Chapter Four: Avalon

 The ethereal glow of the island pulsed gently, the haunting melody wrapping around them like a warm embrace. Omar, Khalid, the kid and Idris, their bodies weary, their spirits battered, followed the luminous beings deeper into the island's heart. The air hummed with an unseen energy, the vegetation glowed with an inner light, and the waterfalls shimmered like liquid moonlight.

"This… this is incredible," Khalid whispered, his voice filled with awe. He reached out to touch a luminous flower, its petals unfolding at his touch, releasing a shower of sparkling dust.

"It's like a dream," Omar murmured, but even as he spoke the words, a seed of doubt began to sprout in his mind. Dreams could be beautiful, but they could also be deceptive.

The beings of light led them to a clearing, where a banquet of exotic fruits and crystal-clear water awaited them. The aroma was intoxicating, the fruits unlike anything they had ever seen, glowing with vibrant colors and emitting a sweet, alluring scent. It is like slice from paradise.

"Eat," one of the beings said, their voice like the chime of distant bells. "Rest. You are safe here."

Omar hesitated. He looked at Khalid and Idris, their faces reflecting the same uncertainty he felt. The food looked tempting, the water inviting, but something felt… off. Too perfect. Too magical.

"Thank you," Omar said, his voice cautious. "But… where are we? What is this place?"

The beings exchanged a look, their luminous eyes glowing brighter.

"This is Avalon," one of them said. "A sanctuary for weary travellers. A place of peace and healing."

"Avalon?" Idris repeated, his brow furrowed. "But… that's just a legend."

The beings smiled, their expressions enigmatic.

"Legends are often rooted in truth," one of them replied.

They gestured towards the food. "Eat. You are weary. You need sustenance."

Khalid, his stomach growling, reached for a glowing fruit. He hesitated for a moment, then took a bite. His eyes widened in pleasure. "It's… delicious," he murmured while handing some to his kid.

Omar and Idris, still hesitant, watched as Khalid devoured the fruit. He seemed to be in a trance, his eyes glazed over, a look of blissful contentment on his face.

"Come," another being said, extending a hand towards Omar. "Join us."

Omar looked at the hand, then at Khalid, then back at the beings. He felt a growing unease. Something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he felt a sense of dread creeping into his heart.

"Thank you," he said, his voice firm. "But I'm not hungry. I'd like to rest first."

The beings exchanged another look, their smiles faltering slightly. "Of course," one of them said. "As you wish."

They led Omar and Idris to a nearby grove, where beds of soft, glowing moss awaited them. As they lay down, Omar kept his eyes open, watching the beings, watching Khalid and the kid. He was still in a trance, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes fixed on some unseen point in the distance.

Omar felt a chill run down his spine. He knew something was terribly wrong. This paradise, this sanctuary, it was a trap. He didn't know what these beings were, but he knew they were dangerous. He had to get out of here. He had to warn Khalid and the kid.

He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, listening to the haunting melody that filled the air. He knew he had to be careful. He had to be smart. He had to find a way to escape this magical, terrifying island. And as he lay there, his mind racing, he knew that the dream of Avalon was quickly turning into a nightmare.

Omar feigned sleep, his mind racing. He had to figure a way out of this idyllic trap. He glanced at Idris, who seemed to have succumbed to the island's enchantment, his breathing deep and even. Khalid, still in his trance-like state, sat a short distance away, his gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance, a vacant smile plastered on his face. Khalid's son, however, was awake. The boy, perhaps sensing the unease in the air, fidgeted in his father's lap, his big, innocent eyes darting around the grove, taking in the strange, glowing flora and the unsettling stillness of the beings of light.

An idea sparked in Omar's mind. The boy. He was their best chance. The beings seemed less focused on the child, their attention primarily on the adults. He needed to get to the boy, to wake him, to get him away from his entranced father.

He waited until the beings of light moved further into the grove, their soft, melodic voices fading into the background. Then, he slowly, carefully, sat up. He glanced at Idris, still deep in his enchanted slumber. He hoped he wouldn't have to leave him behind, but time was of the essence.

He rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate, trying not to attract attention. He approached Khalid and his son, his heart pounding in his chest. The boy looked up at him, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion.

"Psst," Omar whispered, putting a finger to his lips. "Don't make a sound."

