Chapter 2: Welcome to Kildo!
Isla Reid stared down at the churning ocean and wondered what would happen if she fell overboard.
It
could happen, she reasoned. The railings felt flimsy and only came up to her waist. With no ferry staff nearby and only a handful of other passengers too preoccupied with puffing on cigarettes, or watching their Pokemon, would anyone even notice if she
did fall? Someone’s Snubbull careened past and Isla could have sworn she heard it cackle. That was another thought. A collision with a Snubbull could easily launch a full-grown person six or seven feet. More than enough to send her over the railings and down into the roiling ocean below. It wouldn’t be pretty, no, but she would have taken anything over what was coming next.
Over my dead body, her mother had declared, will
my daughter be going halfway around the world
alone. As if she’d conveniently forgotten the past four years Isla had spent working and living independently. Before Isla knew it, her mother had taken over, manning the telephone with the air of a military general, leafing through a dog-eared phonebook that hadn’t seen the light of day in several years. She banged the phone down ten minutes later, announcing that if she really
must go all the way to Kildo (but you really
should reconsider, darling, it’s ever so dangerous!), she would be collected from the ferry by her cousins. Cousins they’d had no contact with in years. Cousins that, if she was being honest, Isla had forgotten even existed.
Isla fixed her eyes forward. The ocean unspooled in every direction, slate-grey water in a haze of mist. The ferry ploughed on, swaying like the rocking of a newborn baby, kicking up fans of white foam. A man hanging over the railings made a funny burping noise as they cleared a large wave. Soba mewled and pushed her head into Isla’s clenched hands until she relaxed them enough to pet her. They were getting closer. She definitely wasn’t in Johto anymore.
A stir of movement behind her pulled her back from her percolating thoughts. A group of men shifted through a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. The youngest, who couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen, had a Pidgey perched on his shoulder and a frown deepening his face.
“Shouldn’t we go inside?” he prompted the older men, glancing up at the leaden sky. “The weather looks like it’s going to turn. I saw on the news that another storm is coming.”
“Don’t be daft!” a man with a wiry beard laughed. His accent was thick, heavy on the vowels, and took Isla a moment to understand. “We’ll be docked well before any bad weather hits.”
“You hope,” the younger boy muttered, but it was drowned out by laughter. “Dad, I’m serious! Remember I was telling you about
ADoomWithAView – that streamer? He said that all these storms and stuff are because the Vitalities are angry with— Dad? Dad! Dad, I’m trying to talk to you.”
“Son, you would do well to stop listening to that brainwashing drivel.”
“It’s not brainwashing! I’m serious! Humanity’s dependence on technology is what—”
The rest of the boy’s protests were drowned out by a prolonged blast of the ship’s horn. In the distance, something loomed out of the thinning mist. Land. Soba squeaked as a
ding-dong-ding rang out and a voice, in that same thick accent, crackled over the speakers.
“
Good afternoon, passengers, we will soon be arriving in Port Glen. Passengers are reminded that all personal belongings and luggage must be removed from the baggage area, communal spaces, and all outer decks before disembarking. For those disembarking via the gangplank, a reminder that all Pokemon – with the exception of service Pokemon – must be safely stowed in Pokeballs and not released until you are safely onto the harbour. To repeat, we will soon be arriving in Port Glen. Passengers are reminded—”
Isla’s heart tightened in her chest. This was it. They were here.
She let her Furret bump against her hands, Soba’s soft fur instantly soothing. “I guess it’s time to face the unknown, eh?”
“Fur!” Soba squeaked.
Isla waited until nearly everyone else had disappeared down the gangplank before braving it herself. She’d travelled as light as possible, much to her mother’s disdain, but the backpack still felt she like she was hauling around a bag of rocks instead of a few changes of clothes and a laptop. Anxiety prickled over her skin – or was it just the cold? – as she faced her first tentative steps into Kildo.
She was almost disappointed when she looked out onto a perfectly ordinary little port town. Tucked into an alcove of beach, Port Glen’s harbour was filled with people and the dreamy hues of blue and green. The town lay ahead in a generous curve, bordered by a strip of sea that already looked darker, almost black, under the deepening sky. A thin wind roused the hair on the back of her neck.
