Return to Xanadu, Ch 8 (a LOST sequel)
Nov. 6th, 2014 11:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stefanie_beanChapter 8: The Lighthouse
Pairings: Hurley/Claire, Kate/Sawyer
Characters: Hugo "Hurley" Reyes, Benjamin Linus, Desmond Hume, Claire Littleton, Kate Austen, James "Sawyer" Ford, Rose Nadler, Bernard Nadler, Carole Littleton, Aaron Littleton, Background & Cameo Characters, Original Non-Human Characters
Rating: M
Length: 4620 words
Status: Multi-chapter, WIP
Notes: Fantasy and supernatural elements. Think American Gods on the Island.
Summary: Hurley begins to heal and rebuild the Island, while Claire, Kate, and Sawyer head back to our world. But when it comes to love, the Island has a way of getting you where you need to be.
Chapter 8: The Lighthouse
The next day after Jack's burial, Hugo awoke to out-of-tune singing.
Bernard walked past with a sack in one hand and a sharp knife in the other. "Ah, awake at last. You can fish, help Rose, or you can help me."
Hugo glanced over to Rose, who already had a pot of water on the boil. "Aw, come on, Bernard, I told you I like to sleep in.”
Bernard just laughed, so Hugo rolled out of his blankets anyway.
Going fishing was a no-brainer. Bernard probably liked mussel-hunting because it reminded him of all the time spent scraping goo off people's teeth. To Hugo, mussels always seemed like more trouble than they were worth. There were easier ways to get your breakfast.
Behind the wreck of his tent, Hugo unearthed his old spears, tipped with still-sharp points made from old soda cans.
Right after the crash, people had tossed their trash every which way. Hugo had gathered it up, ignoring the annoyed looks, especially Sawyer's. Mostly Hugo scavenged alone, but sometimes Claire joined him. She couldn't bend over much with a belly full of baby, but she held the canvas travel bag as he filled it with cans, bits of plastic, and fragments of aluminum foil.
That was forever ago. With a small sigh, Hugo headed down to the sea-strand. He stood knee-deep in the surf while shadowy dark forms drifted back and forth in the shallows.
The fish had sure gotten brave, hadn't they? His first stab missed, but soon he speared a fat wriggling shape, two or three pounds at least. “Sorry, fish,” he apologized, as it thrashed on the end of the spear. Then he caught two more. In the past, he'd fish for an hour before getting a catch like this.
Hugo filleted the fish, then seared the slices on flat stones placed over the fire. The fatty fish sizzled, sending up a delightful smell.
Bernard returned, and dumped his sack of mussels straight into the pot.
"These mussels are beautiful," Rose said. She stirred them around in the boiling water with handfuls of sliced lemons. Soon the mussel shells opened, revealing their pale, plump insides.
"This is a feast, Rose," Desmond said.
“Magnificent,” Ben added.
Rose dished out lemony mussels and fried fish, then said, "Good fish, good meat, good God, let's eat.”
Afterwards, Bernard collected the bones and shells in the pot. Rose said, "Have to dig a trash pit real soon.”
"Umm, digging," Hugo said. "Can it wait? You know, digestion and all."
"That's right,” Bernard said. “Also, we have a few things to decide."
Rose was busy feeding Vincent fish scraps and shooing him away from the loose bones. "So, what's the number one thing to do? The most important?"
Desmond spoke up. "There could be people from the Ajira plane up on Hydra Island."
Hugo's face fell. “Sorry, dude, there aren't. After Jack busted us out of those cages, we made tracks to the plane fast as we could. We stumbled on a pile of bodies. Guess the smoke monster got them.”
"I seriously doubt that," Ben said. “There was a reason the Dharma Initiative did research on Hydra Island. It was the one place that the monster couldn't go. And it wouldn't have left bodies stacked in a neat pile.”
Rose looked up. “I guess you'd know, wouldn't you?”
“Rose—” Hugo said, trying to forestall an argument.
Bernard interrupted him. “Maybe some got away.”
"Charles Widmore's men were probably very thorough,” Ben said with a small sigh.
“How do you know that?” Bernard asked.
Ben gave him a cool look. “Because I trained some of them, back in the days before Charles and I had our falling-out.”
Hugo wasn't convinced. “Why would Widmore kill all those people, Ben? His story was that Jacob sent him here.”
“I don't know. Maybe Charles and Jacob had similar views on collateral damage.”
Collateral damage, that's what they called it. No more, Hugo said to himself. Not on his watch.
Desmond said, “I do want to go home, Hurley. Tell me how I do that?”
“I dunno, Des. And I don't know anything about boats, or— Hey, wait a minute. What about Locke's sailboat? We sailed it to Hydra Island, to get to the plane.”
“A sailboat? There was a sailboat?” Desmond's voice rose with emotion.
“Some kind of yacht. Sawyer called it the Elizabeth.”
Desmond shook his head in slow amazement. “Brother, that wasn't Locke's. It was mine. She was a beautiful ship, a Swan 57. The Others nicked her three years ago, and I figured those bastards had just sunk her or something. No offense, Ben.”
“None taken.”
“So where is she, then?” said Desmond.
Hugo shrugged. “Probably over by Hydra Island, where the plane took off from.
