Chapter 12
Heavy waves pummeled the shoreline—not exactly what I’d call inviting. The frothy edge of the tide rushed up the beach, drenching my surf booties, the pair I’d been this close to leaving at home. I wriggled my suddenly damp toes back and forth, the arctic chill radiating down to my bones.
A blur of black streaked through my peripheral as Freyja slipped into the water. Sliding onto her board, not a hint of fear in her determined strokes—even as the break crashed around her, on top of her—she seamlessly glided under, popping out on the other side of the whitewater.
Strands of her sopping pink hair stuck out from her neoprene hood. Soon, she was so far out it was like the ocean had swallowed her whole.
My turn.
Heart pounding, I waded to my knees. Saltwater flushed my wetsuit; a shudder lapped up my spine. Before the cold had me second-guessing this decision, I hopped onto the wooden board Freyja had let me borrow and started paddling.
Swallowing a lungful of air, I dipped beneath a wave as it began to topple.
It slammed into the ocean’s surface above me, the power radiating to my back, pushing my board out in front of me.
I flinched, bubbles swirling all around. In these waters, hesitation was deadly, and I knew better than to work against the current.
So, I let it spin me around, let it hold me under for a second longer than was comfortable—it was part of the process, being pushed to the very limit. Just part of the thrill, not knowing if the rush was from excitement or fear.
I thrust my board against my chest and propelled myself upwards, breaking through the choppy surface in one fluid stroke.
“Whoo!” An excited shout ripped out of me.
I barely had enough time for an inhale before I had to dive under again, and another wave crashed directly above.
This was, by far, the most brutal paddle-out I’d ever endured.
It must have been twenty-five minutes later when I reached the lineup, my breaths shallow and visible in the cold air.
If my hands were any indication, the color must have drained from my face—every limb had gone numb.
I couldn’t actually feel the smile on my face, but I knew it was there.
“You made it!” I recognized that voice, but it still surprised me—I hadn’t even heard her swim up next to me over the hollow roar of the ocean.
“And it was nothing short of a miracle.” I opened and closed my mouth like a fish, trying to clear the pressure from my ears. “That was gnarly.”
Freyja laughed, her nose and cheeks tinged red from the cold. “Now comes the fun part.” Eyeing the next set rolling in, she lowered herself onto her board. “I’m taking this one. See you soon!”
She paddled fiercely, then popped up to standing and disappeared under the curl of the wave—along with my view of the shore, the sparkling strip of black sand beach barely visible over the crest.
“Whoo!” I cheered, clapping when she resurfaced and rode the momentum all the way in. Leaning back on my hands, I bobbed on the midnight blue ocean.
Emotion stirred in my chest, mingling with the adrenaline surging through me. The wind rippled off the coast, biting my cheeks, stealing tears as soon as it whipped them up.
Water swirled around me, lapping at the top of my board and pulling at my booties, as if the current were a pair of hands waiting to drag me in.
I felt her here—my mom. In the rugged beauty, in the tumble of the sea.
But most of all, I felt myself. I felt the part of myself I had lost after that night at the Boardwalk, the part that had gone dark. Stirring, waking.
So much shit had happened, it was weird to call myself happy, especially because I was here to stop a war—but that’s what I was, finally back in the waves.
Tilting my head, I gazed at the clouds. No raindrops, but if there was anything I’d learned in my short time here, it was that the weather was not to be trusted.
Small shadows blotted out the moody sky, bolder than a passing cloud—smaller, too, and headed for the pillars of lava stacked along the coastline, the lichen cliffs dotted with flares of bright orange. Puffins, I realized, as another one flew in from the sea.
My stone-cold heart melted right then and there.
Folding my chest onto the deck, I started to paddle, cupping the water in quick, purposeful strokes.
I swerved into position, hands scooping, legs kicking, feeling the ocean’s force building beneath me, until the nose of my board teetered over the top of the wave.
Only at the very last second did I shoot up to my feet and lower into a crouch.
I carved my way into the barrel, a bubbling channel of water trailing my fins. Ducking beneath the curl of the wave, I stuck out my arm, fingers skimming the fluid wall.
Gaze fixed ahead, mind focused on the glide, I could have sworn something hovered in my periphery, that something was watching me—but that was ridiculous, I was in the middle of the ocean.
Still, the hairs rose on the back of my neck.
Maybe my leash had come undone and was flapping around in the froth. Careful not to tilt the board, I stole a quick glance at my feet—and the Velcro still strapped around my ankle—then at the dark blue tube spiraling around me.