Her mother had given her a reference photograph of Rhona, the cousin who was supposed to be meeting her. Distantly related through a Morag MacLennon, Isla struggled to notice even one iota of family resemblance between them. The woman in the photograph had pale skin and a shock of red curls, but not much else in the way of distinguishing features.
At the bottom of the gangplank, Isla looked around, desperate for a sign of her chaperone. But there was no-one waiting. And as the last few passengers sidestepped past her, Isla suddenly felt very small and very alone.
Panicky thoughts looped through her head. Where was Rhona? Had she forgotten? Had she somehow missed her? Or maybe she just hadn’t seen her yet? The docks were still busy, but she forced herself to look at everyone there. A sailor tying ropes, a child wailing at a dropped ice cream, a woman arguing with a… what even
was that?
The Pokemon looked like an ordinary Wingull at first, so much so that she nearly skipped over it, but the longer she looked, the more she saw that was wrong with it. This Pokemon was much rounder, like it’d swallowed a bowling ball, and its wings were shorter and rimmed with black, rather than the traditional blue. Isla delved for her battered old Pokedex and lined it up with this new Pokemon.
“
Wingull, the Seagull Pokemon. Facing competition from Chibber for natural resources, Wingull have resorted to stealing food from witless tourists instead. As such, it has gained weight over time, as well as a more deceiving nature.”
So it was a Kildonian Wingull! That made sense. Isla was the first to admit that her knowledge of native Kildo Pokemon was lacking – a poor decision in hindsight – but she really should have been able to work out it was a regional variant. A flush deepened her cheeks as she imagined her professor’s displeasure.
Still with no guardian in sight, Isla watched the scene unfolding in front of her. The Kildonian Wingull screeched as it dove at the offending woman at the end of the docks, the sound rippling over the wind. There was something in the woman’s hands, something that the Wingull clearly wanted, certainly enough that it wasn’t put off at the attempts to chase it away. Isla let her bag fall and released Soba from her Pokeball.
“Soba, go and help! Use Sucker Punch to chase that Pokemon away!”
Soba bulleted towards the struggling woman, squashing herself flat against the ground like a snake, rising into a fierce tail strike when the unsuspecting Wingull’s back was turned. With another ear-splitting screech, the Wingull went down like a sack of potatoes.
By the time Isla caught up, the Wingull was gone, dropping into the water of the harbour with an indignant squawk. The woman glowered as she tried to piece together a ripped plastic bag brimming with wrapped sandwiches.
“Are you alright?” Isla asked the woman, patting her thigh to call Soba back to her side.
“Oh, I’m fine, chick, but I can’t say the same about my lunch! Those Wingull are a terrible nuisance. The tourists think it’s funny to feed them and then it’s us locals that have to live with them. Oh shoot,” she cursed as one of the sandwiches slipped out of her grasp.
Isla ducked down to retrieve it. “Here, let me help you.”
“Oh, thank you, chick,” the woman said. “I've a spare bag here. Gosh, I can’t thank you enough for stopping to help. Usually when a Wingull gets its sights on your food, it’s a foregone conclusion.”
“They definitely seem a lot more, uh, food-oriented than the ones we have back home!” Isla laughed as she helped drop the sandwiches into the new bag.
“Back home?” the woman’s eyes brightened. “Oh, I
thought your accent wasn’t local. You’re Isla, right? I can’t believe I didn’t realise it straight away. You’re the spit of your mum, so you are.”
Isla tried very hard not to mind being compared to her mother, but she took a small comfort in the fact that her waif of a mother would be far more scandalised. Was this woman really her cousin? Rhona was pleasantly round, much bigger than she was in the photograph. While she was still small compared to Isla, it felt like a comfort to finally see another woman in their family that looked like her. And Rhona was so pretty, her red curls pulled into a modest bun and her plump skin pebbledashed with freckles. She met Rhona’s eyes and they filled with warmth.
“Yes!” she said, barely able to hide her relief. “I’m Isla. And you’re Mrs—”
“Now, chick, you’ll call me Rhona. We’re family after all.”
“Rhona,” Isla corrected herself shyly. “Thanks ever so for letting me stay.”
“Oh, it’s not a problem, dear. Always happy to have visitors! I’m just sorry I’m a bit late, I’d stopped to pick up lunch and that blasted Wingull got a sniff of it. Chased me all the way down from the road end! If it hadn’t been for you and your lovely, uh… what Pokemon is this, dear?”
