Chapter Four #2
What a fickle thing to navigate. She had to push the tiller the opposite way that she wanted, which she realized as they approached a departing boat.
The humans within shouted, arms waving in erratic gestures.
Water freckled her dress as she called, “I’m sorry!
” as the wind scuttled her away just in time.
Goaded by a wind surge, Mila whipped around to observe a larger-than-expected incoming wave.
Her bow dropped into the trough and water descended across the front.
She dodged for the stern with a muted scream, her ankle catching the brunt of it, and clung to the mast. Water lapped a breath away from her toes.
Close call.
With a gasp, Mila shoved away from the mast, squatted, and snatched the tiller.
Wrenching it to the right, her boat shifted to the left.
Another wave rushed for her, curling along the edges.
A scream elevated into her throat as she tilted precariously, riding the wave.
Throwing her weight into the starboard side, she shouted, “No, we can’t tip! ” and felt the wind shift.
The vessel righted—facing the wrong way—but still upright. Yet another boat skirted off, safe, undoubtedly born on a wind meant to save her, or them. She’d end up killing someone at this rate.
Mila released the tiller and raised her hands high. “Never mind!” she cried. “Never mind! I don’t want to go onto the island. I can’t do it. I can’t!”
The tiller moved of its own accord, and the wind carried her away from shore.
At some point after almost plunging into the sea, flecks of water sank into her hair.
The cool liquid splashed across her shoulders.
As the sun descended, she tucked herself into a ball at the bottom of the mast, the island far behind her, and pulled her mind together.
Too close.
Far too close.
Why had the water become so rough? Would it be like that everywhere?
“Somewhere else,” she pleaded. “Is there somewhere easier?”
The tiller jerked around, subject to the powerful wind that skidded them away from this island, the humans’ loud laughter, and the choppy waters near the shore.
Chilled by her wet clothes, Mila shivered as darkness fell.
She pressed her forehead against the wood, closed her eyes, and fell into a restless sleep. Heat stirred her awake, along with the gentle sound of rope hitting sail. Blinking, she drew an arm over her eyes and squinted through the brilliant, near-oppressive sunshine.
How long had she slept?
Amidst the dull thud of water hitting the boat, and the rhythmic swelling and ebbing with the waves, she sensed another sound. Rushing. Sniffing, she tilted her nose higher. Was that . . . smoke?
A shout nearly startled her out of her skin. She leaped, stemming a cry. Her head whirled a bit when she righted.
An island.
Not just an island, but a dock.
She’d already arrived . . . somewhere. Her boat lay next to a wooden dock. Low blasts of wind tugged at the sails, nudging the boat farther onto the sand, then nearly whipping it back to the sea when the direction shifted.
The Arcanist of Sky must have done this. No amount of blind luck would have carted her around the ocean and brought her to a pier in such a neat fashion.
Mila grabbed a rope attached to the side of her boat and hurled it toward the dock pillars.
She almost drifted away while unwinding the knotted, coiled rope, wrenching it with thin fingers.
Her first attempt to tie it to a wooden pole sticking out of the water almost failed.
Heat rose to her cheeks as she struggled to wind it around, too shy to ask a nearby wobbly old man for help. He ignored her, tottering away.
Once she managed to tie her boat to the pole, a flush of embarrassment followed. It looked like a messy knot of seaweed. She cast a sidelong glance to others nearby. Those knots were orderly and near perfect . . . but this would have to do. Mila flipped her hair out of the way and braced herself.
Time to go.
Before she lost her courage, she hauled her skirt up and lifted her foot. One foot planted on the dock, the other remained in the ship, as she glanced over her shoulder.
The sails.
Shouldn’t she do something with them?
Did she have to? She wouldn’t stay long. Only long enough to get food and fresh water and then leave. It wouldn’t be safe to linger.
Another surreptitious glance confirmed that all the other ships—boats, whatever they were—had rolled their sails up. Some of them appeared neater than others. She could spend time figuring out the knots and ropes, but she’d have to unfurl them when she left in a few minutes.
Sensible to stay on land and avoid contact with the sea, Stulla would have said, which doubled Mila’s resolve to do the opposite. The ocean may not be kind, but it was probably safer than here.
At some point, she had to accept that life was risk. Mila pushed out of the ship leaving her sails flapping. She’d take risks, and gladly.
“Please,” she whispered as she walked, “please watch it for me? I won’t be long. I just . . . I just want to gather some food . . . and perhaps take a moment to see.”
A friendly twirl of wind felt like confirmation.
“Thank you.”
At the end of the dock, she hesitated. This step was her first step into real life.
Her first step into her own existence, painfully wrenched from Mother’s control and haphazardly pieced together.
She was doing a terrible job of it. Without the Arcanist of the Sky, she might have been discovered by Onskar long ago.
The moment she stepped into the downy, hot sand would be the moment she always dreamed of.
Mila’s lips twitched in a smile as she leaped onto the beach, both feet landing at the same time. Laughing, she relished the heated granules against the arch of her foot. Oh, how lovely this world was.
And now she could explore it.