39. Advanced Tides and Currents
The dark spot did indeed reveal itself to be a boat with the rising sun. It had gotten closer in the night, now near enough for us to recognize the rounded hull of a fishing vessel like ours but still far enough that we couldn’t tell who might be on board.
“It’s probably nothing,” Orla assured us over a meal of dried fish, but Tiernan hadn’t been able to look away from the boat since learning it was there.
Gold light blazed in his hands as he stood resolutely at the stern of the boat, watching the distant hull.
I was certain I’d seen gold light flash on its deck the night before, but it had remained dark until morning. Now, with the sun steadily climbing, it would be impossible to see Skal-light at this distance, but if there were to be any more signs that Caitria was on the ship, Tiernan would see them.
I managed to calm my nerves enough to sleep through the afternoon, but when I woke in the evening, it was even closer.
Davyn had turned taciturn, and his new stoic demeanor seemed to have infected his crew. They tended to the sails in a careful quiet, keeping an eye on the three masts while watching their captain from their periphery.
By the middle of the night, the ship had crept closer still, and I gathered at the helm with my friends to watch it. Anxious orange light jumped in Ciarán’s fingers, and Una growled, taking no heed of Fana’s placating shushes.
“Tell me, miss,” Davyn murmured with his hand on the tiller, “who is it that might be following you?”
Tiernan’s shoulders tightened where he continued to keep watch off the stern.
Davyn, his daughter, and his crew had treated us with hospitality so far. He hadn’t asked questions about why we needed to get to the Tortoise. He’d fed us with provisions that were meant for his own fishermen.
But I hesitated.
Not everyone wanted the Rift closed, and not everyone was fond of the Saergrim. If I told him about Ferrin and Caitria, or about Lyria’s doorway, I wasn’t sure how he’d react, and out here in the middle of the ocean, we were at his and his crew’s mercy.
“It’s your call,” Ciarán said in my head. His eyes glowed at me from across the tiller. He’d lit his retina guards at the first sign of danger, not caring if his black sclera alarmed the crew.
“Bad people,” I finally said to Davyn.
Tiernan made a sound between a grunt and a laugh.
“Is my crew in danger?” Davyn asked evenly. “Don’t lie. My daughter is on this ship. My other daughter and my wife are at home waiting for us to come back safely. Are we in danger?”
“If it’s who I think it might be, then yes.”
He nodded, but kept his eyes ahead.
“Does the ship have weapons?” Ciarán asked.
“Just nets and spears for the fish,” Davyn replied. “But you are free to check belowdeck for anything that might be useful.”
Ciarán nodded and took Iseult and Orla to scrounge up supplies.
Davyn beckoned for Vinia to take his place at the helm and then for me to follow him to the bow of the boat.
He pointed at the dark shapes that had risen out of the forward horizon.
One of them had a rounded body and a steep outcropping, giving the impression of a large turtle craning its head to look at the twin moons above.
“That there is the Tortoise,” he said. “If the other vessel is indeed chasing you, we should beat them there, but you’ll be vulnerable on the island. I won’t be able to help you.”
“You’ve helped us enough. We’ll be okay,” I promised.
His broad shoulders lifted and fell with a heavy sigh.
“There’s been rumors, you know. A new Saergrim, seen recently in Willow’s Grave.
They said she’s just a kid, and I’ll admit, for a moment, when we first met, I did wonder.
But then I questioned how someone as insignificant as me could end up in the new Saergrim’s story.
It feels laughable to even suggest it now but—” He cleared his throat and squinted at the islands ahead.
“Tell me, Miss Wren. Who is following us?”
“His name is Ferrin Quillguard. He freed the Frozen God and opened the Rift. We’re trying to close it again.”
He grunted and fell silent, perhaps wondering why a Saergrim like me would want the Rift closed when every rumor insisted the Saergrims wanted otherwise, or how sailing to a deserted island hundreds of miles away from the Rift could possibly help in that endeavor.
“I’m going to be honest, I don’t much care about the Rift one way or another, and I don’t care much about the Frozen God as long as they don’t get in the way of my fishing,” Davyn finally said, “but this Quillguard, I assume he intends to hurt you and your friends?”
“Yes,” I said.
Davyn clapped a hand on my shoulder, turning from the horizon to look me in the eye. “Then I will get you to the Tortoise if that’s what you need to keep you safe.”
“But your crew—” I started.
“We will be fine. Prepare the rowboat. I’ll get you as close as I can.”
Vinia helped pull the rowboat out from under its protective covering and loaded our packs beneath its benches. The Tortoise loomed nearer, but the waters had turned rough, and we clung to the rails of the deck as the ship bucked beneath us.
