Page 120 of The Isles of the Gods
I snort. “Wherever they’re bound for, they’re on their way already. Covering them in dirt won’t make a difference. If you want to do something useful, Jude—” My voice rises, sharpens, and I ball my hands into fists. I have to stay focused. I can’t afford to lose my temper. “If you want to do something useful,” I try again, “then figure out where your prince went.”
But before he gets a chance to reply, Dasriel drops to a crouch. “Here,” he rumbles.
I’m across the clearing in a second, dropping to my knees on the damp earth beside him.
With one large finger, he taps the mossy ground—and then I see it. Two crimson drops of blood, fresh.
We might not know where they’re going. But now we have their trail.
KEEGAN
The Still Waters
The Isles of the Gods
I’m covered in dirt and sweat and scratches, half scrambling and half simply falling down the hill. But we’re nearly at sea level—nearly at the reef.
Beside me Selly curses as she catches at a tree to slow herself, the rough bark cutting into her hand.
There’s truly no way back now. We’ve left our boat on the far side of the island, anchored by the boats of the dead crew and the newcomers—we have to assume it’s Laskia, Jude, and her magician. That it’s the ship that followed us from Port Cathar.
And we have to assume that as soon as they work out which way we’ve gone, they’ll be on our trail. But our goal is before us, and I can’t make myself think a second past reaching it.
Leander shouts a warning as I push my way through a tangle of vines strung between two trees, and abruptly I burst from the edge of the jungle with too much momentum.
A cliff’s edge looms ahead of me, and I throw myself to the ground in a desperate attempt to stop before I go over it, rolling, arms flung out to slow myself.
The world whirls by, and I come to rest flat on my back in the leaf litter, one leg hanging over the edge of the cliff, my breath loud in my own ears. I let it rasp in and out as I gaze up at the flawless blue sky.
This truly is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. It’s not a bad choice, if you need somewhere to spend your last day.
Selly crawls to the edge of the cliff, studying the reef below us. It’s a dark mess topped with white foam, the rock just barely beneath the surface of the water, curving away like a seawall around the mirrorlike lagoon inside. The Still Waters, Leander said the journal called it, and I can see why.
The next island across from ours is the Isle of the Mother, larger than any of the seven islands dedicated to her children, rising steeply to a peak hidden in the jungle.
“The reef will be razor sharp,” Selly warns us. “If it gets anywhere near your skin, it will shred you.”
That means we can’t jump off the cliff and then climb up onto the reef itself. We need to climb down instead, and hope it’s shallow enough to wade the whole way along.
“This is a terrible plan,” she mutters, peering over the edge of the cliff. “Completely terrible.”
“It’s also our only plan,” Leander points out, glancing back over his shoulder.
So one by one, we climb down the cliff, muscles aching, cuts stinging, clinging to even the smallest of outcroppings.
When we reach the bottom, the water swirls around our ankles, soaking boots that had just begun to dry.
Selly and I exchange a look, and she takes the lead, gesturing for Leander to follow, while I bring up the rear. We both understand what we’re doing—putting our sailor to the front, to plot the safest course, and putting me behind the prince, as a shield from his pursuers. He’s so lost in his thoughts, I’m not sure he’s realized. That’s better—it would be a horrible thing to know.
The back of my neck prickles as we set out, and I’m not sure if it’s sweat from the sun beating down on us, or my body’s desperate attempt to warn me our hunters will soon have us within their sights. But after a couple of minutes, with the water washing across the reef ahead of me, the waves coming as regularly as a slowly ticking clock, I’m forced to concentrate on my foot placement. The rock and coral beneath my boots is uneven, pocketed with holes that are a broken ankle just waiting to happen.
Up ahead, Selly stumbles as she suddenly steps down to a knee-deep section, arms windmilling madly as she fights for balance.
Leander reaches out to steady her and snatches his hand back when she snaps at him: “No!”
And just like that, I’m yanked from the almost meditative state of concentration I’ve been lulled into as I pick my way along the stones.
She can afford to fall in. He can’t.