The boy nodded, his eyes fixed on Omar.

"Your father… he's asleep," Omar said softly. "We need to go. These people… they're not what they seem."

The boy seemed to understand. He nodded again, his small hand gripping Omar's finger tightly.

Omar gently lifted the boy from his father's lap. Khalid stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open for a moment, but then he settled back into his trance, his smile still fixed, his gaze still distant.

"Come," Omar whispered to the boy, taking his hand. "We have to be quiet."

They crept away from Khalid and Idris, moving stealthily through the grove. The boy, surprisingly, was calm and cooperative, his small hand holding tightly to Omar's. He seemed to sense the danger, the urgency of their situation.

As they reached the edge of the grove, Omar paused, looking back. He felt a pang of guilt leaving Idris and Khalid behind, but he knew he couldn't risk it. He had to save the boy, and hopefully, he could come back for the others later.

He looked at the boy, his innocent eyes filled with trust. "We're going to the boat," he whispered. "Can you be brave?"

The boy nodded, his small face determined.

They slipped through the dense vegetation, the eerie music of the island growing fainter with each step. They reached the beach, the Al-Amal waiting for them, a fragile vessel of escape from this magical, terrifying paradise.

As they pushed the boat into the water, Omar heard a sound behind them. He turned and saw the beings of light emerging from the grove, their smiles now gone, their eyes glowing with a cold, malevolent light.

"They've seen us!" he gasped, his heart pounding.

He pushed the boat into the water with all his might, then jumped aboard, pulling the boy after him. He grabbed the oars, rowing frantically, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the island.

The beings of light reached the shore, their voices now harsh and menacing, chanting in a language Omar didn't understand. They raised their hands, and the air around them shimmered with an unnatural energy.

Omar rowed faster, his muscles burning, his breath ragged. He glanced back and saw the beings of light extending their arms towards the boat, their eyes burning with a terrifying hunger. He knew they were trying to stop them, to bring them back to the island, back to their enchanting trap. But he wouldn't let them. He wouldn't let them take the boy. He wouldn't let them take him.

With a final, desperate heave, he pushed the boat out of reach of their grasp. The beings of light shrieked in frustration, their voices filled with a chilling rage. They watched as the Al-Amal, carrying its precious cargo of hope and innocence, drifted further out to sea, leaving the magical, terrifying island behind. Omar knew they had escaped, but he also knew that the memory of the island, the haunting music, the vacant smiles, would forever be etched into his mind. He had saved the boy, but he had left Idris and Khalid behind. He didn't know if they were alive or dead, trapped in the island's enchanting embrace. He vowed to return, to try to save them, but for now, he had to protect the boy, to keep him safe from the terrors of the sea, the terrors of the unknown, and the terrors of the magical, terrifying island that had almost claimed their souls.

The Al-Amal, smaller and more vulnerable than ever, drifted on the vast, unforgiving sea. Omar, his body aching, his mind reeling from the escape, looked at the boy huddled beside him. The child, surprisingly calm, clutched a small, smooth stone, his only possession. He looked up at Omar, his eyes, so much like Khalid's, filled with a quiet understanding that belied his young age.

"They won't come after us, will they?" the boy whispered, his voice barely audible above the gentle lapping of the waves.

Omar wished he could offer reassurance, but he couldn't. He didn't know. He didn't understand the nature of the beings on the island, their power, their motives. All he knew was that they were dangerous, that they had lured them with promises of paradise, and that they had tried to keep them there, trapped in their enchanting realm.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "But we'll be careful. We'll stay away from that island."

He looked back at the horizon, the faint outline of the island still visible in the distance. It seemed so peaceful, so beautiful, but he knew the truth. It was a place of darkness, a place of magic, a place of terror.

He turned his attention back to the sea, searching for any sign of land, any hint of rescue. The sun beat down mercilessly, the water barrel was almost empty, and their meagre supplies were dwindling fast. They were alone, adrift, with no hope of finding their way back to their homeland.

Days turned into nights, and nights into days. The boy, whose name was Ilias, became Omar's constant companion. He was quiet and observant, his presence a source of both comfort and worry. Omar tried to teach him about the sea, about the stars, about the skills he had learned from his grandmother. He wanted to give Ilias a chance, a chance at a life free from fear and hardship.

