'The mist has hidden the sun. I can't see through this muck.' Melcorka flapped a hand in a vain effort to clear away the mist. 'Tell it to go away, Bradan. I have no idea what's out there.'
'It could be anything – more sea monsters, more volcanoes, more savage Kalingo, or even the friendly traders of the Chola Empire.' Bradan half furled the sail. 'We'll move slowly in case there is land nearby, or some other danger.'
Melcorka stretched again, sighed and took control of the tiller. 'Get on the oars, Bradan, and I'll manage the sail and the steering.'
A seabird called, the sound echoing eerily through the fog, while the occasional wave lapped over the low gunwale. Melcorka watched Bradan's long, lean body as he sat on the rowing bench and took the oars. Years of rowing and travelling had created a man of firm muscles without an ounce of spare fat. Although Melcorka had been his companion for some years, she did not know how old he was. He seemed ageless, as if he had always been the same and always would be. She mused over him, smiling as she hummed a small song her mother had sung to her as a child.
'Over there! To the left!' Melcorka pointed with her chin. 'I'm sure I saw land.'
Bradan squinted narrow-eyed into the mist. 'I can't see anything. What was it like?'
'White,' Melcorka said. 'Pure white, like snow. Maybe we're back in Greenland with the Norse and the Skraelings and the Ice King.'
'It's too warm for Greenland,' Bradan said.
'Look!' Melcorka pointed again. 'I'm sure that I can see white land.'
Bradan twisted to see over his shoulder. 'I've heard that the south coast of Britain has white cliffs, but we're not sufficiently far north. We are thousands of miles from Britain.'
Melcorka shrugged. 'Well, I don't know.'
'Something's happening, Mel,' Bradan said. 'Look.'
The mist lifted, leaving Catriona bobbing on an azure sea that sparkled under the caress of the sun. A mile to starboard, something white gleamed on an otherwise unbroken, hazed horizon.
'I've never seen a pure white island before.' Bradan lifted his staff and tapped it on the deck. 'It's another new thing.'
'You like new things, Bradan,' Melcorka said. 'You want to land there, don't you?' She altered the angle of the tiller, steering toward the island even as she spoke.
Bradan nodded. 'The Chola Empire can wait. It will still be there tomorrow. We may never sail this way again, and a pure white island is intriguing.'
Riding light, Catriona eased across the waves. Melcorka shook out the single square sail, and they closed with the island.
'It's not all white,' Bradan said, as they came within half a mile of it. 'There is a copse of trees back there.'
'It's sand,' Melcorka said. 'It's pure white sand.'
'I had hoped for something more unusual.' Bradan voiced his disappointment. 'Take the sail in, Mel, we're about to land.'
Catriona hissed onto a gently shelving beach where the sea kissed soft white sand. 'I've never seen sand this colour.' Bradan jumped onto the beach and looked around. 'It's warm and pristine. There's not a shell, not a stone, no tide-wrack, not a footprint. There are no birds and no insects. This is the strangest island I have ever seen.'
'Help me haul Catriona further up,' Melcorka said, and they pulled the boat a few yards away from the lapping waves. 'You're right, Bradan. There's no high-tide mark, no fringe of seaweed, no line of coconuts or other refuse of the sea. There's not even a breeze to skiff the surface of the sand.'
'We're being watched,' Bradan said. 'I can feel it.'
Melcorka glanced at him. 'Hostile-watched, or curious-watched?'
'I can't tell yet.' Bradan thrust his staff into the sand. It sunk deep. He thrust further until the body of the staff disappeared. 'There's no bottom here. The sand goes on forever. Don't look at the trees, Mel. I think there's somebody there.'
Melcorka turned her back to the trees and stared along the length of the beach. 'There's nothing here except the trees,' she said. 'No buildings, no rocks, no water, no hills. This is a desert island indeed.'
'I don't think the watcher is unfriendly,' Bradan said. 'I can't feel anything unfriendly.'
Melcorka smiled and tapped the hilt of her sword. 'I have a cure for hostility.'
'There is no need for that.' Bradan shook his head. 'Even since you fought the Kalingo, you have been too keen to use Defender.'
'I am the Swordswoman,' Melcorka said.
'You are more than that,' Bradan reminded her. 'You wait here, and I'll walk up to the trees. If I need you…'
'If you need me, I'll be at your side,' Melcorka said. 'I am not letting you walk up to any foreign man alone. If need be, I have this.' She tapped Defender again.
'Try not to kill anybody, Mel.' Bradan lengthened his stride and headed for the trees. A breeze eased up, keeping conditions pleasant without lifting even the surface of the sand. They walked on, feet sinking deeply, yet after a few moments of steady walking, the copse seemed no closer. Bradan turned around. Catriona lay where they had left her, smaller with distance.
'A man is sitting amidst the trees,' Melcorka said. 'I can see him as plainly as I see you.'
'I see him.' Bradan tapped his staff on the sand. 'He's watching us.' He raised his staff. 'Halloa there!' His voice faded in the vast spaces around them. The man did not respond.
'I'll try,' Melcorka said. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted, 'Can you hear us? If you hear us, raise a hand!'
'They don't speak Gaelic around here, remember,' Bradan said. 'I'll try Latin.' He shouted again, with the words sounding harsh and guttural to Melcorka's ear. The man remained sitting.
'How old would you say he was?' Bradan asked.
'About thirty,' Melcorka guessed.
Bradan nodded. 'He's all alone, I think.' He looked around. The whiteness stretched from the soft surf of the shore to the still-distant trees, and all around the island. There was
