Sesin fell backward, her feet over her head and surprise greater than fear in the instant Rasim could see her expression. He surged forward, clawing at her ankle, and felt the fabric of her trousers brush his fingers, but he couldn't clench them in time. He was still bent double over the crow's nest railing, reaching for her, as salvation unfolded.
The massive sails, no longer bound to the mast, fell with Sesin. One billowed open beneath her, heavy canvas slowing her fall. She twisted, quick as a fish in the water, seizing the sail in clenched fists. Her weight slammed it back against the main mast, and one of the crosspieces caught her in the belly. She doubled over it, making a retching sound. Fabric settled over and around her, but Rasim could see from the shape wriggling in the sails that she had thrown a leg over the crosspiece and was clinging to it, safe from falling.
His knees turned to water and he would have collapsed if he hadn't already been bent over the railing. Relieved exhaustion trembled every muscle in his body, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, whispering a prayer of thanks to Siliaria. Then, still shaking, he pushed himself upright and forced his eyes open to stare at the disaster below.
It had happened so quickly the crew was mostly still gaping upward, wondering what was going on. Great swaths of the ship were covered by sails, making Rasim appreciate their size in a way he'd never done before. It wasn't that he hadn't handled them hundreds of times, on and off ship, or seen them being completed and inspected before bringing them inboard. But they weren't normally spread open across the deck and draping over the sides of a ship. They dwarfed the Waifia, making her vulnerability without them very clear.
As he watched, one of the upper-most sails finally settled to the deck, but the bulk of its weight was over the ship's rail. The Waifia's forward momentum, as yet unchecked, allowed the large piece of cloth to be dragged overboard. Rasim swung around, realizing there were other huge chunks of sail already in the water. He spread his hands toward them in a desperate attempt to call enough magic to save them.
Sailcloth was heavy, though, and soaked sailcloth much heavier than that. Even trying to lift them was enough to drag Rasim to his knees. A sob of frustration broke in his throat. He had dived with a sea serpent. He had scuttled across the bottom of an icy Northern harbor. He had to save the sails, or the Waifia would be becalmed and lost at sea for good. His heart pounded, sweat rolling into his eyes as he strained to keep the sails from sinking. For a desperate moment he imagined blowing the ship's whistle until sea serpents came, imagining that they would rise up directly below the sails and save them.
Then suddenly the weight of magic was in the air and Rasim's strain lessened. Hassin, Captain Nasira, Desimi—the whole crew working together as they struggled out from under fallen sails and came to understand the problem. They didn't just lift the sails from the water, but lifted the water around the sails, separating them from the depths. It was much easier, then, to skim the enormous pieces of cloth back to the ship, excess water streaming away like tiny rainstorms. As the nearest sail approached the ship, it swung around to offer a narrow end, and half a dozen sailors scrambled to lay hands on it. The crew twisted the very water, making the sail twist too. As it became damp instead of drenched, the sailors pulled it in, folding it with quick efficient moves. They would force the rest of the water from it through witchery once the other sails were saved.
But they still had no way to bind the sails to the masts. Rasim's gaze swept the deck, searching for rope that had gone unscathed. There was none, and as he got a better look at the sails he was astounded they hadn't all gone up in a flash of fire as well. They were singed around the copper rings that had held the ropes, and there were black streaks against the cloth where ropes had been touching it when they burst into flame.
Shouts were coming from below decks, and that water was leaping from the sea to enter the Waifia's portholes. There had been ropes below, too, huge coils of spare rope, rope to hold cargo in place, rope that bound barrels of water and food against the walls. Every hammock on the ship would be lying in a puddle on the floor, or worse, alight: they were lighter material than the sails, and if they fell burning to the lower decks, then the Waifia was in real danger. The tar that helped keep her waterproof would go up all at once if any of it caught fire.
The anchor. Rasim turned toward the Waifia's aft, dread making him nauseous. But no: the anchor had settled hard in its moorings rather than slipping free to sink deep into the ocean. Not that it would do them any good with its thick rope eaten by flame, but at least they hadn't lost it. They had lost the rowboats, all of them. They drifted in the sea in the Waifia's wake, and even if someone went to fetch them, Rasim didn't know how they could be bound back onto the sides of the ship.
Sesin finally struggled free of the sail that had saved her, gasping for fresh air. She lay on her belly with her arms and legs wrapped gratefully around the spar. Her tunic was burned in two, a band of it looped around her hips and the rest where it belonged. Rasim could see her trouser's waistband and the leather belt that kept them up through the gap in her tunic, suggesting the fire had gone out so quickly that the leather had saved her from a terrible burn. Rasim turned again to climb down the ladder and help her, only to discover that the ladder, too, had been burned away, its rope sides disintegrated like everything else. He could still climb and slide down—a ladder rung was nailed into the mast every few feet—but the discovery took him aback and he stayed where he was a moment, swaying with surprise.