“Aye. So you think it really would be that easy, just sail the Elizabeth right out of here? I tried that before, if you recall, and ended up right back where I started.”
“Yeah, but that was with Jacob.”
“Are you sure? How do you know it was Jacob, and not the Island itself?”
“I don't. But if you want to go home, we got to get the boat.”
“It's worth a shot,” Desmond said. “But it depends on a lot of things. Is she seaworthy, is she provisioned, and most important, will the Island let me go?”
“Can you build a raft to get over to Hydra Island?” Bernard asked.
Desmond shook his head. "The currents are strange up by the Looking Glass. I don't trust a makeshift raft to get through. An outrigger canoe could make it, but not a raft.”
“Too bad we don't have an outrigger,” Hugo said.
“Oh, but we do,” said Ben. “One washed up half a mile down the beach.”
Hugo stared at Ben. “That could of come a little sooner. When did you find this out?”
“Instead of sleeping, I went walking just before sunrise. It clears my head.”
“Sounds like it's settled, then,” said Hugo, ignoring the jibe. “Let's go find the Elizabeth, Ben. You, Des, and me."
Ben hesitated. “I'm not the sea-faring type. Anyway, I have an errand of my own to run.”
Rose gave Ben a sharp look. “What errand?”
Ben stared back with practiced coolness. “Restitution.” He didn't elaborate.
Bernard said, “I'm not keen on us splitting up."
Rose gave a little scoff. "Bernard, we'll be fine. We managed three years on our own, even in the middle of all that time-jump craziness.” She waved at the beach camp as if its disorder offended her personally. "This place needs some organizing. It looks like a hurricane swept through here. Stuff's been blown up, tossed around, messed up—"
Hugo leaned over to Bernard. "It'll be okay. If Desmond's boat isn't up there, we'll come straight back."
"Right," Bernard said, but he sounded dubious.
Desmond pulled himself to his feet. “So, mate, if we're heading up east, it's time to raise anchor.”
* * * * * * * *
The day turned clear and bright as Hugo and Desmond paddled northward around the Island's east coast, helped by a strong current.
Hugo trailed his hand through the eternal back-and-forth of the sea. “Kinda weird, not having to run anywhere, to do something we don't understand. This job's easy: find the boat, bring it back.”
Desmond laughed.
“'Course, not that I understand any of this anyway.”
“Sometimes you don't have to understand it. You just live it.” Desmond put his own paddle down, letting the current carry them along. “I wanted to be a monk, you know.”
“You were a monk? You didn't drink like a monk. You cursed pretty good, too.”
“Oh, believe me, monks know how to drink. And they're even better than sailors at cursing. I was just a monk-in-training, though. They didn't think I had what it took. But it worked out for the best, because then I met Penny.”
“I bet she's really worried about you.”
“Aye. It's strange, though. Over the years, I've probably been missing Penny longer than I've been with her, if you add it up time-wise. Finally we got married, little Charlie was born, and this Island seemed almost like a dream. Then Widmore's boyos nabbed me from the hospital, and I woke up here. Believe me, I made them pay. I'd been a soldier in the Royal Scots Regiment, and I knew how to hurt people. If I'd had half a chance, I'd have killed them all right then and there.”
“Yeah, you were scary sometimes.”
“Am I still?”
“No, you're pretty chill.” Hugo swallowed. This would be hard to say. “I am gonna miss you. No joke. But I understand, you gotta do what you gotta do.”
“Indeed.”
They paddled on as the coast turned sharply northward. As the sun rose to the highest point in the sky, they passed a steep, rocky promontory which jutted out over the ocean.
“What in bloody hell is that?” Desmond said, astonished.
A tall brick structure stood on the highest point of the rocky hillside.
Hugo shrugged. “That? Just the lighthouse.”
Desmond gave him an odd look. "I can see that for myself. What I can't see is how I sailed in circles around this Island a hundred times, yet never saw it."
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, nobody else did, either, till Jacob told me to take Jack there.”
“And for what?”
Hugo shifted, a little uncomfortable. “Um, turned out Jacob was the one who brought Widmore here. And you, too.”
“Bloody hell he did.”
“Sorry, dude.”
Desmond shook his head again, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. “So, let's go have a look at Jacob's mysterious lighthouse, eh?”
Hugo peered over the cliff-side with a dubious eye. “Steep climb, Des.”
“We can take it slow. We should almost be to Hydra Island anyway.”
They beached the outrigger on a narrow strip of pebbled sand. About halfway up the rocky hill, the wind changed, bringing in white, salty sea-fog. By the time Desmond and Hugo reached the highest point, the lighthouse's top was barely visible. It was impossible to see anything out to sea.
The door was half off its hinges, where Jack had kicked it in. They thumped up the heavy wooden stairs, the lighthouse's interior dim from so little sunlight. Hugo panted a bit and let Desmond go on ahead. Even so, when they reached the top, the chest-bursting, heart-pounding exhaustion he had suffered when climbing up with Jack was gone.
Desmond looked around, careful not to step on splintered glass. “This is amazing.”
“You should of seen it before Jack went postal.”
“And here's the smoking gun.” Desmond picked up the long, battered brass instrument that Jack used to smash the lighthouse's triple-paned mirror.