One evening, as the sun began to set, painting the sky in vibrant colours, Ilias pointed towards the horizon. "Look," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "Land!"

Omar looked in the direction Ilias was pointing, his heart leaping with hope. And there it was, a faint outline against the sky, a promise of salvation.

As they drew closer, the land took shape. It was a small island, rocky and barren, but it was land. It was a place where they could find shelter, where they could rest, where they could hopefully find food and water.

They landed the boat on a small beach, Ilias jumping out eagerly, his face filled with joy. Omar followed him, his legs weak but his spirit renewed.

The island was deserted. There was no village, no sign of human habitation. But there was fresh water, trickling from a spring in the rocks, and there were wild berries growing on the bushes. They had found a temporary refuge, a place where they could replenish their supplies and gather their strength.

They stayed on the island for several days, exploring its hidden corners, foraging for food, and resting their weary bodies. Ilias, despite his young age, was resourceful and resilient. He helped Omar gather berries, he learned how to fish in the shallows, and he even managed to start a small fire with dried leaves and twigs.

As they prepared to leave the island, Omar looked at Ilias, his heart filled with a mixture of admiration and affection. He had saved this boy from the clutches of the magical island, and now, he was responsible for his future.

"We're going to find your family," Omar said, his voice firm. "I promise you."

Ilias nodded, his eyes filled with trust. He had lost his father, perhaps forever, but he had found a new protector, a new friend, a new hope.

They set sail once more, their hearts filled with a renewed sense of purpose. They were no longer just drifting aimlessly, tossed about by the whims of the sea. They were on a mission, a mission to find a safe haven for Elias, a mission to give him a chance at a better life.

And as the Al-Amal, carrying its precious cargo of hope and innocence, sailed towards the horizon, Omar knew that their journey was far from over. They still faced dangers, uncertainties, and the vast, unpredictable sea. But they were together, bound by their shared experiences, their shared loss, and their shared hope for a brighter future. They were survivors, and they would keep fighting, keep hoping, keep believing, until they reached their destination, until they found a place to call home.

The Al-Amal, smaller and more vulnerable than ever, sliced through the inky black water. Omar, his gaze fixed on the starlit sky, felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. Ilias, curled up beside him, slept soundly, oblivious to the turmoil in Omar's heart. He had promised to find Ilias's family, a promise he intended to keep, but the vastness of the sea, the uncertainty of their destination, filled him with doubt. How could he possibly find them in this endless expanse of water?

Days blurred into nights. The sun beat down mercilessly, the water barrel was nearly empty, and their meagre rations were dwindling fast. They were running out of time. Despair began to creep back into Omar's heart, whispering insidious doubts in his ear. Had he made a mistake, taking Ilias away from the island? Were they simply delaying the inevitable, prolonging their suffering?

Then, one night, a strange thing happened. The wind, which had been their constant companion, died down completely, leaving the Al-Amal becalmed. The sea became eerily still, the only sound the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull. An unsettling silence descended upon them, a silence that felt heavy, oppressive.

"Something's wrong," Omar whispered, his voice laced with unease.

Ilias stirred in his sleep, then sat up, his eyes wide and alert. He looked around, his gaze fixed on the water. "Do you hear that?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

Omar strained his ears, listening intently. At first, he heard nothing but the silence. Then, a faint sound reached his ears, a low, rhythmic drumming, like the beating of a distant drum.

"It's… music," Ilias whispered, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and fascination.

The drumming grew louder, more insistent, filling the air with its primal rhythm. It was a hypnotic sound, both alluring and terrifying. Omar felt a chill run down his spine. He remembered the music of the magical island, the enchanting melody that had almost trapped them. Was this another siren's call, another deceptive lure?

As they listened, a faint glow appeared on the horizon, a pulsating light that seemed to emanate from the source of the drumming. It grew brighter, gradually taking shape, revealing itself to be a large vessel, its sails billowing in the non-existent wind.

"A ship," Omar breathed, his voice filled with a mixture of hope and dread.

As the ship drew closer, they could make out its details. It was unlike any ship they had ever seen. Its hull was painted in strange symbols, its sails were made of a dark, shimmering material, and its mast was topped with a grotesque figurehead. It was a ghost ship, a vessel of the damned.

