Jendara awoke in her own bed on the Milady. Weak sunlight trickled in through the porthole, suggesting early morning. She had slept only a few hours, but she felt a thousand times better than she had last night. She lay still a few minutes, enjoying the gently painful feeling that came from breathing. She patted her side and felt a stiff layer of bandages.
A clean set of clothes sat on the chart table. She eased herself out of bed and wriggled into them, happy to find her waterskin tucked underneath. Her mouth tasted like bitter herbs and scorched earth, the flavors she’d most associated with a healing potion. Glayn had saved her, then, even if she hadn’t saved his Tam.
She pulled on her boots and opened the cabin door. For a moment, she wanted to simply crawl back in bed and sleep for a day or a week or a month, but she needed to know how her people were doing. She walked outside. The air smelled like snow.
The deck was full. She counted at least twenty folks sitting with idle hands, and a full complement of sailors were at their posts. She recognized all the familiar faces: the baker and his wife; Kaleb, the owner of Sorind’s one tavern; Chana and Leyla chatting as they sat with a pile of mending. Her heart gave a squeeze. This wasn’t all that was left of Sorind, was it? They hadn’t lost all the other villagers?
Kran raced past her, Oric and Fylga on his heels. Only Fylga looked back at Jendara. The boys were too caught up in their merriment. It made Jendara feel a little better. If the boys could act like things were normal, then she could, too.
She found Zuna in the galley, brewing up a pot of tea. A crowd of villagers filled the space, some sitting in the pained sorrow of those who had lost everything, others playing cards or eating or simply talking in quiet voices. There was none of the laughter that came in a typical village gathering. Jendara caught Zuna’s eye and joined her at the stove.
“You all right?” Zuna asked. Unbidden, she pulled down a mug and filled it for Jendara.
Jendara nodded. “Right enough.” She looked out at the people crowding around the tables. “Is this everyone? All the … survivors?”
Zuna shook her head. “The ulat-kini didn’t get everyone,” she said. “Most folks had holed up inland after the wave, waiting for things to dry out.”
Jendara sagged with relief. There was hope, then. Hope enough to ask: “How many died?”
“At least forty,” Zuna said. “We’ll have to do a head count when we get back to Sorind.” She paused. “You just missed the captain,” she said. “He went up on deck.”
Jendara squeezed Zuna’s shoulder, and the navigator clapped her on the back, the blow as solid as Boruc’s or any other islander’s. Then Jendara went back up top.
She paused for a moment, thinking about how she had handled Zuna back on the island, how she had handled the entire expedition. It wasn’t the way her father would have handled things, she knew. But then again, her father had never faced anything like the thing sleeping in that pit.
She rubbed the spot on her hand. The ancestors could only give her guidance. She had to find her own way to do things.
It was time to find Vorrin.
Her steps were slow as she walked to the stern of the ship. She knew where she would find him and who he would be with. She was in no hurry to face this last test.
Vorrin leaned against the stern railing, looking out to sea. Glayn stood beside him, head bowed.
“Hey,” she managed.
The men looked up at her. Vorrin looked serious, and sorrow had etched itself across Glayn’s face. The happy gnome who had played the hurdy-gurdy for them when they first set out from Sorind was gone.
A tiny speck of white swirled in the air in front of her and then settled on the railing to melt. Winter had arrived in the islands.
“Glayn—” she began, and stopped, blinking hard. She didn’t know what to say to him.
“Don’t,” he said. “Tam was my everything. I’m two hundred years old, and I’ve never known anyone like him, not ever. Gnomes don’t give their hearts easy, but I gave him mine.”
The wind blew into their faces, carrying a sharp edge and the kind of snow that stings and sticks. Jendara shivered. She’d left her coat in the cabin.
“But,” Glayn continued, “I’m still a part of this crew. And Tam wasn’t my only friend, just my best one.”
Jendara stared at him, not quite sure whether to believe his words. He had looked at her with such misery back there in the Star Chapel. He had blamed her and resented her and maybe even hated her. But she saw none of that in the gnome’s eyes now. Sorrow, yes. Recrimination, no.
“So what do we do now?” she asked.
“We keep going,” Vorrin said. “We found enough treasure to take on a couple more crew. We’re sailors. We’ll find a way to make ends meet.”
“But our cottage,” Jendara said. “Our home…”
Glayn shook his head. “We’re sailors. Our home is right here.” He spread his hands, taking in the ship and the sea and even the clouds that spit snow into their faces. The wind ruffled his green curls and he looked a little more like himself.
“You’re right,” Jendara agreed. She leaned her head on Vorrin’s shoulder and studied the sky. It was good to feel clean air on her skin. It was good to see sunshine, even filtered through heavy clouds. She would like to keep the sun and the clouds between herself and the sky for as long as she could.
Because beyond the clouds, the stars were up there, someplace in the dark, turning and dancing and crying to themselves. Crying because they knew that in the darkest depths of the world, something slept and dreamed and waited.
Waited for the stars to be right.