Chapter 12 The Wrath of a God #2
A hiss escapes me at the sight. The window is patterned with hundreds of little iridescent glass panes, held together by dark wood.
It opens out to murky water; endless, opaque, interrupted by a trail of moonbeams that ripple off the surface above.
Glowing flecks dot the deep pools, and a school of silverfish dart by, their scales gleaming in a flash like starlight in a night sky.
Something large and dark lurches by, too quick to see clearly, but the vicious way it cuts through the water has my breath stolen straight from me in the worst of ways.
I stagger back, letting the curtains fall before slamming into one of the many counters set in the room. The vials and delicate dishes clatter together, one even slips off the edge to shatter on the floor into a hundred jagged shards.
No. No, no, no, no. This means…this means—
I can’t even finish the thought. I refuse.
The room’s still dark and quiet, aside from my heavy breathing.
I look for the way out; the way up, and find it in the shape of a rounded wooden door, held together by wrought iron hinges.
It eases open without a creak. The hall outside is still and cold.
Blood races over my ear drums, and I have to swallow almost constantly against the rising panic that lurches at the back of my throat.
There's a ladder to the right leading up to a latticed wooden door.
It looks heavy, and I wonder if I'll have the strength to push it open.
Wonder what's waiting on the other side.
Endless water. A sea, unescapable. Crow, the twins, Sabre, Rowan…
oh, gods, Rowan! My shaking fingers find the rungs of the ladder, rough under my touch.
I climb. Climb like my life depends on it.
Like Rowan's life depends on it. We're at sea.
Exactly where I swore I'd never go again. Where I'm vulnerable down to my core.
When I reach the latticed trap door, I push with all of my might, ramming my shoulder into it in spite of the pain that blossoms and aches. Maybe we haven't set sail. Maybe there's still a chance. The door gives, groaning open before it slams hard against the deck.
I expect to find Rhyland Crow and his crew waiting above.
Instead the upper deck is cool and quiet, and so utterly still I don't trust myself to move for a moment.
Even the winds are silent, as though the line of House Aethra, air and spirit gods, have nothing to say.
No direction to offer. Typical, my màma would sigh.
The gods are always quiet when you need them most.
The sky is dark, thick with night and a layer of smokey fog, blurring every which way I look until there's no choice other than to pull myself up onto the deck for a better look around.
The sails are rolled tightly overhead in what could be a promising sign.
Maybe we're still in the harbor. Maybe it's not safe to sail in these conditions.
How would they find their way if they can't see?
But where are they? The absence of everyone teases at calamitous spots in my mind, whatever section is responsible for fear.
They could be sleeping, but even I know someone must be left awake on a ship as lookout.
Yet, there's no one. Nothing. Utter silence, until I hear a soft patter of hooves through the gray haze.
What sounds like an animal of some sort.
My face twists, and I'm suddenly convinced this is a strange dream. A delirium from which I've failed to wake.
Sitting on a barrel only a foot or so away is an oil lantern and small box of matches.
I strike one, watch the small flame burn against the night before igniting the wick inside so I can see.
My bare feet ghost over the dark slats of the deck toward the sound.
The pattering comes again; this time I see the source of it—make out the shape of a fat, white goat.
It's tethered to one of the masts by a short stretch of fraying rope.
Though its maw is bound shut with a thin cord, it's trying to chew on a white rag that hangs from the taffrail and huffing its disapproval to find it cannot reach.
"H-hello there." The sound of my whisper is so hoarse it's almost non-existent. Still, the creature's ears twitch and its bright blue eyes drift in my direction. "What are you doing out here?"
The goat tugs at its constraints, restless, impatient, before trying to let out a long bleat.
"Who left you here all tied up?" I ask, if only to humor myself, distract from the growing panic.
There's an urge to look over the gunwale to see if I can make out the city or glimpse a never ending stretch of sea, but I quell it, setting the lantern down and kneeling beside the animal.
My long fingers set to work trying to undo the impossibly tight knot.
Just when I think I almost have it, the goat stiffens, her ears twitching and eyes unblinking.
On some instinct I freeze too, gaze lifting toward the sky where the sound of beating wings disrupts the silence.
Something large is moving overhead. A gust of air is sent down so powerfully that the lantern flame goes out.
And then a sharp splashing sound has me up on my feet, a terrible image of someone going overboard into dark water.
Goat momentarily forgotten, I rush for the side rail, ready to peer over it, maybe scream for help, when something broad and heavy slams into me.