There was definitely a presence in here. Something powerful and alive that my angel senses picked up amongst the salt spray, kelp beads, speckles of sunlight, and shadows.
Realization struck me like a bolt of electricity. It was the essence in that cave at Natural Bridges; it was what emerged within me as I floated on the water, watching the birds.
It was me—my Source.
Whipping my face forward, I righted myself, digging my toes into the wooden surface of my borrowed board.
The circular opening ahead grew smaller and smaller, closing in as the wave curled in on itself.
I didn’t want this moment to end. And I couldn’t believe it took me this long to understand that it didn’t have to.
I was an angel of water. I grinned, knowing Mau would chide me for that, because she was right—I was the Angel of Water.
Hands at my sides, I thrust them forward, pushing against air and calling on that thrum in my veins. The barrel stretched with the motion. I felt it move and shimmer, tremble and twirl, as if it were an extension of my soul.
I wanted to keep going forever. But there was a bluff up ahead, my arms were tired, and my brain was starting to sputter. Every thought, every muscle not keeping me functioning at the most basic level was dedicated to channeling my power.
Just as happy exhaustion tugged on my knees and filled my head with lightness, I shut that part of me down, like a light switching off, and the barrel slowly tapered out.
Riding what was left of the wave all the way in, I hopped off in the shallows.
The ocean lapped at the shoreline, as if it’d been nothing other than lazy and calm, no sign of the angry, spitting break or the undertow.
Cheeks sore from the chafe of the wind, the rub of the salt, and the cheesy smile that was vying for a permanent spot on my face, I trudged up the steep bank to a sprawled-out woven blanket the two elves were lying on.
Hearing my footsteps, Freyja sat up. “Have fun?”
Pretty sure that was obvious. Tingles flooded my body as I laid my board on the hot black sand. I set my hands on my hips and a satisfied exhale left my lips.
“I cannot wait to do that again,” I confessed.
She squinted. “Those were some interesting moves out there.”
Gunnar crossed his hands above his head to block the sun. “Where’d you learn those?”
“My dad.” A twinge of panic crept into my voice, but I gulped it down.
With the clouds, the rocks, the distance to the shore, there’s no way they saw what I just did—no way. Again, they were just being nice, and I was just being paranoid.
Freyja tilted her head. “Pretty impressive.”
I bit my bottom lip, trying to hold back the dopey grin.
Gunnar reached into a tote bag. “Need a towel?”
Nodding, I scooped the fabric from his hands and wrapped it around my shoulders.
“Should we go?” Freyja suggested.
“Yeah.” Gunnar’s eyes darted to hers.
So many things passed between them in that tick of silence. That wasn’t weird. Wasn’t weird at all.
“Perfect,” Freyja said, her tone gravelly and low. “I’m sure your great aunt is going to be so excited to see you, River.”
Nothing. there was absolutely nothing out here.
Just bumpy highways, green hills, rocks covered in lichen. Every so often, we’d pass a red-steepled church, and the occasional guesthouse. Wild horses sprang up every few miles in shaggy clusters.
Gunnar leaned over the center console. “Assuming she doesn’t run a B and B?”
“Not that I know of,” I muttered, cursing myself for such a ridiculous excuse.
Freyja glanced at me, turning down a narrow road to reveal another stretch of nothing.
“Should I keep going?” she asked, but a different question colored her tone.
I nodded, gritting my teeth—wishing for a town or people or any sign of civilization to magically spring up out of the lowlands.
All I got was more empty countryside, more horses. More awkward silence.
“I think she lives near a lighthouse.” It was a bold move given the verbal gymnastics they’d done to suggest everywhere but that structure. I had to say something to keep us from driving in circles, though.
“Interesting,” Freyja said.
“Interesting,” Gunnar echoed.
Heat flashed along my upper lip.
A single bluff rose out of the flat coastal fields, like a gnarled hand reaching into the sky. If I peered hard enough, a small speck of white popped against the horizon.
Breaths turning shallow, I sank into my seat. The watchtower… we were already driving towards it. Interesting indeed.
Stacks of stone flashed past my window, littering the otherwise bare plain. Pockets of them seemed to be arranged in a somewhat orderly fashion. Demolished houses. Crumbling buildings. Grass jabbed through the rubble, telling a tale of life and loss.
Gunnar’s voice came from over my shoulder. “What’s left of an old elven village.”
“What happened to it?”