Page 110 of The Isles of the Gods
Night’s coming on when we’re hit by another squall.
The wall of wind travels toward us from our port side, and I see the waves shiver. The whitecaps break off their tops with renewed ferocity, and our valiant little ship heels hard to leeward.
I lock my hands onto the wheel again, bracing my whole body, barely holding us on course. If an ill-timed gust pushes us over before I can bear away—I don’t know if a fishing boat can come back from that.
“Leander!” I scream, the wind whipping his name from my lips as soon as it leaves them—but Keegan is nearest to the companionway, and I see him lean down to bellow the prince’s name.
A minute later, as I wrestle with the wheel, Leander comesscrambling up the stairs. We’ve been saving him for this moment.
Spray is smacking me in the face, my eyes stinging. The rigging is howling, the sails cracking above my head. I spit a mouthful of salt water to one side as the spirit flags flutter and shred up in the stays.
“I need help!” I scream.
Leander has what must be half our food in his arms—a sacrifice big enough for what he’s about to ask. Unhesitatingly he throws it overboard, and it’s already vanishing as it hits the water. Then he staggers across to take his place behind me, helping me brace the wheel. His arms bracket me, and his chest is warm against my back, and he lends me his strength to use as I need. When I turn my head, I see his features smooth out as he sinks into his link with the spirits.
“Don’t drop the wind too much,” I shout. “We still need speed.”
The wind swings around us wildly, and I’m reminded of what he taught me on theLittle Lizabetta:We don’t tell the spirits what we want. We ask.
The whole boat shudders, and I wonder if he’s asking in vain. If even the most powerful magician in Alinor can’t control this storm.
I focus on helping us through the waves as we push our way up each one and crash into the troughs between them. Water washes across the deck in great sheets, foaming white swirling around the base of the mast.
I can’t imagine what’s happening on the boat behind us. They’re bigger, but not big enough to ride out the storm likethis, and whatever magician they’ve got aboard, they won’t be Leander’s equal—nobody is. If they’ve got any sense, they’ll turn into the wind and heave to, wait for the weather to drop, and start again tomorrow. They might not have a chart showing the Isles, but they’ve got our bearing, so the reality is they can still follow us.
Another gust of wind hits us like a blow, and we crash off the top of the wave. I’m thrown forward against the wheel, one hand ripped free of it, pain shuddering through my ribs.
Then Leander’s wrapping an arm around me, holding me until I can suck in a desperate breath, and we’re wrestling the wheel under control together as Keegan scrambles across the deck, soaked to the skin, to haul in a madly flapping sail.
And we work that way together for hours.
As the last of the gloomy light dies behind us, and night falls, the stars and moons hidden by the dark gray clouds, Keegan risks a trip below, bringing us cheese and nuts that we can eat by the handful, and slices of sweet apple. Even as the spray hits them, they cleanse our mouths.
Leander manages to down a little, but he’s swaying now, snatches of wind and troublesome waves getting away from him more often.
And as we sail through the night, I scream myself hoarse, sending Keegan scurrying this way and that—I don’t know where he finds the strength in those gangly arms and legs of his as the hours wear on. I don’t know where any of us do.
When he returns to me at the wheel at dawn, my voice cracks as I try to shout above the wind and waves, and he ducks his head so I can yell in his ear. “We need to get a look at thehorizon.”
Keegan looks up at the mast, then back at me. “Are you joking?” he shouts.
I shake my head. “We set our course based on Leander saying the Isles were directly below Loforta. We haven’t seen the stars all night. I’ve been working off a compass in the middle of a storm. There’s no way we’ve held our bearing—but now it’s getting lighter. If I’ve done my job well enough, they’ll be somewhere on the horizon, and I need to know where. You can’t hold the wheel without me. You’ll have to climb.”
He’s quiet for one heartbeat, then two, staring up at the tangle of lines and sails to the very top of the mast. I can see his dread stretching that moment out into an eternity. And then he nods. “I’ll try.”
“There’ll be a harness below,” I shout. “I can tell you how to clip yourself to the mast. You—”
A monstrous gust of wind tears through, cutting me off as I cling to the wheel with every last shred of my strength. Even with the scream of the gale, I hear the ripping noise above us—the mainsail is tearing, a great, ragged hole appearing as a seam gives way, growing larger every second.
The air spills through it, the fabric rippling and shivering, flapping and tearing at itself, and Leander cries out in alarm behind me as the spirits pour through the gaping wound in thesail.
The wind swings around every point of the compass as they react, swirling madly about each other, and then it drops to nothing for an instant, everything perfectly still and quiet, my own rasping breath suddenly audible, the press of his body, warm behind mine.
I turn my head, but before I can speak, beg him to charmthem again, the gale kicks back in with a vengeance, tearing my hair loose from its braid and whipping it around my face, setting the rigging shuddering and shrieking.
TheEmmastarts to heel, water washing across the deck, and she strains to leeward. I can barely control her now—we’re going over, and there’s nothing I can do to stop us.
Suddenly Leander’s not behind me anymore—he’s sliding across the deck, scrambling for purchase, and I catch a flash of his wide, terrified eyes.
