"I'm so sorry," Kenward said as his shoulders began to shake. His poignant anguish washed over Catrin, mixed with her own, and drove a wedge into her soul. Impotent rage gnawed at her very being, and she felt as if she would erupt, just as the mountain had.
Kenward continued the search for three days, but it was Nora who demanded they move on. "If they were going to be found, it would've happened by now. We must accept it, Son. They're gone."
Nat waited on a mossy rock near the spring where Neenya swam. This place was special to her, and she brought him here only when she was feeling especially happy. Her smile drew him closer, and he marveled at the way the light danced in her eyes.
It had been a long time since he last visited the mountaintop; he always seemed to be busy with one task or another. Life was pleasant here, and he could easily forget his worries. Trips to the mountain brought only pain and grief. Most of the time, he didn't even understand his visions. What good came from them? Secretly, he'd been working on mental exercises that he hoped would suppress the visions. It shamed him, but a peaceful life with Neenya seemed worth it.
As he bent down to kiss her, though, he felt a warm sensation on his lips, and he wiped them with the back of his hand, which came away covered in blood. Neenya's scream faded as the world shifted.
Atop an unbelievably tall wave ran a white panther; on its back rode Catrin, her colorless hair pulled back by the wind. The staff she held came alive, its eyes gleaming as it spread its wings and flew. The white cat reared, but the water pulled at his legs, and he tumbled into the leading edge of the crashing wave. In an instant Catrin and her cat were gone.
Still the water came, and Nat, standing on the highest mount, watched the seas rise until the water lapped at his feet.
"Neenya," Nat said when the vision released him. "We must hurry."
Pulling hard on the too light load, Mark Vedregon cursed the monsters that continually ruined his nets. They had caught enough fish to feed his men for a week, but as had happened so many times before, something cut the nets before they reached the surface. More of the reptile beasts, he suspected-Gholgi, Belegra had called them. Powerful and crafty, they were proving to be capable foes. Hindering their fishing efforts was only one of the ways the beasts harried Mark Vedregon and his men, slowly wearing them down.
"Nets were cut again, sir. Shall we repair 'em?"
"Not now. We can do that when we get back to shore. Drop the trawl tubs. Maybe we'll get lucky and hook some of those boiling beasts in the process."
"Aye, sir."
"Even if we could catch enough to feed us," Second Richt said, "Archmaster Belegra will take it to feed his pet." His moody gaze scanned the seas, but then he stopped. Pointing out to sea, he stood mute and trembling, unable to make himself speak. Mark Vedregon gave frantic orders, and the crew moved with haste, despite knowing it was already too late. The sea would claim them.
Miss Mariss walked the avenues, passing faces both familiar and strange. So many things had changed, and yet many were still the same. When she reached the docks, Amnar greeted her with his usual toothless grin.
"Hallo, missus," he said. "I set a nice mackerel aside fer ya and a few toadfish. The currents run strange these days; I'd have more for ya if I could."
"I appreciate what you have, Amnar. We make do with what we can get these days," she said, moving on to where Lendra and her new mate, Bavil, waited.
"The pots were heavy today, Miss Mariss. We've blue crab, shedders, and wall-climbers for you."
"Thank you," she said, dropping a silver into Lendra's palm. Looking beyond the docks, Miss Mariss wondered how Strom, Catrin, and the others fared, but a curious sight drew her attention. Children playing on the beach ran out to grab stranded fish and crabs as the bay began to rapidly recede. Faster that the swiftest tide, the water rushed away from land, as if there were a great hole in the seafloor.
For a time she was mesmerized by the sight, as were others, but then the realization set in and her mind could conceive only one explanation. "Get away from the water! Make for high ground," she shouted. "The seas are coming! The seas are coming!"
At the helm of the Slippery Eel, Kenward gripped the wheel as if it were his only link to sanity. Sadness, more powerful than anything he'd ever imagined, threatened to cripple his mind and body. Tears sprang to his eyes without warning, as feelings of loss manifested as physical pain. He felt as if his heart were truly broken.
Using a short staff as a cane, Nora limped to his side, but he said nothing; he just continued to stare out at the endless horizon.
"I miss her too," she said.
Those words were more than Kenward could bear, and he began to cry. "I'm so sorry," he said, and he gave the wheel over to Bryn. Unable to even lift his eyes to meet hers, he walked to his mother and wrapped her in a tight hug as he wept.
"It wasn't your doing, Son. You are not to blame."
"I was supposed to save her," he said, feeling as if his chest might explode. "Why couldn't I save her?"
"I don't know. I'm sorry, Son. I miss her too," Nora said. Together they cried. In a rare display, they stood, holding each other. Crewmen came, one by one, each with a kind word or a pat on the shoulder. Silently and together, the ship mourned.
To Kenward, the loss seemed surreal, and he kept expecting to wake up, for all this to have been but a dream. Nothing seemed as it should. Colors were dull, and sounds that might once have been beautiful were now harsh and somehow disrespectful. The world without Fasha seemed a poorer place. She had been a second half of him, always there to counter him, a constant challenge to his wits. His mother had intended to hand the Trader's Wind down to Fasha; he was certain of it. That thought led him to another crushing realization: His pain was but a small fraction of what his mother must be experiencing. "I know I can never take Fasha's place," he said, "but I'll try harder."
"Nonsense," Nora said. "You're doing just fine. Fasha is my daughter, and nothing could ever replace her, but I would be just as lost without you."
Kenward raised his eyes, surprised by what he heard.
Nora laughed. "A fool boy you may be, but you're my fool boy."
By the dim light of her lamp, Nora lay in her hammock, caressing the walls of Kenward's ship with her fingertips, her mind elsewhere. She was proud of Kenward for allowing himself to grieve, and she was proud of herself. She'd been taught to conceal her feelings from the crew, to always present a confident front. While the tactic had worked well during her career, Kenward had taught her something. His crew exuded something that surpassed loyalty. They followed him not because he commanded them, but because they cared about him; some might say they loved him.
It explained the one thing that Fasha had always questioned: How did he get his crew to obey his reckless orders? Nora could see Fasha as she had been in those moments, her arms crossed over her chest and fire in her eyes. From her pocket, she pulled a gold locket that filled her palm. Inside were things that would be valuable to only a mother: the dried, crumbling remains of a sea daisy and a tiny coral fan. Kenward had given her the sea daisy when he was five summers, and the coral had come from a small, unnamed island they had found when avoiding a massive storm. After the storm had passed, Fasha, who was ten at the time, spent an afternoon swimming around the colorful reefs. When she came back to the ship, she was so excited to show Nora what she'd found. Fasha's smile and laughter were forever ingrained in her memory.