“What's that, some kind of telescope?”
Desmond turned it over several times, then peered through it. “Don't think so.” He walked over to the brass frame where the scope had rested. “Well, look at this. You ever do any surveying, brother?”
“Can't say that I have.”
“If I'm not mistaken, it's some kind of theodolite. Look, here's some more of it.”
“Theodo-what?” Hugo scratched his head, clearly baffled.
Desmond continued to putter with the brass tube, trying to reposition it on its stand, cursing a little when it wouldn't fit. Bored, Hugo examined the large gear wheel covered with pencil-scrawled names. He found his, “Reyes,” next to the number 8. On a whim, he pulled the heavy chain. The gears made a low, scraping noise as the pointer came to rest at his name. “So, what you think this was for, Des?”
Desmond examined the brass frame. “This gadget here, if I'm not mistaken, lets you determine what time of year it is from the sun's position when it rises. Like at Maeshowe, in Scotland.”
“May-who?”
“Stonehenge, then. You've heard of Stonehenge?”
“Who hasn't heard of Stonehenge?”
“When the sun rose at just the right point, its light pointed to one exact spot. In Maeshowe it lit up a room. At Stonehenge, the light hit a certain stone. That let you know it was the day of the winter solstice.”
“What's a solstice?”
Desmond sighed, clearly not in the mood to give an astronomy lesson. “You know how the days are long in the summer and short in the winter?”
“Not in Australia. Claire told me it was the other way around.”
“Let's just worry about Scotland and LA right now. The winter solstice is the shortest day of the year, while the summer solstice is the longest. Then you have the spring and fall equinoxes in between, when the days and the nights are roughly of equal length. Then in between each solstice and equinox is a cross-quarter day.”
“Dude, how do you know all this? And worse, how do you remember it?”
“Sailors used to navigate by the sun, the moon, and the stars. Look here, this was set up to show all of them. Each solstice, each equinox, and the days in between.” Then Desmond frowned. “Thing is, it would have to be adjusted for latitude, especially if the Island moved.”
Hugo threw up his hands in frustration. “Des, what does this have to do with the big wheel with our names written on it?”
Desmond set down the theodolite and glanced at the gear wheel, as if seeing it for the first time. “That contraption? Haven't the foggiest.” He came closer, in order to read the names. “Mine's not here. Why'd Jack break it, anyway?”
“It's gonna sound kind of crazy.”
“Try me.”
“Jacob gave me a whole bunch of complicated instructions, how to turn the wheel, twiddle the mirrors, stuff like that. But Jack started playing around with the wheel, made it point to his name. When he saw his house in the mirror, the one from when he was a kid, he freaked.” It had been terrible when Jack had screamed at him, and he winced at the memory.
“So it was a kind of panopticon, then.”
Hugo had given up on all Desmond's strange references. Then something occurred to him. “It might still work. Let's see if we can find a big piece of mirror.”
They found a section about a foot across. Desmond held it up, so that it was surrounded by the big rectangular brass frame which wrapped around the gear wheel. Hugo said, “Hey, who knows. Maybe I can see my mom.”
“Anything there?” Desmond said.
“Just a bunch of fog. Move it around a bit.”
But no matter how Desmond positioned the mirror segment, it showed nothing but cloudy grey.
“I guess Jack busted it for sure.”
“Well, we'll never know, will we?”
* * * * * * * *
Desmond didn't say anything all the way back down the steep cliff. When they got to the shoreline, he shoved the outrigger into the surf a bit harder than necessary, then launched himself in without looking at Hugo. Hugo clambered in after him, afraid he'd tip the boat over, but it held steady.
Only once did Hugo ask, “Why the long face, Des?”
Desmond didn't answer, just stared ahead in silence.
Paddling was harder work now. They had to pull together rhythmically with no wasted movements, while tricky cross-currents swept them back and forth on the rough surf.
Hugo pointed out over to the east. "Are we lost, Des?"
Desmond gave a small shake of irritation. "How do you get lost paddling around a shoreline?"
"It's just that, uh, Hydra Island's pretty big, right? I mean, it has a runway you can land a plane on.”
“That's right.”
"Well, either we got a long way to go, or we're lost. Because shouldn't it be out there?"
Desmond stared out at the eastern ocean. “It's still pretty foggy.”
"So how far away is Hydra Island supposed to be from the main Island?"
"About three klicks."
"In miles, man."
"I'm supposed to know miles, but you don't know kilometers? Very well, then. A little under two miles."
"Desmondo, there's nothing there."
"Let's keep on heading up along the coast, and hope the visibility clears. Maybe it's around the next bend.” But Desmond sounded unsure.
As they paddled around the peninsula, the beach along the coastline disappeared. Sea birds screamed at the canoe as it rounded the tip. Desmond paddled like a machine, tense and unspeaking.
Finally Hugo broke the silence. “Des, I know you're down about the lighthouse being broken. But maybe you don't need it to get home after all.”
Desmond's shoulders relaxed. “Aye, that'd be grand, wouldn't it?”
