Page 33 of Henrikk’s Secret

Asher

Asher swam a hundred or so metres to the island. The water had been lukewarm, not cold as he had expected, and the palm trees piled upon the island were a strange sight as the vibrant fronds swayed in the breeze.

Asher was only vaguely aware of Henrikk swimming at a slower pace behind him.

It took longer than he thought it would to reach the shore.

Then he was standing, his sopping wet clothes dripping, his shoes sinking into the damp sand as gentle waves lapped his feet.

“Explain,” Asher growled. He did not turn around to face Henrikk. He could not bear it. “No more lies, no more secrets, or I swear on my life that we are done.”

For once in his life, Henrikk explained himself, weaving a strange tale of portals and dragons born out of ambition and pain. It was more absurd than any cock-and-bull story Henrikk had ever served up for him.

Despite the stretching of the imagination required to absorb the scattered information, Asher believed him.

“The dragon wants to meet you,” Henrikk explained.

“The one that lives underwater,” Asher clarified, glancing at Henrikk, who nodded.

Asher didn’t give a sodding rat’s ass what the mythical creature wanted, although he was trying hard not to think about dragons at all. He was already sitting on a long list of questions that Henrikk had only just started to answer. He was familiar with the logistics now: two Henrikks, one dragon, and a portal connecting two unlikely worlds—or ‘planes’ as Henrikk described them.

This world seemed rather small: an endless expanse of water, with a small island plonked into the centre of it. ‘Paradise’, Henrikk promised, giving him a broad smile that Asher supposed was meant to reassure him, but was instead plain frightening.

“I’m sure you have more questions,” Henrikk ventured.

“You’re fucking right I do,” he agreed, swatting at a fly that kept flying into his face. “Paradise, my ass.”

“You should come to meet the dragon. I’ll explain everything then.”

Fuck the dragon. And fuck you too.

Asher wrung out his sleeves to relieve some of the weight dragging him down. The sun beat down on his back, scorching in a way he’d never experienced before, and he couldn’t free himself of that damn fly.

Why and how did Paradise have flies?

“I need to speak to Melody,” he said with some level of composure, trying to organise his thoughts when nothing around him seemed to make sense. “I need to return to Wintermaw, and I need to speak to my sister.”

“Why?” Henrikk asked, sounding equal parts dismissive and curious.

Asher rounded on him, a million reasons flooding his mind. Because she and your son tried to kill me, and I need to confront them face-to-face! Because it may surprise you—given I was your prisoner these past few months—but I had a life there, both in Wintermaw, and outside of it! I have affairs I must put in order. People I need to say goodbye to.

But wasn’t that just stating the obvious?

“I just do,” Asher snapped instead. “So, tell me… How do we get back?”

Henrikk opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Asher gestured around at the ocean. “The trapdoor opening in the water disappeared,” he said matter-of-factly, as if discussing portals and secret trapdoors was a normal topic of conversation. “But I assume there’s another way to get back. Somewhere in the jungle, perhaps? Or on the other side of the island?” Henrikk shook his head. “Or a way to reopen the portal?” Asher tried, frustration creeping into his voice.

“We can’t go back.”

“Of course, we can,” Asher said with a harsh laugh. “We can, and we will.” When Henrikk stayed stubbornly silent, Asher seized his wet shirt. “Won’t we?”

“There is no going back,” Henrikk said, looking sad and lost at the one time Asher needed him to be strong and fearless.

“What do you mean there is no going back?” Asher shoved him away. “Do you mean to say we are stranded?”

“Yes.”