Daughters of the Wandering Isle—Chapter 1

Daughters of the Wandering Isle (release date TBA)

Chapter One: The Song of the Fish Lord

“Long ago, there was an island just off our shore,” a man whispered to his daughters, pointing out a great bay window toward the darkening sea. “Ships would often sail to and from the island, using it as a stop along their long journeys.”

“What happened, Papa?” asked little Lili, only six then and far more inquisitive than any quiet man could prefer, but her father was patient and could never mind fanning his daughter’s curiosities to flame. However, such would often disrupt his studies, causing the length of his Sunday sermons to vary unpredictably from week to week.

“No one truly knows, my dear. Some say it sank into the sea; others say it simply swam away.”

“No way! Islands can’t just sink or swim away; that’s not how islands work, isn’t it, Papa?” piped Maisie, the youngest of the three at five years old. She followed Lili around wherever she would go. She often seemed the quietest of the Cottrell girls because whatever questions she might have found herself with, about the world and the way it works, Lili would ask for the three of them. 

“But the story doesn’t end there,” their father added. “You see, many people were living on that island, and a great deal more relied on it for their lamplights. There were whalers on that island, and they would sail the seas and not come back until they had oil enough to light our lamps on shore.” 

Judith, who just turned nine and had heard this story twice before, sat contentedly at her father's feet, resting her head against his knee. Despite being the oldest, she was mature for her age. She seemed most patient and kind. She was uncommonly wise and often mothered her sisters when their mother was away. 

“The story goes,” their father continued, “that those out at sea, far away from here, in the furthest reaches of the tropical south to the glacial north, sailors and whalers would sometimes catch glimpses of the island far off on the horizon, but before they could reach it, it would be gone.”

“Did the island have a lighthouse like ours?” blurted Lili. 

“Shush, would you all?” their father laughed. “Mercy be mine if I could ever find the end of this tale! Yes, they had two lighthouses much like ours, and one was red, and one was blue, and, no, I didn’t know either of the lightkeepers; now, may I finish my story?” he asked, hoping he had answered all the questions his daughter could have possibly asked. The three little girls laughed at their father, who always made his mildest of frustrations out to be a good joke. With silent anticipation, at last, their father began again.

“It—” was the only word he managed before his wife, finding good pleasure in interrupting her husband’s story once more, sat beside the rest with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and a large cup of cool milk to share.

“A cool autumn evening story like this needs a little treat, don’t you think?” she said, trying to hold back her laughter. But much to her surprise, each of the girls shushed her, though a warm giggling shortly followed their shushing. 

“Mrs. Margaret Cottrell, please have a seat and find yourself well suited to say no more. I have a narrative to tend to, and I cannot permit such rude interruptions!” The girls laughed at their father’s formal, yet sarcastic, offense. 

“My apologies, Mr. Alcott Cottrell. I will surely refrain from speaking any further; the stage is yours,” she feigned. Each of the young ladies who sat around the storyteller was tempted to keep their father from ever finishing his story, for his reactions always made them laugh. But each desired to hear the rest of the story, for they knew their father was a great storyteller, and every story he told would somehow, in the end, apply to them and their lives. 

“May I, at last, continue?” he asked. The interrupters giggled and nodded. They each listened attentively, sharing popcorn and sipping milk as their father began again. “Well, this story is about a man who did reach the fleeing island. He heard a rumor from another passing ship that the island had been seen in the northern sea, and so he set off after it. Now, this man wasn’t too familiar with the North Sea, but he had one or two maps to chart a course by, so he figured he could make due. It was not long into his voyage when he came upon two distant lights flashing on the horizon in the dead of night. At first, he thought they were stars, though he had never seen stars quite like them before. As he sailed closer, he realized they were not stars at all, but two distant, flickering lighthouses.”

“Were they the red and blue ones from the island?” burst Lili, as if she were about to explode by some unlikely detonator. 

“If you can sit quietly and listen for two minutes, you might just find out!” her father said, hinting his exasperation. “It was dark, and he couldn’t yet see if the lighthouses were any color at all. He looked up at the stars, then, by lantern-light, he looked down at his map and realized he wasn’t anywhere near any charted island or mainland or anything of the sort.”

“It was the wandering island!” Lili shouted. 

“Who’s telling this story anyways?” the girls' mother asked. “Let’s let your father finish one for once. This one’s a good one, and I’d hate for you to ruin it for yourselves with all your interruptions!”

“Thank you, Margaret, you’re too kind, now, as I was saying—”

“Even if it is funny to interrupt him,” his wife added under her breath, purposefully stopping him once again. 