The coastline made a ninety-degree dog-leg towards the west, and all at once two great fronts of water swept into each other. A huge wave lifted the canoe about ten feet, then dropped it almost as suddenly. Another swell bore them up, while a cross-wave keeled the canoe to one side, but the outrigger kept it steady.
“Pull!” Desmond called out, and they both paddled hard, struggling to stay atop the surging waves. Finally they cleared the peninsula and drew in closer to the shore, where the waves were gentler.
Up ahead, the fog cleared. They drifted for a few moments, panting and exhausted. Desmond said, “Brother, that was some luck. I thought we were sunk.”
Hugo was the first to see the boat. "Des, look over there!"
The Elizabeth rested in a rocky inlet a couple hundred feet from the huge, jumbled rocks which passed for a shoreline. There was no beach whatever, just a solid face of steep green and brown cliffs. An obstacle course of sharp boulders surrounded her, as the ocean twisted and turned between them.
Desmond said, “I ran this channel between the shore and Hydra Island. So where the hell is it?"
“It's, um, gone.”
“And where'd it go, then?”
“I dunno. Sank, I guess?”
Both men stared out to sea, as if their attention could somehow magically make the island reappear. The Elizabeth bobbled in the waves.
Desmond grumbled, "Looks like they let her run aground. She doesn't seem to be anchored."
Around the Elizabeth's seaward side, two fins moved in a lazy criss-cross. The word rested on both men's lips: sharks.
"Got any cuts on you, brother?" Desmond asked.
"Cuts? We got to swim out in that? Because that's totally crazy."
“Unless you can sprout wings and fly, I only know one way. Look, sharks are cowards. I've been in the water with them before. You just can't be afraid of them. They can smell fear."
"Dude, that's dogs, not sharks."
“Look, I'll bring us in as close to her as I can. You stay on the canoe and hold it steady. Once on board the Elizabeth, I'll toss you a tow rope. But you'll still have to get in the water.”
“Crap.”
“If you don't thrash about too much, most times they'll leave you alone. If one gets too near or bumps you, just give it a good smack across the chops."
"Right," Hugo said, his confidence suddenly flagging. Looking out to sea, he said under his breath, "Hey, sharks, give us a break, all right?"
Desmond just shrugged, then removed his shoes. He slipped into the choppy surf as quietly as possible, then headed for the Elizabeth with short, controlled strokes. In no time he reached the yacht. He climbed hand-over-hand up the dangling tow-rope, then tossed it to Hugo.
Hugo missed the rope on the first try. On the second, it practically knocked him over, as it was long and heavy with water. He looped it around a ring at the front of the canoe, hoping his knot would hold.
“Is she secured? Well, come on, then.” Desmond tossed the rope ladder over the side and waved Hugo on.
Hugo unlaced his boots, while sharks swam about fifty feet from the Elizabeth. The rough waters looked dark and deep. If he waited any longer, he'd lose his nerve altogether, so out he tumbled with a loud splash.
One good thing about being as fat as he was, he bobbed up buoyant as a cork. The light surf pushed him around a bit, but he kicked against it, amazed that he moved forward at all. A wave smacked him in the face, leaving him gasping. Then he body-surfed on the next wave as it peaked.
With a few strong pulls he managed to get close to the Elizabeth, and almost forgot to close his mouth when another swell broke over his head. Once more Hugo bobbed up, managing to grab hold of the ladder. It sagged under his weight but held. It wasn't as hard to pull himself up as he thought, either.
As Hugo stood dripping on the deck, Desmond threw him a damp towel. “Welcome aboard, brother.”
He tossed the smelly towel back to Desmond. "What'd you do, wrap fish with that? I'm not using it on my hair."
Desmond grabbed a strand of Hugo's hair and tossed it about, teasing. "Sorry we don't have full beautician services on board. This is the bargain-rate tour." Then Desmond scratched his head, contemplative. "Sawyer took her over to Hydra, you said, but it looks like he never dropped anchor. What I don't get is, why didn't she just wash out to sea? Or crash into these rocks, or get sucked into a sandbar? I mean, anything big enough to sink Hydra Island—"
"Maybe something kinda pushed her to shore."
"And what would do that, brother?"
"Umm, a storm, maybe?"
"Which explains why the Elizabeth wasn't just dashed to driftwood on those rocks there."
"You're the sailor, not me.” Hugo leaned over the starboard side, where the sharks still made their slow circles. “Thanks, guys, for not eating me.”
"And further, what's holding her here? She can't have run aground on a sandbar, or she wouldn't bob about like this."
"Maybe you could just, like, steer her out, see how that goes?"
"There's virtually no petrol left. Guess the Others who stole her never resupplied her. I doubt she'll start."
"Come on, Desmond, have a little faith. Just give it a shot."
After a few coughs, the motor rumbled to life. Desmond laughed and slapped his forehead, then gave Hugo's arm a small punch, grinning wide enough to split his face. "Don't know how long that will last, but at least there's a good tail wind coming up."
"I just wish I had my boots," Hugo said.
“You want to swim back to the outrigger and get them? Didn't think so. Anyway, it's better to feel her deck beneath your feet. Would you wear shoes with a woman in bed?"
Hugo turned away, flushed. To cover his embarrassment, he studied the wide blue space where Hydra Island used to be.
