect of a feast, the like of which she could not remember every having before. Herbs and greens joined the tiny pot of fungi, and the smell was overpowering. Totally focused on her operations, the attack came without warning.

  Finding herself flying forward, clear of the fire at least, but hitting the ground hard, she gasped, turning in shock to see what had hit her. There were three of them, men or women, she could not tell which as they looked starved and filthy. They grabbed her and her pot of food with growls and grunts of mindless greed. Hitting, pushing and kicking at the slight figure, desperate to acquire anything they could, they seemed totally focused on their actions. Get, have, leave no chance of counterattack. It all went on for far too long for Merrin, although the actual length of the assault was probably just a few, agonising, minutes. The hot food consumed, the tiny mob grabbed and left with everything they could see. They didn’t want Merrin, food was so sparse they were near death themselves. A small respite, the meal would only take them so far onward. They headed north in a desperate and likely terminal search for more food.

  Finally, lying bent and broken in the wreck of her tiny camp, Merrin wept helplessly at the sickening truth. She had been careless. Not even remembering that there might be other people out there, every bit as poor and starved for good food like herself, Merrin had relaxed. Setting no screen about her small fire, not looking around her for threats or danger, she had devastatingly been wiped out. Every hard-earned coin, scrap of food, cloth and container, was gone. Like locusts, the three scavengers had left her with nothing but her under clothes and her feeble life. Not entirely sure that was a bonus, Merrin indulged in misery for some time. Return to start and try again? Die here in the woods? What! How! Tears and tantrums wouldn’t help her, but the losses…