“I don’t think your wolf will fit,” Vinia said, eying Una.
“She’ll swim,” Ciarán said. Jonquil clung to his chest, all four clawed paws digging into his leather armor. “What can you give me to help the cat?”
Vinia found a crabbing cage and an old blanket below deck, and after sustaining several new cuts worthy of a rotsbane and lots of yowling on Jonquil’s part, Ciarán managed to force her inside.
Trees rose off the steep slopes of the Tortoise, their canopies rippling in the wind. The Tortoise’s head craned back to form a craggy peak. Rocky shoals surrounded the island, and I wondered how many more lurked beneath the choppy water.
And the ship behind us was definitely closer, silhouette figures now clearly visible on its deck, lined up against the railing to face us.
Anxious magick flickered in Tiernan’s hands, but Davyn’s call of “Hold her steady!” stole his attention back to the rowboat.
A crew member took over the tiller as Davyn rushed to help us lower the rowboat into the swells. It slammed against the hull of the ship, but Davyn pressed Iseult towards the railing, prompting her down into the boat first.
“Saergrim!” Caitria’s call carried on the wind, and I whipped around to see her standing on the other ship’s railing. She held onto a rope for balance, and her curls and wide pant legs whipped in the wind.
A golden ball formed in her fist, and then she let it fly.
Gold light flooded the deck as Caitria’s blazing fireball arced over the water, but Ciarán ran to hoist himself onto the railing to meet the attack and split it with his own burst of magick. Orange and gold exploded over the ocean’s white caps, raining fire into the water.
Tiernan leapt back towards the stern, his own magick flaring, but I grabbed him by his collar and pushed him after Iseult.
“Remember the tides!” I warned. “We don’t have time for a fight!”
I dropped Jonquil’s cage down into Iseult’s waiting arms, then ushered Orla and Fana forward next. The ship lurched, and Fana fell from the wooden ladder but landed in Iseult and Tiernan’s arms.
“Ciarán!” I shouted, but Ciarán was deflecting another attack from Caitria.
Her soldiers had joined the fray, sending a flurry of green spears over the deck. Davyn’s crew, in response, summoned fishing harpoons of all colors.
“Go!” Ciarán said. “Get to the shore! I’ll catch up.”
Una paced on the deck behind him, and I nodded.
“The ship is yours,” I said to Davyn as I swung a leg over the railing to climb into the rowboat. “Thank you, Captain.”
“Remember,” Davyn growled as more gold, orange, and green light washed over the deck, “I want to know you’re okay.”
“Only if you promise to be okay, too.”
Vinia procured a fiery red trident and saluted me as I dropped into the rowboat.
Orla and Iseult steadied me, and Tiernan pushed off the hull of the ship with an oar. A swell pulled us towards the rocks, and more bursting light from Davyn’s ship behind us cast my shadow over the others.
“Where’s Ciarán?” Fana asked, clutching Jonquil’s crab cage against her chest.
“On his way.” Dark water sprayed at our side as a swell broke against rocks, sticky with salt and surprisingly warm. “Iseult, how’s the tide look?”
Iseult read from Mom’s newest journal by the light of her Skal leg. She shook her head. “We’re cutting it close. We might have to hide on the island to avoid Caitria while we wait for it to be at its lowest again.”
“How long would that take?”
“Ten hours or so.”
We scraped against barnacle-studded rock, and then dropped into the valley between two swells.
“There’s no time,” Tiernan said through gritted teeth. Arm muscles strained with the effort of rowing us away from another rock.
“The alternative is drowning,” Iseult reminded him.
“I’d rather drown than deal with my sister.”
The boat lurched, and we fell off our benches with the movement. A dark-clad arm reached into the boat, and green fur rippled in the water next to us.
“Una’s got it from here,” Ciarán grunted as he heaved himself out of the ocean and into the floor of the rowboat. “Davyn’s men are doing what they can, but we need to hurry.”
Tiernan gave Iseult a look, and she slammed the notebook shut.
“Fine,” she snapped. “But if we drown, I’m going to be livid.”
Una piloted us through the rocks, pulling us by the remnants of the rope that had secured the rowboat to Davyn’s ship.
The crashing of waves overtook the bursting of Caitria’s magick.
Cliffs at least a hundred feet high towered overhead, but through the dark of the night and the spray of the ocean, a crevice stained the rock in inky black.
Jonquil yowled in her cage as we rocked and dropped between swells. Rocks appeared so suddenly in the water and spray that I was certain we would’ve been bashed against them without Una’s help navigating.