It was here, in this bright and black, clear and uncertain world, this space in the middle of and nowhere near time, this place where she was not Frall’s mourning daughter, she was not the burdened chief, she was not the tricked and jilted lover.
She was a wild beast. She was the free and blessed spirit the landkeepers had so foolishly left behind. A laugh escaped her in a cloud of air puffs as she thought of what Gracke had shared, about them needing to travel away from their lives. She understood that. She was like that—always trying to escape, even though she was surrounded by water that never seemed to stop.
At some point, you have to escape into what you are. A wild and free thing. She thought of her father, and wept. The tears came from the sea and fell back into it, breaking down and rebuilding her heart and her body, the salt that surrounded her. She thought of her heart, her careful heart that she didn’t know she had been hiding her whole life until she opened it to a beautiful lax, a lax who placed himself like a fortress between her and all that she feared—she was no longer odd or at odds with herself—she was wanted. She was worthy. Until he tore it out of her and took it all back, leaving the hollow shell of the odd leen, worse than before; a half leen, a faded shadow.
The hand that reached out should have frightened her, coming at her and grabbing hold in the loud silence, the clear cold air and stretching waves, but all she did, all she could do was grab hold with both fingers. Bravis’s own longer, larger hand felt warmer against the air, but not by much. Gryshen clutched it between her own, the black tears pouring from her eyes and seeping into the cracks between his fingers, rolling over his knuckles, splashing into the valleys of her palms. Bravis came into the cold, and said no words of admonishment at her being here, out, like this; he said no words at all. He bowed his head into the water while she looked straight up to the stars, their individual glows connecting in the wet of her eyes. Sobs broke through her throat, and she didn’t care—she just held his hand tighter.
He waited with her, keeping vigil. Clouds passed over the sky, blocking the light, and more poured out of her in this darkness.
“May I?” He replaced the hand that she was gripping with his other, gingerly reaching his free arm around her, the tips of his fingers barely touching her shoulders, as if they were made of fine glass.
Gryshen rolled herself into his arms, face pressed against his shoulder, her eyes resting just above its line, wide open. In the path beyond was a stout and steep glacier, like a formidable giant, watching. There was no moon tonight, and the clouds passed again, freeing the sparks from their cloak. The tears ran and ran, until the flood became a stream, and the stream narrowed into a trickle, and the trickle waned into drops . . . until the last drop faded. The night air was frigid against her now dry eyes, and she could feel a slight shiver ripple through Bravis. He still said nothing, just held her carefully.
Gryshen took a deep breath of the clean, icy air, as if it was helping to mend her insides. Each breath felt like a small stitch across her torn heart.
She realized she was still clutching Bravis’s hand, and so she reluctantly let go.
Now to back away. She did so, averting her gaze from his, staring anywhere but toward him.
“Thank you. We should get to sleep. It will be light soon.” She croaked out the words, her throat glazed by the quiet arctic breeze that attempted to ruffle her now rigid hair. The white whale, right on cue, slowly swam up to her, tired from her own adventure. Gryshen wouldn’t meet Bravis’s eyes, and so she gave one last look at the sky, then turned and rode back down to the overhang, where she faced the ice wall. She pretended to sleep until sleep eventually came.
“Not too bad.” Gryshen awoke to the sound of Gracke chomping on a cod. “A bit thin, but it’s got flavor.”
She waited to feel the pounding in her head, the heaviness of her lids, that she usually felt after a night with so little sleep. But only energy ran through her veins. Her eyes snapped open, and a smile played at her lips while watching Gracke share a bite with his orca, the one he’d ridden into Rone on. She noted how the grin didn’t feel weighted down; it came easily as it stretched a bit.
“Good morning.” Bravis greeted them both, and Gryshen immediately pretended to be preoccupied with a purple sea sponge clinging to rock.
“Ah, morning, Bravis. You look like you didn’t sleep a wink. Fish?” Gracke tugged at a full net to reveal his morning catch.
“Oh. Yes. Sleep well, Gracke?” He avoided the original question, and Gryshen was certain she could feel him looking her way. She dared herself to lift her eyes for a moment. He was. Back to the sea sponge.
In spite of her strange feeling around Bravis, she felt more hope than she had in . . . maybe it hasn’t been that long. It only feels like forever. She bit hard on her lip, watching the curls of plum roll out and in from the plant, effortlessly. If I’m going to be a wild thing, I can’t be embarrassed. What do I need to be embarrassed for? I let myself be free. Nothing has changed between us. The idea was laughable. Nothing.
Gryshen looked defiantly back at her travel companions, and grabbed one of the bigger fish from the net, tearing into it and spitting out the bones in a way that would have disgusted Morfal.
The light shifted and the space grew open as the sea carried them along their journey.
Flat, paddle-shaped fish in shades of pink and deep blue swam opposite, one occasionally straying from its school and darting in front of their faces. Gryshen’s eyelids kept blinking, threatening to shut. No one had slept well on their swim across the globe. There wasn’t time for proper rest. She gripped her narrow spear tightly with one face in her mind. Could she get him before the pearl? How many might get in her way? How protected might he be? Gryshen wondered what kind of vicious guards would be the wall between her and her target.
“Let’s break,” Bravis suggested. They gathered near a reef, and a healer pulled a pouch from his net. He plucked small, flat worms from it.
“Oh. Sturs, right?” Gryshen carefully accepted one between her thumb and forefinger. “I’ve never had them.”
“No, Chieftainess, we usually reserve them to give hunters energy. They have been harder to come by in the past few seasons. We took our reserves for this.”
Gryshen nodded in thanks, and watched Gracke pop one into his wide mouth. She followed, and soon adrenaline pumped like electricity through her veins.
“That’ll help.” Gracke nodded. “Theus? Tollo?” He gestured toward the twins, offering.
“Yes. I’ll take one, if you’d like.” Theus folded his fingers around one.
“All right, then.” Gracke stared at him a moment. “And Tollo?”
“Oh no, no. Those will make me fall asleep.” Tollo backed away, giggling.
“Course they will.” Gracke shook his head and hoisted his pack on his shoulders. The net caught on a branch of coral.
“Aargh!” The pouch full of blinding parasites had come loose, releasing them in a burst. Gracke tried uselessly to scoop them up and contain them.
Gryshen’s vision began to take on a haze, the colors closing in.
“How long will this last?” Bravis signaled, unable to keep testiness out of his tone.
“Not quite sure. Dangit!” Gracke waved his arms comically in an attempt to scatter the bugs away.