"It's… it's them," Ilias whispered, his eyes wide with terror. "The people from the island."

Omar felt a wave of panic wash over him. He knew they were in danger. This ship, this vessel of the damned, had come for them. He didn't know how they had found them, but he knew they were not safe.

The ship glided towards them, its movements unnaturally smooth, its sails billowing despite the lack of wind. It stopped beside the Al-Amal, its massive form casting a dark shadow over their small boat.

The crew of the ghost ship emerged from the shadows, their faces pale and gaunt, their eyes glowing with an eerie light. They were the beings from the island, their smiles now gone, replaced by expressions of cold, malevolent intent.

"You cannot escape us," one of them said, his voice echoing across the water.

 "You belong to us. Comprendo Amigos"

Omar grabbed Ilias and pulled him close, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew they were trapped. They were at the mercy of these terrifying beings, these guardians of the magical island. He had tried to save Ilias, but he had led them into an even greater danger. They were doomed.

The beings from the ghost ship reached down, their hands outstretched, their eyes filled with a terrifying hunger. They were coming for them. Omar closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable. He had failed. He had failed Ilias. He had failed himself for the umpteen time. Their journey had come to a terrifying end.

The cold, skeletal fingers of the beings from the ghost ship reached for them, their touch promising a fate worse than death. Omar squeezed Ilias tighter, a primal scream building in his throat. He wouldn't let them take the boy. He wouldn't.

Suddenly, a sound pierced the oppressive silence, a sound that was both familiar and unexpected – the sharp, insistent cry of a goat. From the Al-Amal.

The beings paused, their attention momentarily diverted. They looked towards the boat, their glowing eyes narrowing. The remaining goat, sensing the danger, was bleating frantically, its cries echoing across the still water.

An idea, desperate and risky, sparked in Omar's mind. He grabbed a piece of broken wood, the jagged edge rough against his hand. He whispered to Ilias, "When I tell you, run. Run as fast as your feet can, and don't look back."

Ilias nodded, his eyes wide with fear but also with a flicker of understanding.

Omar took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He stood up, facing the beings, the piece of wood raised in his hand. He knew it was a futile gesture, a symbolic act of defiance against the inevitable. But he had to buy Ilias some time.

"Get away from us!" he yelled, his voice surprisingly strong.

The beings turned their attention back to him, their eyes burning with a cold fury. They lunged towards him, their movements unnaturally swift.

"Now, Ilias! Run!" Omar shouted, throwing the piece of wood at the beings.

The wood struck one of them, momentarily distracting it. Ilias, seizing the opportunity, scrambled to his feet and ran towards the edge of the ship, his small legs carrying him as fast as they could.

The beings, momentarily stunned by Omar's defiance, turned their attention to Ilias. They lunged after him, their skeletal hands reaching out to grab him.

Ilias reached the railing and, with a desperate leap, jumped overboard. He landed in the water with a splash, disappearing beneath the surface.

Omar watched in horror, his heart leaping into his throat. He didn't know if Ilias could swim. He didn't know if he would survive. But he had given him a chance, a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

The beings, enraged by Ilias's escape, turned back to Omar, their eyes burning with a terrifying hunger. They grabbed him, their icy fingers closing around his arms. He struggled against their grip, but it was useless. They were too strong.

They dragged him towards the edge of the ship, their faces contorted into grotesque masks. He knew what they were going to do. They were going to throw him overboard, into the dark, unforgiving sea.

He closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable. He thought of Ilias, hoping against hope that he had survived, that he had escaped. He thought of his mother, of Aisha, of all the people he had loved and lost. He had failed them all.

Then, just as they were about to throw him overboard, a sound reached his ears, a sound that was both familiar and unexpected – the roar of an engine.

He opened his eyes and saw a light approaching from the distance, a bright, powerful light cutting through the darkness. It was a boat, a large fishing trawler, its lights illuminating the water.

The beings, startled by the sudden appearance of the trawler, hesitated. They looked at each other, their eyes filled with uncertainty.

The trawler drew closer, its powerful engine roaring across the water. The beings, realizing they had been discovered, released Omar and retreated back into the shadows of their ship.

The trawler pulled alongside the ghost ship, its crew peering down at Omar, their faces filled with concern. They helped him aboard, their questions tumbling over each other. He tried to explain what had happened, but his words were jumbled, his thoughts confused. He told them about the island, about the beings, about Ilias.

