72

Ash

“I can’t hold it!” I cry out as the wheel burns through my bandaged hands. Kaylin said to be ready for a rough ride, and this is it.

“All hands on deck!” Kaylin commands.

In moments, Piper comes out of the hatch with Tyche in tow. Belair stumbles topside behind her, his fair skin paled to an unnatural white. They carry a few bags and the water barrel. I want to race below and get my pack, but I’m wrestling the wheel. I shout to Piper over the wind. “My satchels are hanging in the galley. We have to preserve those books, my records.”

“Too much water,” Piper calls. “Can’t get back down.”

The wheel spins and I clamp harder, using my whole body to brace against the drag. Then it suddenly breaks free and I hit the deck.

“Lass!” Kaylin picks me up.

“What happened?”

“Rudder’s broken.” He tests the helm. “To the lifeboat. Abandon ship!”

“Abandon ship?” Marcus cries out.

I dart back to the hatch. “I can’t leave the records behind. It’s the proof…”

Kaylin catches me. “I’ll find them. You help Tyche to the boat.”

I take Tyche’s hand and guide her to the lifeboat as the ship slows, listing hard to starboard. I don’t even know if the girl can swim, but her face is so void of life, I don’t bother to ask. Samsen and Marcus lower the rope ladder. It slaps against the side of the hull but doesn’t reach all the way. The onshore wind stings as my hair, long escaped from the ponytail, whips about my face. I look beyond the stern as two Aturnian vessels carve through the sea straight for us. The nearest makes a sudden shift in its sails, many of them spilling wind. Cries rise up from the crew, and then orders are shouted in Aturnian.

“Hard to port! Come about!” But the warship has too much speed. It doesn’t respond, and they go aground on the reef, wrenching and splitting the hull.

Marcus jumps the distance to the lifeboat as it rocks wildly next to our sinking ship. He turns around and reaches for Tyche.

“Let go. I’ve got you.”

Tyche drops from the ladder and Marcus catches her in his arms. He carries her to the stern and sits her down.

I keep an eye on the warships. The one in the lead hit the outer reef side-on, mid tack, its deep-drawn hull slicing into the barrier much sooner than we had. The deck hands scatter in every direction, their lifeboats lowering. Before they reach the surface, the ship booms, a geyser spraying up from the prow. It sinks like an anvil, right before my eyes, sucking the crew and the lifeboats down with it.

“Ash, you’re next.” Kaylin’s soaking wet but over his shoulder is my satchel and, in his arms, the last water keg.

“Thank you.” I grip him for support and climb over the rail, turn around, and cling to the thick, wet ropes. My blisters scream at the touch of salt water, but I make it down and jump to the lifeboat, finding a bench seat on the other side of Tyche. Samsen follows with Belair and Piper. Her serpent’s heads are up and scenting in every direction, reflecting the panic on her face. Marcus, Belair, and Piper man the oars to port, Samsen and I to starboard. Kaylin unties the mooring line and throws it down. He lowers the barrel in a net and follows. “Row!” he hollers, taking his place at the last oar.

The sloop lays over the surface, the hull cracking wide, sucking in water. It tries to draw us down with it, but we pull hard and eventually break free. Once gliding over the reef, I keep my head down, putting all my mind and strength to the rowing. Whether the second warship came about or not, I don’t know. When I look, none are on the horizon. I check over my shoulder toward the shore, the setting sun burning my eyes. I can’t see anything that way, either.

I row until my mind is numb. My back aches, palms bleed. I tear the cuffs off my sleeves to wrap them thicker, but the makeshift bandages stick to the weeping blisters and chafe worse. Kaylin assures us the shore is coming up soon.

Land. It is my only goal.

How Kaylin guides us after the sun sets, I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe we’re going in circles, or worse, back out to sea.

“Trust him,” my dry inner voice tells me. “He guides us true.”

Kaylin turns to face us many times as the sky darkens, and finally, he calls out, “Land ahoy!” His eyes narrow. “Hold. There’s a bit of a swell.” He stands on the bench, rocking with the boat, surveying the coastline. All heads follow his gaze as we lift the oars out of the water. I barely discern the outline of tall cliffs and the churn of white shore break. The strongest feature is the jutting breakwater, a natural string of islets protruding from the beach. The waves rolling under us are huge, lifting the little boat high and rushing us toward shore.

“Hard port!” Kaylin calls as he turns back to the sea.

As one, we pull the left-hand oars and the boat starts to come around, but not soon enough. I watch as a wall of black water rises behind us, gaining size and momentum by the second.

Kaylin’s last command as the swell picks up the boat, tips it on its side, and flings us overboard is, “Swim!”

“There are at least three who can’t!” I shout back in my mind as I free-fall through the air.

“Maybe focus on holding your breath for the moment,” my inner voice suggests.

I have the vague feeling that the rowboat is falling, too, just above my head. I grip the oar, but it sticks into the dark wave and is ripped out of my hand. So much for flotation. The next thing I know, I slap the trough of the wave and plunge into the ice-cold sea. It tumbles me like a rag in a washtub. My breath escapes as something clubs my head. A stray oar? Marcus’s boot? I have no idea.

“Swim!” Kaylin’s voice booms in my head.

I can’t do anything but be tossed about until the wave finally lets me go. I shrug out of my waterlogged coat and a few seconds later I break the surface and gasp in a breath. I get half a lungful, mixed with seawater, before the next wave lifts me like a cork and dumps me into the deep trough.

“Dive under it, Ash!” Kaylin shouts when I surface a third time.

Too late. The wave smacks my face before I take a breath. But this time it drags me down to a sand bottom and, as the white water pushes me toward shore, I find my feet, shoot to the surface, and take a glorious deep breath of air. Behind me comes another tumbling wave, but it has already spent most of its fury before striking and merely knocks me to my knees. I swim, ahead of the next wall of white water, kicking hard, and catch the momentum, riding it to shore. It drives me along, and I bump and skip like a stone until my belly scrapes over the coarse sand.

On hands and knees, coughing and retching, I crawl the rest of the way out of the water. Once up to the dry sand, I turn over onto my back, brace my elbows, and search the darkness. The next wave rushes in, not reaching my toes.

When it sucks back out, I find I’m the only one left on the beach.