“You lot are noisier than a Pentecostal worship service,” their father joked. Everyone giggled. “Now, as I was saying, our protagonist figured this to be the wandering island. He sailed toward it all night with his crew, but the closer they got to the island, the further away it seemed to be. They dropped more sails, and even with the nightly wind picking up, the faster they went, the further the island would appear. They kept the fleeing island in hot pursuit until it escaped their sights altogether. Our protagonist told his crew, ‘This is a vain thing; we’re striving for the wind, and I don’t suppose we could ever catch it!’ but his crew wanted to keep after it; they all wanted to set foot on the wandering isle because it was once their home. Some said, ‘You can’t give up!’ Others said, ‘You’re being lazy. Just sail faster; ride harder!’ But our protagonist, who was their captain, said this: he asked, ‘How many of you can catch the sea mist in your hands and find water to drink? How many of you can count the stars in the skies or the sands on the seafloor? How many of you can pick up a stone and eat it and have it satisfy you like a loaf of bread?’ None of the crew raised their hands or called out because none of them could do any of the things their captain had asked. ‘Then what difference is this island?’ the captain asked next. ‘Are we not striving after the same sea mist in search of water we can drink?’, but his crew hated him for this. They shouted back at him.

‘This is different,’ they argued; ‘this is for our home, our pride, and our glory! How shall we give up now when we have come so close? Behold, the sun rises soon; let us set off so we might see by its light.’

‘You’re chasing the sun like Icharus or the white whale like Ahab,’ the captain refuted. ‘See you not what fate befell them?’

‘Let us make our pursuit this moment, or we will mutiny!’ cried his crew, who mobbed against him.

‘Then mutiny it must be, for I will not set our sails after it,’ answered the captain, with a regretful heart. Then, with loud cries, the captain was picked up, and thrown overboard into the icy ocean below. But fearing the wrath of God for murder, the crew lowered a small lifeboat, no larger in size than a coffin for two, in which the captain could survive. 

‘Whatever happens to him now, ye be but the Lord’s doin’,’ said one from the mutinous crew. But he had no idea how right he would be.”

“What came next, Papa? Did the Good Lord let him die for not going after the island?” asked Maisie, thoroughly enthralled by her father’s story.

“Not in the slightest,” he answered. “In fact, quite the opposite would come to pass. Our protagonist watched as his ship sailed off without him; he felt beaten and defeated. He thought for sure he had made a mistake not staying with the crew. He lay at the bottom of that tiny raft for three days without food or water. But then, on the third night, as the man lay, dizzied by the endless stars in the sky which spanned horizon to horizon, he saw in the distance two faint lights, and they were coming toward him. They were the lights of the lighthouses. The island was coming toward him. After about an hour, the wandering island had come right up to his tiny little raft and stopped. It allowed him time to stumble ashore and pull his raft up after him before it continued its wandering once more, with our protagonist safe upon it.”

“What next, Papa?” Lili and Maisie questioned in unison.

“The captain was able to find fresh water on the island and some old cans of food, but much to his surprise, there was no one on the island. Houses stood. Buildings and roads showed signs of people having once lived there, but no one was there. When our captain had recovered his strength, he explored the lost land, and on it, he found a cave. But he soon discovered it was not a cave at all but a great big nostril. After a bit more exploring through a forest, he came upon a great big eye on the side of the cliff. The island was no island at all, but a sea monster so fantastic in size that no one could’ve ever believed him. The monster spent much of his time atop the water where rocks and dirt had collected on him, and he was of such enormous weight he would sleep for thirty years at a time, floating atop the water with the current. But now he was awake. And this beast looked right back at our captain and spoke with a great deep voice, bellowing out from the depths of the very ocean itself. 

‘My friend, who are you to give up your pursuit of me? Dost thou not seek me—not desire me—not yearn to have me?’

‘How could I ever have you, oh you leviathan, you great lord of the beasts of the sea? You are not one I could ever have had, not of my own accord.’

‘Thou speak as though it is thy duty to honor. Thou need not honor me as thy fellow man, but repay me in deed and flattery, and I will set you again to the mainland—thine word is unbreaking.’

‘What has brought you to such a mercy, oh leviathan?’

‘Thou hast forgotten thy pride and suffered for it. I hear and remember every word uttered in these waters, and such utterance has brought such pity. Now sit thee upon this stone before thine eye so I might see. We shalt speak for a time, for our journey is a long one.’”

“Could the island really talk?” asked Lili. 

“Some believe it, but others suppose it’s just a tall tale of the sea.”

“What was it they had talked about?” 

“Well,” her father answered, “the great beast shared with our protagonist all the secrets of the ocean, from the names of all the fishes to the rumors of Davy Jones and ghost ships and all sorts of mysteries none could begin to fathom.”

“Go on with the story, Papa!” entreated Maisie. 

“Of course, of course,” he obliged, wearing a smirk on the corner of his lip as if there was yet much mystery to be revealed. He lowered and slowed his voice to a bellow once again to speak the great fish’s song.

“‘For all my life, I cannot tell

Why such a one would let thee fail

Like he who chasest holy whale

And die before he reach the grail.

The sea shall often have her way,

To break men’s wills and reap dismay

To take men’s lives then serenade

Widows and daughters with pounding waves.

Of all my rule in this vast sea, 

Where West and East shall never meet,

There is much yet beyond my reach,

But still, I count on, faithfully,

The tides and currents of the deep,

To carry me where I shalt be,

To be the fish Thou madest me.