“This is Soba,” Isla stroked Furret and she purred appreciatively. “She’s a Furret. I’m not sure if you have them here. We’ve been partners for years.”
“She’s gorgeous!” Rhona said. “Don’t leave her alone with my daughter, though, she’s obsessed with all things Pokemon. She might try and adopt her!”
“You have a daughter?” Isla asked, frantically wracking her brain to try and remember if her mother had ever mentioned that.
“Yes, my Skye. She’s thirteen and Pokemon daft. And there’s my son, Blair. He’s the same age as you, give or take. They’re both very much looking forward to meeting you.”
Isla felt like something had just severed her at the chest. Why hadn’t her mother mentioned Rhona had
children? Living with one stranger had been a scary enough prospect, now there were two more cousins to contend with?
“Come on, chick, shall we head off?”
As the harbour decking melted into gravel path, Rhona’s questioning amplified – How’s your mum? How has she been getting on? Does she still see Great Aunt Florence? Does she enjoy working for herself? – as if she were trying to make up for decades of missed conversation. Even though Isla could only give short answers, Rhona still nodded and responded as if she’d just given her the secrets of the universe.
“So, what about you, Isla?” Rhona eventually asked as they turned away from the streets and approached a dirt road littered with pebbles. “Your Mum said you needed a place to stay for a while, but she was a bit hazy with the details. What brings you all the way to Kildo?”
By the time Isla finished explaining her final year thesis proposal, Rhona oohing and ahhing the whole way through, they were coming up on the
Whispering Pines Croft. A weather-beaten cottage sat beneath the shade of a looming forest and sloping hills. Fencing laced through the land like thread through fabric, bordering off sections of patchwork ground in brown and green and the occasional flash of vibrant purple. If Isla squinted hard enough, she could make out a field full of Miltank grazing in the distance. Another field to its left was occupied with the puffy, cotton-wool silhouettes of Wooloo. The whole place smelled of earth and mud, with a tinge of salt, wafting in by the ocean-bound breeze.
Rhona paused to catch her breath. “The
Whispering Pines Croft has been in our family for generations. Every generation, we seem to find something new to build.” Indeed, the cottage looked like a mishmash; a Frankenstein’s monster of building expansions. “We do all sorts here. Livestock, farming, Pokemon breeding on occasion... everything. The soil isn’t as forgiving as it is in other regions, it’s full of salt from the ocean, but we manage.”
Rhona didn’t take her shoes off when they clomped inside, but Isla slipped hers off, conscious of the mud clinging to the bottom of her soles. She put Soba in her Pokeball for the same reason. Rhona led her through to a kitchen with a low ceiling, steamy with condensation, and thick with the smell of baked apples. Like the house itself, the kitchen had a hodgepodge feel, a cosy mismatch. A proper family place, a life centred around a kitchen table.
“You can throw your stuff anywhere,” Rhona said, but Isla, totally out of her depth and wishing she could shrink to half her size to accommodate herself in this tiny, bustling place, just slotted her backpack in the gap by the fridge.
“Can I help you with anything?” Isla asked, the pressure of standing there like a stubbed toe eclipsing every other feeling.
“No, chick, you sit yourself down. You must be tired,” Rhona said as she laid the sandwiches down on the table. “Here, you take first choice, but be warned, if there isn’t an egg and cress left for my mother, she’ll fall out with you.”
Isla’s hand froze. “Your mum lives with you?”
“Yes. She went with my Dad to assisted living for a while, but when he passed, well, it was easier on everyone to have her here. Does her the world of good to be around people and have a little independence,” Rhona said over the clatter of plates. “She’s got more hobbies than I do, in fact! She teaches classes in the old Kildonian language on the weekends too. Keeps her out of mischief.”
“Really?” Isla’s heart leapt to her throat. “The Kildonian language is something I wanted to look into for my report!”
“Well, that’s a happy coincidence then. I’m sure she’ll be happy to go over some of it with you. Oh, hang on a moment,” she said, reaching up to pull a Pokeball from an apron hanging on the kitchen door. “I’m just going to call everyone to the table.”