The trawler crew, though sceptical, listened to his story. They had heard rumours of the magical island, whispers of strange beings that lured sailors to their doom. They decided to investigate.

As the trawler approached the island, they saw nothing but a deserted shore. The village, the beings, the magic – all gone, vanished without a trace. It was as if it had never existed.

Omar knew the truth. The island was real. The beings were real. And Ilias… he was out there, somewhere, waiting to be found. He had to find him. He had to keep his promise. He wouldn't give up. He would keep searching, keep hoping, keep believing, until he found Ilias, until he brought him home. Their journey was far from over. It was just beginning.

The trawler, a sturdy vessel smelling of fish and diesel, became Omar's new refuge, his new vessel of hope. The crew, weathered men with kind eyes and calloused hands, listened to his frantic tale of the magical island and the lost boy, Ilias. They were sceptical, naturally. Tales of enchanted islands and ethereal beings were the stuff of legends, whispered in taverns, not the reality of experienced sailors. Yet, they saw the genuine terror in Omar's eyes, the raw grief etched on his face. They saw a man desperate to find a child.

"We'll search," the captain, a grizzled man named Michael, said, his voice gruff but reassuring. "We'll scour the area. But that island… it's not on any charts. If it's there, it's hidden."

The trawler spent days combing the sea, circling the area where Omar believed the island to be. They found nothing. Just the endless expanse of water, the indifferent sky, and the ghosts of their own doubts whispering in the wind.

"Maybe… maybe it was a dream," one of the crew suggested, his voice hesitant.

Omar shook his head vehemently. "No! It was real. Ilias was real. I saw him. I held him." The memory of the boy's small hand in his, the trust in his eyes, fuelled his determination. He wouldn't give up.

As the days passed, hope dwindled. The crew, while sympathetic, began to lose faith. Marco, ever practical, knew they couldn't search indefinitely. They had their own obligations, their own families to return to.

"We have to head back," Michael said one evening, his voice filled with regret.

 "We've done all we can."

Omar felt a wave of despair wash over him. He had come so close, only to lose Ilias again. He looked out at the sea, the darkness swallowing the last vestiges of hope.

Then, a flicker of memory sparked in his mind. The music. The haunting melody that had led them to the island. He remembered Ilias saying, "Do you hear that?" He remembered the boy's fascination with the sound.

"The music!" Omar exclaimed, his voice filled with urgency. "We have to listen for the music!"

The crew exchanged puzzled glances. "Music? What music?"

Omar tried to explain, but his words sounded disjointed, almost mad. He spoke of the ethereal melody, the hypnotic rhythm, the way it had seemed to call to them.

Michael, though sceptical, saw the desperation in Omar's eyes. He knew that sometimes, the most improbable leads were the only ones they had.

"Alright," he said, his voice filled with resignation. "We'll listen. But if we don't hear anything by morning…"

Omar nodded, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and anxiety. He strained his ears, listening for any sound above the gentle lapping of the waves, any hint of the haunting melody.

The night was long and silent. The crew kept watch, their eyes scanning the horizon, their ears straining for any sound. As dawn approached, a sense of disappointment settled over them. They had heard nothing.

"It's time to go," Michael said, his voice gentle.

Omar nodded, his heart sinking. He had failed. He had failed Ilias.

Then, just as they were about to turn the trawler around, a faint sound reached their ears, a low, rhythmic drumming. It was the music.

Omar's head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Listen!" he shouted. "Do you hear it?"

The crew strained their ears, and slowly, they began to hear it too – the haunting melody, faint but distinct, carried on the wind.

"It's coming from over there," one of the crew said, pointing towards a distant fog bank.

Michael, his eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and scepticism, steered the trawler towards the sound. As they entered the fog bank, the music grew louder, more insistent, drawing them deeper into the mist.

The fog was thick and disorienting, visibility was near zero, and the crew moved cautiously, their senses on high alert. The drumming grew louder, filling the air with its hypnotic rhythm.

Suddenly, the fog began to dissipate, revealing a sight that made their breath catch in their throats. Looming before them, bathed in an ethereal glow, was the island. It was real.

And on the shore, standing amidst the luminous flowers, was a kid. He was waiting for them.