Chapter 1
The island had been divided into gang territories since the moment it was inhabited. Hundreds of years passed. Families rose and fell. Burned and were burnt. Those without gang affiliations did their best to survive while saving up to immigrate somewhere else. Not many people could, but those who did never returned. Why would they? So the entire island was buzzed when reports of someone moving to the island flooded the streets. Who in their right mind would voluntarily live on the island?
Mad. That was the first thing that the council told her. She was positively mad if she thought she could make a difference on that Saints forsaken island. The island of criminals. The island of the damned, they called it, waving their hands to send her on her way. Veria Justine remained on the floor in front of them, her long fingers curled and her round chin jutted out in defiance. She glared at them with dark eyes and waited for the laughter to subside. One by one, they realized she wasn’t moving.
“Justine… listen to me.” The leader leaned forward on the carved throne he sat upon. “Some things are best ignored. That island tops that list.”
“It is in our waters. It falls under our jurisdiction. We have every right to care for it and protect the innocent people there.” Veria stated, her tone low and even. One of the councilmen laughed. He nearly choked on the sound as Veria’s intense glare shifted to him. He was the youngest of the councilmen, only with a chair because his father demanded it.
“No one on that island is innocent.” The leader stated cooly. Veria’s gaze moved back to him. One dark eyebrow rose.
“We both know that lie is only for comfort.” Veria said. She shifted her weight to her right foot. “Either help me get to the island or I will swim the distance.”
“No one can swim that.” Another man exclaimed. His grey hair stuck up at so many angles it appeared as if he was frozen in a tornado. Veria ignored him, her eyes locked on the man in front of her.
“And if I refuse and lock you up?” He asked. Veria’s brow rose again, this time with one corner of her mouth.
“Try it.” Veria offered. She extended one hand, her fingers splayed as she gestured to the rest of the council. “Will any of you lock me up?”
Silence. The six men shifted uncomfortably. Veria smiled.
“You need me.” Veria raised one shoulder and turned away. Halfway to the large double doors that led into the council room, she paused and looked back. “How was your tea this morning?”
Instantly the tension in the room rose. The leader started to stand but the kid was faster.
“What the hell did you do now!” He nearly screamed. Veria smiled, her painted red lips parting.
“Get me to that island. Or you will see.” Veria continued away.
Three hours later, Veria stepped off the worn sail ship, a black leather bag hanging off her shoulder and a small blue suitcase in her hand. She turned to the captain on the ship and handed him a vial of purple liquid.
“Four drops each under the tongue. They will live.” Veria said. Then she faced her new home.
Four guards from the council stood on the ship’s deck, their guns aimed at the people on the dock, daring them to try to sneak aboard. The rule was clear. Try and die. No one got off the island without paying.
The dock was worn, the original colour impossible to guess under the black and green algae that coated the wood planks. Crates unloaded from the ship had been stacked against one side of the path, and the ones outgoing were stacked on the other side, leaving only a narrow path to the ship that most men would have to squeeze through. Veria’s narrow shoulders made the walk easy enough. She’d traveled no more than half the way to land before a hushed whisper filled the air from in front of her, where the merchants and inhabitants watched the ship. Veria looked at them before following their gazes to a small, sickly thin boy that raced over the tops of the crates. She gripped her black bag, her fingers turning white as she watched the boy race towards the ship. He was one crate away from her. A shout went up from the crew. Veria threw her weight into the stacked crates. Then something cracked through the air. The crates rocked wildly, then something splashed into the sea.
Veria turned, shooting the ship a dark look. The captain returned her glare with one of his own, his intensified by the weather worn skin of his face. Veria shook her head, her long hair swaying around her hips as she walked around the crate and peered into the sea. One minute passed. Then another.
Finally a dark head popped out of the water.
“What the hell! What were you thinking? You blasted land urchin!” The boy screamed at Veria. She raised her eyebrow. “I could have made it.”
“You would be dead.” Veria stated and turned away. The boy continued to scream obscenities at her but Veria only shook her head and continued her walk to land. The crowd parted to let her through, eyes wide as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Someone exited the ship. Someone entered the island without running away and not only that, she kept a boy from being shot. Who was she? What was she doing?
Veria examined the people out of the corner of her eye. Everyone, regardless of age or gender, wore t-shirts and short pants in earth colours and filled with holes and patches. Nearly half of them had some sort of scar on their face and all had scars on their arms and legs. The adults, some young enough to be Veria’s sister, had hunched backs and shaking hands of an elder.
What have I gotten myself into? Veria thought to herself. The island was in worse shape than she’d imagined. Her task seemed impossible. Perhaps it was….