Isla’s mouthful of cheese salad sandwich almost ended up splattering the table as Rhona tossed the Pokeball to the ground, and the kitchen was invaded by a flurry of grey and red feathers. The Pokemon – whatever it was – came up to Rhona’s hip, had a squat body, long muscular legs, and powerful wings that it beat to great effect as it noticed the stranger. Isla yelped as the Pokemon cocked its head, its movements quick and jerky like the ticking of a clock.
“Ruchter, calm your feathers,” Rhona said, tapping the Pokemon on its haunches. It clucked and crowed, shaking its head fiercely. “This is Isla. She’ll be staying with us for a bit.”
The Pokemon relaxed, but still fixed Isla with a withering glare. Isla consulted her Pokedex:
“
Ruchter, the Farmer Pokemon. The evolved form of Chickter. Able to precisely work tough soil with their talons, Ruchter can cover a small field in minutes. Despite looking old and frail, they are tireless, and can work for hours without a break.”
Rhona ruffled the Pokemon’s tail feathers. “Ruchter, please go and fetch Blair and Skye from the fields.”
The Pokemon was off before Rhona could even finish her sentence, barrelling out the door with all the grace of a drunk Tauros.
Rhona poured tea into a flowery mug and arranged one of the sandwiches on a matching plate. “Isla, I’m just going to pop up with this for my Mum. I’ll be right back. There’s lemonades and sodas in the fridge, so help yourself.” Rhona was halfway up the stairs when she called back, “And if my two come in tracking mud everywhere, make sure they wash their hands before sitting down!”
The tightness in Isla’s chest squeezed harder. Any moment now she was going to be dropped into a meeting with two new mystery cousins. What would they be like? Would they like her? Would they think she was weird, as most people did? The memories of barbed stares resurfaced like a Sharpedo’s fin breaking the water. Strangers, her peers, her friends, even her own family, all of them silently judging her, as she tried to navigate life being both big and invisible.
No, she needed to calm down. Spiralling wouldn’t help. She repeated it like a mantra inside her head. She hadn’t even met them, and she’d already decided they wouldn’t like her. She had to get better at this.
All the same, her stomach stayed knotted and eating felt like the last thing she wanted to do. Though maybe she should wait until her cousins came in anyway, do the polite thing. She paused and went to the fridge instead, opening and draining half a can of fizzy lemonade. The bubbles pulsed through her twisty stomach, prickling like pins and needles.
She heard the voices before she saw their owners, one deep and droning, the other light and lilting. Then the door swung open, Ruchter scrambling inside in a skittering of talons on wooden floor, two people bringing up the rear.
“Skye, take
off your shoes! Mam will go mad if you track mud in.”
He hadn’t seen her. Neither of them had. She didn’t know if that felt better or worse. As the two of them tromped towards the sink, she cleared her throat.
The oldest – a young man with long red hair tied in a ponytail – stopped in his tracks. “Oh, hey! You must be Isla? Nice to meet you,” he extended a hand covered in mud only to retract it when he saw Isla staring. “Maybe later, eh? Skye, make room at the sink please.”
“It’s nice to meet you too!” Isla said over the sound of running water. “Blair and Skye, right?”
“That’s us!” Blair shook his hands off at the sink. “Nice to have you here, cousin. It’s quite something having family coming from all the way in Johto, isn’t it, Skye?”
Skye moved like a ghost, silently staring under a canopy of auburn fringe. “Do you have Johto Pokemon?”
Isla blinked. “Ah, yes. Just one though.”
“I want to see.”
“Oh,” Isla looked at Blair and then to Ruchter. “Is that okay?”
“Go ahead!” Blair took a savage bite out of a cheese and pickle sandwich. “Let me just put Ruchter out so the two don’t end up in a scrap.”
After Ruchter went haring out to the garden in pursuit of some scattered pellets, Isla let Soba bounce out of her Pokeball. Her younger cousin’s eyes lit up.
“She’s so pretty! What is she?”
“She’s a Furret. They evolve from something called a Sentret. They’re kind of common around where I live, I’m afraid,” she added with a nervous chuckle, then wondered why on earth she was apologising.
“What type is she?”
“Normal.”
“Is she strong?”
“She’s not
super strong, but we’ve been together for seven years. She knows how to handle herself.”