Desmond prepared to raise the main sail. "You ever sail a boat, brother? No? It's not hard. You're gonna love it."
(continued)
Pairings: Hurley/Claire, Kate/Sawyer
Characters: Hugo "Hurley" Reyes, Benjamin Linus, Desmond Hume, Claire Littleton, Kate Austen, James "Sawyer" Ford, Rose Nadler, Bernard Nadler, Carole Littleton, Aaron Littleton, Background & Cameo Characters, Original Non-Human Characters
Rating: M
Length: 4620 words
Status: Multi-chapter, WIP
Notes: Fantasy and supernatural elements. Think American Gods on the Island.
Summary: Hurley begins to heal and rebuild the Island, while Claire, Kate, and Sawyer head back to our world. But when it comes to love, the Island has a way of getting you where you need to be.
Chapter 8: The Lighthouse
The next day after Jack's burial, Hugo awoke to out-of-tune singing.
Bernard walked past with a sack in one hand and a sharp knife in the other. "Ah, awake at last. You can fish, help Rose, or you can help me."
Hugo glanced over to Rose, who already had a pot of water on the boil. "Aw, come on, Bernard, I told you I like to sleep in.”
Bernard just laughed, so Hugo rolled out of his blankets anyway.
Going fishing was a no-brainer. Bernard probably liked mussel-hunting because it reminded him of all the time spent scraping goo off people's teeth. To Hugo, mussels always seemed like more trouble than they were worth. There were easier ways to get your breakfast.
Behind the wreck of his tent, Hugo unearthed his old spears, tipped with still-sharp points made from old soda cans.
Right after the crash, people had tossed their trash every which way. Hugo had gathered it up, ignoring the annoyed looks, especially Sawyer's. Mostly Hugo scavenged alone, but sometimes Claire joined him. She couldn't bend over much with a belly full of baby, but she held the canvas travel bag as he filled it with cans, bits of plastic, and fragments of aluminum foil.
That was forever ago. With a small sigh, Hugo headed down to the sea-strand. He stood knee-deep in the surf while shadowy dark forms drifted back and forth in the shallows.
The fish had sure gotten brave, hadn't they? His first stab missed, but soon he speared a fat wriggling shape, two or three pounds at least. “Sorry, fish,” he apologized, as it thrashed on the end of the spear. Then he caught two more. In the past, he'd fish for an hour before getting a catch like this.
Hugo filleted the fish, then seared the slices on flat stones placed over the fire. The fatty fish sizzled, sending up a delightful smell.
Bernard returned, and dumped his sack of mussels straight into the pot.
"These mussels are beautiful," Rose said. She stirred them around in the boiling water with handfuls of sliced lemons. Soon the mussel shells opened, revealing their pale, plump insides.
"This is a feast, Rose," Desmond said.
“Magnificent,” Ben added.
Rose dished out lemony mussels and fried fish, then said, "Good fish, good meat, good God, let's eat.”
Afterwards, Bernard collected the bones and shells in the pot. Rose said, "Have to dig a trash pit real soon.”
"Umm, digging," Hugo said. "Can it wait? You know, digestion and all."
"That's right,” Bernard said. “Also, we have a few things to decide."
Rose was busy feeding Vincent fish scraps and shooing him away from the loose bones. "So, what's the number one thing to do? The most important?"
Desmond spoke up. "There could be people from the Ajira plane up on Hydra Island."
Hugo's face fell. “Sorry, dude, there aren't. After Jack busted us out of those cages, we made tracks to the plane fast as we could. We stumbled on a pile of bodies. Guess the smoke monster got them.”
"I seriously doubt that," Ben said. “There was a reason the Dharma Initiative did research on Hydra Island. It was the one place that the monster couldn't go. And it wouldn't have left bodies stacked in a neat pile.”
Rose looked up. “I guess you'd know, wouldn't you?”
“Rose—” Hugo said, trying to forestall an argument.
Bernard interrupted him. “Maybe some got away.”
"Charles Widmore's men were probably very thorough,” Ben said with a small sigh.
“How do you know that?” Bernard asked.
Ben gave him a cool look. “Because I trained some of them, back in the days before Charles and I had our falling-out.”
Hugo wasn't convinced. “Why would Widmore kill all those people, Ben? His story was that Jacob sent him here.”
“I don't know. Maybe Charles and Jacob had similar views on collateral damage.”
Collateral damage, that's what they called it. No more, Hugo said to himself. Not on his watch.
Desmond said, “I do want to go home, Hurley. Tell me how I do that?”
“I dunno, Des. And I don't know anything about boats, or— Hey, wait a minute. What about Locke's sailboat? We sailed it to Hydra Island, to get to the plane.”
“A sailboat? There was a sailboat?” Desmond's voice rose with emotion.
“Some kind of yacht. Sawyer called it the Elizabeth.”
Desmond shook his head in slow amazement. “Brother, that wasn't Locke's. It was mine. She was a beautiful ship, a Swan 57. The Others nicked her three years ago, and I figured those bastards had just sunk her or something. No offense, Ben.”
“None taken.”
“So where is she, then?” said Desmond.
Hugo shrugged. “Probably over by Hydra Island, where the plane took off from.