Rasim finally met Kisia's eyes across the distance, and saw fear and horror in her face. Only then did it actually strike him how foolish, how dangerous, it was to try mastering sunwitchery aboard a ship. He had made the argument to Endat already, but he'd let the Sunmaster talk him into it, and now Kisia had tried as well, and—
—and she had succeeded, to the detriment of them all.
Captain Nasira, Rasim realized with sick clarity, was going to confine Kisia to the brig if she was lucky. The worst had already passed: water was no longer pouring into the portholes, suggesting the fires below had been put out. The sails were back on board, only one or two witches attending to each of them now and getting the last of the water out. Now that the moment of crisis was over, everyone was beginning to stare and ask questions. Within seconds, they would turn on Kisia and the Sunmasters.
Hands shaking and heart throbbing, Rasim began to climb down. He didn't know what he could do, but he wasn't going to let Kisia stand alone. Halfway down he stopped to reach a hand toward Sesin, whose gaze was fixed blindly on the mast he clung to. "Come on," he said. "I'll help you."
Sesin shook her head, a tiny, pained movement. "I'm stuck." Her light voice was strained. "My ribs. I think I cracked them when I hit the spar. I know I have to move but I can't make myself. It hurts too much."
"All right. I'll come out to you."
"And do what?"
"Probably make you hate me forever." The spar was easily wide enough to scoot out on. Once he reached Sesin, Rasim wrapped his legs around the mast and extended a hand. "All you have to do is not fight me. I'll get you to sitting and put your arms around me and get you back to the mast and carry you down. It'll hurt, but if you relax I can do it."
Sesin whimpered, "I don't want to," but she nodded anyway, then scrunched her eyes shut and bit her lower lip as she tried to relax her grip on the yardarm. Rasim touched her arm gently, then startled badly as Hassin called, "Rasim!"
The first mate sounded unnaturally loud, using a voice meant to carry over the sounds of snapping sails and rushing wind. Rasim looked down at him.
The sail that had saved Sesin dangled nearly to the ship's deck, stopping a few feet above it. Hassin caught an edge, then snapped his fingers for others to do the same. Together they stepped back, drawing the sail taut. "You can slide down, Sesin. We'll catch you."
Sesin gave first Hassin, then Rasim, a wild-eyed stare. "I can't. It'll hurt too much."
"Your other choice is to stay up here until your ribs heal. Want me to push you?" Rasim offered a crooked smile.
Sesin's lip curled, but she nodded. "I can make myself let go," she whispered. "I don't think I can make myself roll. But I'll fall if you nudge me."
"All right. Are you ready?" Rasim asked the question of both Hassin and Sesin. Hassin glanced around at the witches who had gathered to hold the sail, then nodded. Rasim nodded too, then said to Sesin, "Relax. On three, all right?"
"Yeah." She exhaled, putting as much looseness into her body as she could. "Ready. On three."
Rasim stretched to put his hands on her shoulder and hip, said, "One," and pushed her down the sail before she had time to tense up again.
She screamed, which she hadn't done when she'd fallen, and slid down the sail in a whipping rush. It sagged with her weight and she rolled off the bottom edge. Hassin caught her under the arms and knees. Sesin screamed again, turning white, then buried her face against Hassin's shoulder. From his expression, Rasim thought maybe she'd bitten him to keep from screaming a third time, but he didn't say anything and he certainly didn't drop her. They looked like an image from an old romantic story, the handsome first mate bearing the lovely journeyman across troubled waters. "I'll get her to the healer," Hassin said to no one in particular, and strode below decks.
"You can climb," somebody else said to Rasim. He grinned, a little disappointed—sliding on the sail looked fun, since he didn't have broken ribs—and scooted back to the mast to climb down.
Captain Nasira was out of sight, checking her ship. Rasim hurried to Kisia, whispering, "Kees, what happened? How did you—?"
"Rasim, I didn't do that." Kisia grabbed his hand and squeezed until it hurt, her face pale with fear.
"What do you mean, you didn't? I heard you shout."
"She's right, Journeyman." Master Endat studied Rasim thoughtfully. "She didn't call the flame. I felt no power in her. What happened up there? You looked angry."
"I was—" Embarrassment swept Rasim and he looked at his feet. "I was frustrated and jealous because I was afraid Kisia would learn sun witchery before I could. She's already better at seamastery than I am."
"Rasim," Kisia said unhappily.
"It doesn't matter," Rasim said just as miserably. "If it wasn't you, who was it? Who would do that? It's only Master Endat and his journeymen who can, if it wasn't you, and it wasn't Master Endat—"
Rasim searched the deck with his gaze, looking for the Sunmaster journeymen. They, like everyone else, were on deck now. Maybe they had been all along. Desimi, helping drain water from the sails, stood near Pynda, a big, often mean-faced girl who reminded him of the old Desimi. She looked appalled, though, not guilty. The other sun witch, Daka, who was slight and delicate, had an ex-pression of reverent joy as she looked around the ship. "Daka?" Rasim asked in quiet astonishment. "Why would she do that?"
"I do not believe it was Daka al Riorda, Rasim," Master Endat said gently. "I believe it was you."