“What moves does she know?”
“Sucker Punch, Fury Swipes, Rest, things like that.”
“What’s her nature?”
“The lady at the Pokemon Centre thinks she’s Bashful, if I remember right.”
“Does she have any TM moves?” And before Isla could answer, Skye kept going. “What’s her favourite Rock flavour? Where did you get her from? Does she—”
“Hey, easy up, Miss Missy,” Blair nudged his sister. “Come on, let Isla relax and eat her lunch. You need to get something in you too. Keep your strength up for the big day.”
Skye rolled her eyes but did as she was told.
“Big day?” Isla asked, desperate for something to fill the silence.
“Skye is going to Aberdrip City in a few days to get her very first Pokemon,” Blair said proudly.
Isla smiled encouragingly but the fact that her younger cousin was a year late in getting her first Pokemon didn’t escape her attention. She filed it away as Skye chattered on about Aberdrip City and how she still hadn’t decided which starter she wanted. By the time Rhona came back downstairs, Isla felt fuller and warmer than she had in days.
“I see you guys are getting acquainted,” Rhona smiled, collapsing into the chair next to her daughter and dropping a kiss on her head. “Here, what did you leave me? Ugh, cream cheese and cucumber. I don’t know why they keep it in the multibuy deal, no-one likes it.” She took a bite anyway. “How are you, Isla?”
“I’m good,” Isla said, and she meant it. “Thanks again for having me. It’s a real help.”
“So, what are your plans for Kildo?” Blair asked, nibbling on a crust. “Seeing anywhere nice?”
“I’m here for a research trip,” Isla said. “I’m doing a project on the legend of the Chessmen Pokemon, so really, what I want to do is visit the places that the Chessmen were rumoured to live, and then finish up with the exhibition in Hydrogate City.”
“Hydrogate is a long way to travel,” Blair said seriously. “Especially with all the… complications.”
Rhona shot Blair a fierce look. “Now, Blair, don’t go terrifying the poor lass! There’s nothing wrong, chick. Just a bit of funny weather.”
“And the rest, Mam! There was a landslip near Auchtermelty the other day. They reckon it could take days to clear. It’s totally stopped trade and deliveries; they have to go the long way around. Wee Arthur – that’s Auchtermelty’s Gym Leader, Isla – has been trying to dig it out single handed with his Pokemon but even he had to stop because it was too dangerous.”
“Arabella’s mother says it’s because the Vitalities are unhappy,” Skye interjected.
“Arabella’s mother needs to take a long walk off a short pier,” Blair said, and Skye let out a snort of laughter. Meanwhile Isla took note;
The Vitalities. The kid on the boat had mentioned those too, whatever they were.
“Blair, watch your mouth,” Rhona said, without looking up.
“Well how stupid can you get?” Blair said. “The Vitalities aren’t to blame for this.”
“Wait, what’s all this about?” Isla asked, confused.
“Just an old legend, chick.” Rhona said. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of them, considering you’re interested in the Chessmen tale.”
“Of course she hasn’t,” a voice rasped from the doorway and Isla nearly dropped her can of lemonade. Standing in the door’s alcove was an elderly woman, skin deeply lined, and grey hair styled into a candyfloss-like perm. She was tiny – maybe a whole foot smaller than Blair – but her voice was sharp and crisp like every word held a pointed edge. “Incomers don’t make a habit of learning our secrets,” the woman said, fixing her gaze on Isla. “Then they wouldn’t be secrets, would they?”
“Mum!” Rhona said, her voice tight. “What are you doing up?”
“You think I wouldn’t get up to greet our guest? Especially one who has such a vested interest in our local legends?”
“Oh, here we go,” Blair stood up. “I think I’m going to get the Miltank in. Looks like a storm on the horizon. Skye, are you coming?”
Isla glanced out the window. The sky had turned granite-grey, swirled with black. When Skye and Blair left, a thin wind sent the temperature plummeting. Rhona fiddled with the thermostat and the heating clanged into life, but it didn’t make a difference. Icy fingers had worked their way up Isla’s spine the minute the old woman had spoken.
“Isla, this is my mum, Morag. You can call her Nana Morag though, as my two do.” Rhona said. “Mum, why don’t you tell Isla about the Vitalities while I wash up?”