“Aye. So you think it really would be that easy, just sail the Elizabeth right out of here? I tried that before, if you recall, and ended up right back where I started.”
“Yeah, but that was with Jacob.”
“Are you sure? How do you know it was Jacob, and not the Island itself?”
“I don't. But if you want to go home, we got to get the boat.”
“It's worth a shot,” Desmond said. “But it depends on a lot of things. Is she seaworthy, is she provisioned, and most important, will the Island let me go?”
“Can you build a raft to get over to Hydra Island?” Bernard asked.
Desmond shook his head. "The currents are strange up by the Looking Glass. I don't trust a makeshift raft to get through. An outrigger canoe could make it, but not a raft.”
“Too bad we don't have an outrigger,” Hugo said.
“Oh, but we do,” said Ben. “One washed up half a mile down the beach.”
Hugo stared at Ben. “That could of come a little sooner. When did you find this out?”
“Instead of sleeping, I went walking just before sunrise. It clears my head.”
“Sounds like it's settled, then,” said Hugo, ignoring the jibe. “Let's go find the Elizabeth, Ben. You, Des, and me."
Ben hesitated. “I'm not the sea-faring type. Anyway, I have an errand of my own to run.”
Rose gave Ben a sharp look. “What errand?”
Ben stared back with practiced coolness. “Restitution.” He didn't elaborate.
Bernard said, “I'm not keen on us splitting up."
Rose gave a little scoff. "Bernard, we'll be fine. We managed three years on our own, even in the middle of all that time-jump craziness.” She waved at the beach camp as if its disorder offended her personally. "This place needs some organizing. It looks like a hurricane swept through here. Stuff's been blown up, tossed around, messed up—"
Hugo leaned over to Bernard. "It'll be okay. If Desmond's boat isn't up there, we'll come straight back."
"Right," Bernard said, but he sounded dubious.
Desmond pulled himself to his feet. “So, mate, if we're heading up east, it's time to raise anchor.”
The day turned clear and bright as Hugo and Desmond paddled northward around the Island's east coast, helped by a strong current.
Hugo trailed his hand through the eternal back-and-forth of the sea. “Kinda weird, not having to run anywhere, to do something we don't understand. This job's easy: find the boat, bring it back.”
Desmond laughed.
“'Course, not that I understand any of this anyway.”
“Sometimes you don't have to understand it. You just live it.” Desmond put his own paddle down, letting the current carry them along. “I wanted to be a monk, you know.”
“You were a monk? You didn't drink like a monk. You cursed pretty good, too.”
“Oh, believe me, monks know how to drink. And they're even better than sailors at cursing. I was just a monk-in-training, though. They didn't think I had what it took. But it worked out for the best, because then I met Penny.”
“I bet she's really worried about you.”
“Aye. It's strange, though. Over the years, I've probably been missing Penny longer than I've been with her, if you add it up time-wise. Finally we got married, little Charlie was born, and this Island seemed almost like a dream. Then Widmore's boyos nabbed me from the hospital, and I woke up here. Believe me, I made them pay. I'd been a soldier in the Royal Scots Regiment, and I knew how to hurt people. If I'd had half a chance, I'd have killed them all right then and there.”
“Yeah, you were scary sometimes.”
“Am I still?”
“No, you're pretty chill.” Hugo swallowed. This would be hard to say. “I am gonna miss you. No joke. But I understand, you gotta do what you gotta do.”
“Indeed.”
They paddled on as the coast turned sharply northward. As the sun rose to the highest point in the sky, they passed a steep, rocky promontory which jutted out over the ocean.
“What in bloody hell is that?” Desmond said, astonished.
A tall brick structure stood on the highest point of the rocky hillside.
Hugo shrugged. “That? Just the lighthouse.”
Desmond gave him an odd look. "I can see that for myself. What I can't see is how I sailed in circles around this Island a hundred times, yet never saw it."
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, nobody else did, either, till Jacob told me to take Jack there.”
“And for what?”
Hugo shifted, a little uncomfortable. “Um, turned out Jacob was the one who brought Widmore here. And you, too.”
“Bloody hell he did.”
“Sorry, dude.”
Desmond shook his head again, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. “So, let's go have a look at Jacob's mysterious lighthouse, eh?”
Hugo peered over the cliff-side with a dubious eye. “Steep climb, Des.”
“We can take it slow. We should almost be to Hydra Island anyway.”
They beached the outrigger on a narrow strip of pebbled sand. About halfway up the rocky hill, the wind changed, bringing in white, salty sea-fog. By the time Desmond and Hugo reached the highest point, the lighthouse's top was barely visible. It was impossible to see anything out to sea.
The door was half off its hinges, where Jack had kicked it in. They thumped up the heavy wooden stairs, the lighthouse's interior dim from so little sunlight. Hugo panted a bit and let Desmond go on ahead. Even so, when they reached the top, the chest-bursting, heart-pounding exhaustion he had suffered when climbing up with Jack was gone.
Desmond looked around, careful not to step on splintered glass. “This is amazing.”
“You should of seen it before Jack went postal.”
“And here's the smoking gun.” Desmond picked up the long, battered brass instrument that Jack used to smash the lighthouse's triple-paned mirror.
