Free The League of Sharks by David Logan

louder with every step and this spurred him on.
    Finally he pushed through a clump of tall ferns and found himself at the top of a high cliff, looking out at an expanse of ocean. The cliff-face beneath him was almost vertical and impassable. Black volcanic rocks reached down sixty metres or more to where waves crashed angrily against them. He looked left and right and the cliffs continued in both directions for as far as he could make out. He couldn’t see any way down.
    He looked out to sea, hoping for some sort of landmark so he could figure out where he was, but there was nothing. Just miles and miles of open water in every direction.
    Every direction? A flash of inspiration raced through him and he started back the way he had come. He stopped at the first of the impossibly tall trees he reached and started to climb. The tree was old and gnarled and therefore covered in thick protruding knots and welts.To begin with, it was easy to climb. However, as he got higher the bark started to smooth out and there were fewer handholds. Fortunately for Junk, in the last few years, he had crewed many a sailing ship, replica topsail schooners with masts forty metres high and brigantines and barques converted into luxury cruise ships. He had become a bona fide rigging monkey, able to scamper to the top of the highest mast faster than anyone else. This tree was no different to Junk than a mast on a ship.
    Within minutes he made it to the very top. Admittedly it was more than three times as high as any mast he’d ever climbed, and when he emerged through the canopy the view took his breath away. He felt light-headed from the altitude and the exertion of the climb and took a moment to steady himself. He looked around, turning to his left and then swivelling to his right to take in as much of a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view as was possible. His heart sank. Two things were readily apparent. One, he was on an island, and two, there was almost nothing but ocean in every direction. The only other land he could see was a smaller island about two kilometres away. It had high black cliffs on the side facing him and tall trees much like the one he was at the top of right now. There were some curious-looking large birds circling it. Maybe if he could find a way down to the sea, he could swim to it. It wouldn’t be easy. The water was choppy. And even if he got there, then what? It didn’t look inhabited. No more than this island. Maybe there was just another Garvan over there.
    Junk hooked his leg around the branch he was on and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. Garvan must have a boat somewhere. He must. He couldn’t just stay on this island forever. Junk decided his only hope was to find it.

7
    Junk followed a path that took him to the edge of the cliff, looking out to sea. In the distance he saw the black rock thronged with birds. He noticed one of the birds out on its own, circling high in the sky. It turned and started gliding towards him. As it drew closer he saw how big it actually was. He had thought it was the size of an eagle, but now he knew it was much bigger. The size of a man.
    At first Junk couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. The bird
was
a man. Half a man at least. Its torso looked almost human. Its legs were thin but muscular and tucked up beneath him as he flew. Its wingspan was easily four metres, maybe more. The lower half of its body was covered in dark brown feathers. The upper part of its chest, neck and head were bare and pink, like a plucked chicken. Where its wings joined its body they were thick and muscular, almost like human arms, and they ended in hands. Much like human hands but with only three digits. Two of these ended in long, sharp talons. Its face was owl-like: flat and round with bulbous, lucent orange eyes and a fierce scowl etched on it. Its beak looked likea hard, shiny nose, half-buried in the mottled flesh of its face, sharp and pointed at the end.
    By the time he