“Why not?” Nana Morag said, settling herself into the chair that Skye left empty. “The Vitalities legend dates to round about the same time as the Chessmen. Think of the two as intertwined, rather than separate. The Vitalities, made up of Voltean, Burnach, Creakrone, and Liathsong, were said to be able to give – and take – all forms of energy from the world around them. Legend has it that the earliest settlers, who came here centuries ago, were given gifts from the Vitalities that allowed them to heat their homes, harness the ocean, work on the harsh land, and even have some form of electricity hundreds of years before it became common use. Now, the Chessmen, they were different. They were said to control—”
“I know this,” Isla couldn’t help herself. “They’re known as the Progression, Expression, and Protection Pokemon. They gave early Kildonians the means to develop industry, arts, and security.”
The old woman nodded approvingly. “You know your stuff. Very good for an incomer.”
“Mother,” Rhona said warningly.
“You know how the legend ends, yes?” Nana Morag checked. “The Chessmen, enraged with how humans squandered their gifts, tore the region apart and set humanity back hundreds of years. The Chessmen became dormant and the Vitalities were banished, leaving the humans to rebuild alone. Many people believe the Vitalities are responsible for all the natural disasters—”
“They’re not disasters, Mother.”
“—because they’re still furious about being banished all those years ago.”
“Fascinating,” Isla breathed out. “Is there anything else you can tell me about them?”
“I think, for now, we’ll get you sorted in your room, shall we?” Rhona interjected hastily.
“Oh, of course. Thank you,” Isla said, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.
As she manoeuvred her backpack out of the gap by the fridge, Nana Morag caught her by the elbow, her thin, bony hand proving a surprisingly strong grip. “I have some books that you might find interesting. I’ll drop them off for you later.”
And then Isla was climbing the creaky old stairs, ready to try and slot herself into this strange new home with these strange new people.
**
The rest of the day passed slowly, like petals of a flower unfurling in the sun. Isla met Kenneth, Rhona’s husband, who split his time between working the farm and selling stock at the market in town. He was frighteningly tall, too tall for the cottages’ low ceilings, and he walked with a noticeable hump even when there was enough space. Rhona was a mean cook, serving up a vast pot of bubbling stew, and Isla had to banish all thoughts of whether the meat too was “home-grown” from her head in order to enjoy it.
Tiredness swept in the moment she laid her knife and fork down. The night came in so much faster in Kildo than Johto, and it felt somehow thicker and darker, like she was swaddled in a large black cloak. She was glad when Rhona took one look at her when the family was doing the final storm checks on the farm and sent her straight up to bed.
Maybe it was the fresh air, maybe it was the excitement, maybe it was the long journey, but the second her head hit the pillow, Isla was dead asleep.
Hours slipped by, or maybe it was minutes, until her world was split apart by a huge
bang! She sat bolt upright, cocooned in slippery blankets, and it was all she could do not to topple headfirst out of the bed. As the world phased in around her, freezing cold air gusted into the tiny room. Goosepimples erupted on her bare skin. The window, left on the latch before she fell asleep, had blown open. The storm had hit.
Slamming the light on, she untangled herself and grappled with the slippery latch. Eventually she shut out the wind. Outside, everything was pitch black like the swirl of spilled ink, and the rain lashed against the house like a hail of bullets. Isla pressed her face to the window, her breath misting the glass. Something bobbed in the distance, a single pin of light, moving through the velvety dark. It looked too small to be Blair or Kenneth. But who else would be out there during a storm?
The light moved closer. Isla scrubbed impatiently at the fogged glass, terrified that if she took her eyes away even for a moment, it would disappear. It grew, doubling first, then tripling in size, then a crack of lightning split the sky. Isla let out a gasp as her entire room plunged into darkness. The power was out.
The light in the garden was growing brighter.
Or was it really a light? It looked almost solid now. Like a real living thing. Or maybe not a something. Maybe a
someone. Something behind the light looked like the silhouette of a child.
It intensified, burning so bright that it seared Isla’s eyes and for a moment, all she saw was white. Then it faded and was gone. The lamp on her bedside table flickered back into life. The winds seemed to calm. The rain simpered to a stop. And Isla was alone, aside from the impression of a pair of wide, childlike eyes burned into the back of her head.