So true can then I count on Thee

To make from me sweet victory

Despite thy striving not to heed

Such soundness saves thy soul’... you see.” 

The girls giggled at the face their father wore as he kept the great fish in rhyme.

“Oh, go on, Papa; what about the captain?” Maisie inquired with impatient pining. He obliged.

“The captain had never heard such words of wisdom in all his days. Even though he might not have made sense of half of what the leviathan had told him, he knew it to be more true than any of the words ever uttered by mortal men, so he committed those words to memory.”

“I want to hear about the town! What happened to the people in the empty town!?” Lili shouted, flinging a few loose pieces of popcorn from her hand, where they landed quaintly between the cushions of their old blue sofa. 

“That part is next, dear; be patient,” he smiled tenderly to her and then to his wife, who attempted to fish out the lost popcorn. 

“‘What happened to the people of this town?’ the captain inquired of the great fish. 

‘A small whaling port, a secluded people, they turned on their own and grew vile toward each other, much as people of great pride are prone to do. The people of the port killed a man and his wife, a couple who was no better nor any worse than the rest of the town—a couple whose words and tenderness toward one another I grew to love. I pitied them when the port turned, and so I did something I had not done for millennia. I swam below the surface. I cleansed myself of those iniquitous people and let the currents choose their fate. Few survived, I believe, but only those borne by the current’s mercy.’

‘Then, who are your lightkeepers if this port has been made desolate so?’ asked the captain.

‘The souls that were lost, one the man, the other his wife. I did not wish to believe it true, but lo, I sense they remain even after death. It is thine vow to keep this a sacred place for them that no man shouldst desecrate.’

‘Then why pity me and take me on?’ the captain questioned, ever to behold the wonderment of the answer the great fish would give. 

‘Thou art my pride, oh captain, denied much like the souls I bear. It was they who pitied thee. It was they who sent me after thee. And now it is the current that shall bring thee home.’ For a long time, the captain and the great fish talked of all the earth’s wonders, and in time, the current brought the fish and the captain to the mainland, where the captain was free to return.

‘Should I ever see you again, great Lord of the Fishes?’ asked the captain.

‘Keep a light upon this shore and watch out in the night; I will set my ears on thee and tend to thee from the deep. I set my lights to guide lost sailors to the shore. Once there, their souls are yours to tend to. Tend to them, and we shall meet again,’ answered Leviathan. It was a cryptic and confusing answer, and our captain wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Still, he set his home upon the shore and built a tower for his light, much like ours! And every night to this day, he watches through a great window off a sea cliff, much like ours, to watch for the great fish, to see if he will keep his word.”

Almost instinctively, Masie, Lili, Judy, and Margaret turned their gazes toward the great bay window upon the darkening blue horizon.

“Is this the same lighthouse the captain had lived in?” wondered Lili, considering whether or not a story so marvelous could be true. 

“No, dear, it’s just a story,” her father answered, unknowingly crushing a grand imaginative narrative she had begun in her head. He placed his hand on her cheek and smiled again at his wife, but sensing the disappointment Lili fought to hide, he added, “I suppose we can never truly know if, indeed, all great stories are woven with some silks of truth.” With those words, the world of possibilities had been ignited again, like a flame, able to flicker and dance about in a gentle wind. 

“Father,” asked Judy, “what does iniquitous mean?”

“Well,” answered her mother, offering the poor, over-interrogated man a moment of relief.  “It’s like a combination of being guilty and disgusting. If you’re iniquitous, you can feel it. Your guiltiness is what makes you disgusting.”

“That’s why, in the 32nd Psalm,” her father continued, “the Psalmist calls it such a blessing to not be iniquitous. For when he was iniquitous, he brought it before the Good Lord and was forgiven. Our iniquity is our burden, but it is one the Good Lord delights to free us of.” 

Judy nodded her understanding, though her silence proved she had yet to fully wrap her head around the idea. 

“Tell us more about the ghost ships, Papa, and Davy Jones! What did the fish tell the captain about them?” pleaded Lili.

“No, no, I believe it is just about time for you three to get some sleep.”

“PLEASE!” each of the girls began to beg.

“Another night, my darlings, another night altogether. For now, you sleep.” He carried each of his daughters to their beds, tucked them in, and prayed over them. He kissed them each goodnight, then closed the door to their small, shared room in the home at the foot of the lighthouse. 

 Alcott stepped over to the window and surveyed the now black horizon. His wife hugged him from behind. 

“Any ghost ships or leviathans out there?” Margaret chuckled in a whisper.

“I don’t suppose so,” he answered.

“Come,” Margaret beckoned him toward the well-used, well-loved blue sofa, where they sat steeped in the light of a single lantern. Together, they sat as they did every night for about 30 minutes. 

Margaret rested her head upon his shoulder, closing her eyes to sleep as Al watched the moonlight fight a losing battle with the overcast sky to illuminate the vast horizon.

Enjoy the first chapter? Keep an eye out for the book. For more regular updates follow my Instagram @m.d.eaton_author