“What's that, some kind of telescope?”
Desmond turned it over several times, then peered through it. “Don't think so.” He walked over to the brass frame where the scope had rested. “Well, look at this. You ever do any surveying, brother?”
“Can't say that I have.”
“If I'm not mistaken, it's some kind of theodolite. Look, here's some more of it.”
“Theodo-what?” Hugo scratched his head, clearly baffled.
Desmond continued to putter with the brass tube, trying to reposition it on its stand, cursing a little when it wouldn't fit. Bored, Hugo examined the large gear wheel covered with pencil-scrawled names. He found his, “Reyes,” next to the number 8. On a whim, he pulled the heavy chain. The gears made a low, scraping noise as the pointer came to rest at his name. “So, what you think this was for, Des?”
Desmond examined the brass frame. “This gadget here, if I'm not mistaken, lets you determine what time of year it is from the sun's position when it rises. Like at Maeshowe, in Scotland.”
“May-who?”
“Stonehenge, then. You've heard of Stonehenge?”
“Who hasn't heard of Stonehenge?”
“When the sun rose at just the right point, its light pointed to one exact spot. In Maeshowe it lit up a room. At Stonehenge, the light hit a certain stone. That let you know it was the day of the winter solstice.”
“What's a solstice?”
Desmond sighed, clearly not in the mood to give an astronomy lesson. “You know how the days are long in the summer and short in the winter?”
“Not in Australia. Claire told me it was the other way around.”
“Let's just worry about Scotland and LA right now. The winter solstice is the shortest day of the year, while the summer solstice is the longest. Then you have the spring and fall equinoxes in between, when the days and the nights are roughly of equal length. Then in between each solstice and equinox is a cross-quarter day.”
“Dude, how do you know all this? And worse, how do you remember it?”
“Sailors used to navigate by the sun, the moon, and the stars. Look here, this was set up to show all of them. Each solstice, each equinox, and the days in between.” Then Desmond frowned. “Thing is, it would have to be adjusted for latitude, especially if the Island moved.”
Hugo threw up his hands in frustration. “Des, what does this have to do with the big wheel with our names written on it?”
Desmond set down the theodolite and glanced at the gear wheel, as if seeing it for the first time. “That contraption? Haven't the foggiest.” He came closer, in order to read the names. “Mine's not here. Why'd Jack break it, anyway?”
“It's gonna sound kind of crazy.”
“Try me.”
“Jacob gave me a whole bunch of complicated instructions, how to turn the wheel, twiddle the mirrors, stuff like that. But Jack started playing around with the wheel, made it point to his name. When he saw his house in the mirror, the one from when he was a kid, he freaked.” It had been terrible when Jack had screamed at him, and he winced at the memory.
“So it was a kind of panopticon, then.”
Hugo had given up on all Desmond's strange references. Then something occurred to him. “It might still work. Let's see if we can find a big piece of mirror.”
They found a section about a foot across. Desmond held it up, so that it was surrounded by the big rectangular brass frame which wrapped around the gear wheel. Hugo said, “Hey, who knows. Maybe I can see my mom.”
“Anything there?” Desmond said.
“Just a bunch of fog. Move it around a bit.”
But no matter how Desmond positioned the mirror segment, it showed nothing but cloudy grey.
“I guess Jack busted it for sure.”
“Well, we'll never know, will we?”
Desmond didn't say anything all the way back down the steep cliff. When they got to the shoreline, he shoved the outrigger into the surf a bit harder than necessary, then launched himself in without looking at Hugo. Hugo clambered in after him, afraid he'd tip the boat over, but it held steady.
Only once did Hugo ask, “Why the long face, Des?”
Desmond didn't answer, just stared ahead in silence.
Paddling was harder work now. They had to pull together rhythmically with no wasted movements, while tricky cross-currents swept them back and forth on the rough surf.
Hugo pointed out over to the east. "Are we lost, Des?"
Desmond gave a small shake of irritation. "How do you get lost paddling around a shoreline?"
"It's just that, uh, Hydra Island's pretty big, right? I mean, it has a runway you can land a plane on.”
“That's right.”
"Well, either we got a long way to go, or we're lost. Because shouldn't it be out there?"
Desmond stared out at the eastern ocean. “It's still pretty foggy.”
"So how far away is Hydra Island supposed to be from the main Island?"
"About three klicks."
"In miles, man."
"I'm supposed to know miles, but you don't know kilometers? Very well, then. A little under two miles."
"Desmondo, there's nothing there."
"Let's keep on heading up along the coast, and hope the visibility clears. Maybe it's around the next bend.” But Desmond sounded unsure.
As they paddled around the peninsula, the beach along the coastline disappeared. Sea birds screamed at the canoe as it rounded the tip. Desmond paddled like a machine, tense and unspeaking.
Finally Hugo broke the silence. “Des, I know you're down about the lighthouse being broken. But maybe you don't need it to get home after all.”
Desmond's shoulders relaxed. “Aye, that'd be grand, wouldn't it?”
The coastline made a ninety-degree dog-leg towards the west, and all at once two great fronts of water swept into each other. A huge wave lifted the canoe about ten feet, then dropped it almost as suddenly. Another swell bore them up, while a cross-wave keeled the canoe to one side, but the outrigger kept it steady.
“Pull!” Desmond called out, and they both paddled hard, struggling to stay atop the surging waves. Finally they cleared the peninsula and drew in closer to the shore, where the waves were gentler.
Up ahead, the fog cleared. They drifted for a few moments, panting and exhausted. Desmond said, “Brother, that was some luck. I thought we were sunk.”
Hugo was the first to see the boat. "Des, look over there!"
The Elizabeth rested in a rocky inlet a couple hundred feet from the huge, jumbled rocks which passed for a shoreline. There was no beach whatever, just a solid face of steep green and brown cliffs. An obstacle course of sharp boulders surrounded her, as the ocean twisted and turned between them.
Desmond said, “I ran this channel between the shore and Hydra Island. So where the hell is it?"
“It's, um, gone.”
“And where'd it go, then?”
“I dunno. Sank, I guess?”
Both men stared out to sea, as if their attention could somehow magically make the island reappear. The Elizabeth bobbled in the waves.
Desmond grumbled, "Looks like they let her run aground. She doesn't seem to be anchored."
Around the Elizabeth's seaward side, two fins moved in a lazy criss-cross. The word rested on both men's lips: sharks.
"Got any cuts on you, brother?" Desmond asked.
"Cuts? We got to swim out in that? Because that's totally crazy."
“Unless you can sprout wings and fly, I only know one way. Look, sharks are cowards. I've been in the water with them before. You just can't be afraid of them. They can smell fear."
"Dude, that's dogs, not sharks."
“Look, I'll bring us in as close to her as I can. You stay on the canoe and hold it steady. Once on board the Elizabeth, I'll toss you a tow rope. But you'll still have to get in the water.”
“Crap.”
“If you don't thrash about too much, most times they'll leave you alone. If one gets too near or bumps you, just give it a good smack across the chops."
"Right," Hugo said, his confidence suddenly flagging. Looking out to sea, he said under his breath, "Hey, sharks, give us a break, all right?"
Desmond just shrugged, then removed his shoes. He slipped into the choppy surf as quietly as possible, then headed for the Elizabeth with short, controlled strokes. In no time he reached the yacht. He climbed hand-over-hand up the dangling tow-rope, then tossed it to Hugo.
Hugo missed the rope on the first try. On the second, it practically knocked him over, as it was long and heavy with water. He looped it around a ring at the front of the canoe, hoping his knot would hold.
“Is she secured? Well, come on, then.” Desmond tossed the rope ladder over the side and waved Hugo on.
Hugo unlaced his boots, while sharks swam about fifty feet from the Elizabeth. The rough waters looked dark and deep. If he waited any longer, he'd lose his nerve altogether, so out he tumbled with a loud splash.
One good thing about being as fat as he was, he bobbed up buoyant as a cork. The light surf pushed him around a bit, but he kicked against it, amazed that he moved forward at all. A wave smacked him in the face, leaving him gasping. Then he body-surfed on the next wave as it peaked.
With a few strong pulls he managed to get close to the Elizabeth, and almost forgot to close his mouth when another swell broke over his head. Once more Hugo bobbed up, managing to grab hold of the ladder. It sagged under his weight but held. It wasn't as hard to pull himself up as he thought, either.
As Hugo stood dripping on the deck, Desmond threw him a damp towel. “Welcome aboard, brother.”
He tossed the smelly towel back to Desmond. "What'd you do, wrap fish with that? I'm not using it on my hair."
Desmond grabbed a strand of Hugo's hair and tossed it about, teasing. "Sorry we don't have full beautician services on board. This is the bargain-rate tour." Then Desmond scratched his head, contemplative. "Sawyer took her over to Hydra, you said, but it looks like he never dropped anchor. What I don't get is, why didn't she just wash out to sea? Or crash into these rocks, or get sucked into a sandbar? I mean, anything big enough to sink Hydra Island—"
"Maybe something kinda pushed her to shore."
"And what would do that, brother?"
"Umm, a storm, maybe?"
"Which explains why the Elizabeth wasn't just dashed to driftwood on those rocks there."
"You're the sailor, not me.” Hugo leaned over the starboard side, where the sharks still made their slow circles. “Thanks, guys, for not eating me.”
"And further, what's holding her here? She can't have run aground on a sandbar, or she wouldn't bob about like this."
"Maybe you could just, like, steer her out, see how that goes?"
"There's virtually no petrol left. Guess the Others who stole her never resupplied her. I doubt she'll start."
"Come on, Desmond, have a little faith. Just give it a shot."
After a few coughs, the motor rumbled to life. Desmond laughed and slapped his forehead, then gave Hugo's arm a small punch, grinning wide enough to split his face. "Don't know how long that will last, but at least there's a good tail wind coming up."
"I just wish I had my boots," Hugo said.
“You want to swim back to the outrigger and get them? Didn't think so. Anyway, it's better to feel her deck beneath your feet. Would you wear shoes with a woman in bed?"
Hugo turned away, flushed. To cover his embarrassment, he studied the wide blue space where Hydra Island used to be.
Desmond prepared to raise the main sail. "You ever sail a boat, brother? No? It's not hard. You're gonna love it."
(continued)