Flipping the locket closed, Nora sighed. Somehow, she would keep Kenward safe.
When the Keys of Terhilian finally came into view, they looked little like what Catrin recalled. What had been white beaches lined by thick forest were now fields of mud and debris as far as could be seen. She sighed in relief when they came to the Terhilian Lovers, which had withstood the fury of the sea.
Kenward set a course, following the megalithic statue's pointing finger. "Let's get there and be done with this," he said. "I've no more taste for adventure. I'll happily take a quiet life of trading."
"It took you long enough to figure that out, fool boy," Nora said, leaning on her short staff. Her bones were still knitting, but she insisted on watching over the crew. Catrin agreed with Kenward, wanting nothing more to do with adventure. What she would have once thought of as glorious and exciting now tasted of death and despair. Too many had died, and Catrin could find no justification, no end worth those means.
The possibility of any of them surviving this journey grew smaller with every day, and Catrin knew she would probably never leave the Firstland, assuming they found it. If she did, though, she promised herself she would go home. Dead or alive, that was where her father was, and she was determined to find her way back to him.
From the beginning, her journey had been costly, but the loss of Benjin was more than she could bear. Only the love she had for those still around her kept her from throwing herself into the sea. Chase stood by her side and put his arm around her. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"You can't keep it all inside, Cat; it'll eat its way out eventually."
"Then let it," she said, feeling foolish. "Talking won't bring them back, and I doubt it'll make me feel any better. Why bother?"
"I miss him too," Chase said, and his simple admission uncorked the wellspring of emotion she could no longer keep inside.
Her jaw quivered and her shoulders shook, but she did not want to cry. To cry was to be a victim, to lament her losses and accept them, but she didn't want to accept them; that was simply too painful. She wanted someone to blame, someone to punish.
"I need exercise," she said. "Will you spar with me?"
"Will you talk to me afterward and tell me how you are really feeling?" Chase asked.
"If I must."
"You must," he said, getting practice swords from storage. He tossed one to Catrin but was unprepared for her sudden attack.
"So that's how you want it?" he asked, lying on his back and rubbing the lump that was growing on the back of his head. Rolling backward, he got back to his feet and readied himself for her next attack.
Pent-up rage drove Catrin. In front of her, she saw not Chase, but the source of all her problems, and she attacked without thought or mercy. Moving by sheer instinct, she fought as she had never fought before, and Chase fell before her attacks.
"That's enough for me," he said, limping and rubbing his bruises. "Find someone else to beat up." He walked away, looking hurt.
Catrin was not yet done venting her anger, but no one else would spar with her, having seen how poorly Chase had fared against her raging attacks.
Unwilling to keep her anger inside any longer, she searched the dry hold and found a sack of dried reeds. After hanging it from the rigging, she attacked, her practice sword slicing the air, pounding the sack mercilessly. Even after reducing the sack to shreds, though, she did not feel any better.
Her heart pounding, she climbed atop the bowsprit. "Why do you hate me so much?" she screamed at the sky, challenging the gods themselves. "What have I done to deserve such evil and malice?"
Crew members stopped what they were doing, and Bryn readied a harness in case she fell from her dangerous perch, but Catrin barely noticed them. "Come, Istra. Come, Vestra. Right here… right now. Let us end this. If you wish me to suffer, then come down here and fight me yourselves. Cowards! I don't fear you, and I spit on your names. I cast your own hate back at you. What do you say to that?"
As if to answer her, lightning split the air and thunder rolled across the water. Gusting winds threatened to knock her from the bowsprit, but she remained there, challenging the gods to a duel. Only when Chase grabbed her ankles did she see the world around her again. Dark clouds moved in swiftly from the west, and stinging rain began to fall.
"Cowards!" she shouted one last time, shaking her fist in the air, before she let Chase guide her back to the deck.
"Cripes, Cat. You're scaring the crew. Calm down."
Shaking, Catrin took deep breaths and tried to do as he said. When the rage passed, though, exhaustion took its place, and she let Chase carry her to her cabin.
"It'll all work out somehow, Cat. Even if we have to take on the gods themselves, somehow we'll make it right. I promise," he said as he pulled a blanket over her, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.
"Not too much now," Milo said as he leaned in over Gustad's shoulder.
"I know. I know," Gustad said as he mixed water with the materials listed in the ancient text. Since Milo had found a recipe for what had been called fire powder, he had focused on nothing else. Gustad had tried to talk him out of experimenting with the formula a dozen times, fearing it was too dangerous, but Milo would not be dissuaded. His hands more steady than Milo's, Gustad gently rolled the mixture and kneaded it until it was uniform.
"That looks about right to me," Milo said. "Let's take it outside and test it."
"Just a moment," Gustad said. "Let me clean up all this mess." Despite his efforts, a mixture of different ingredients covered the worktable, and a fine dust hung in the air. "Could you get me some water?"
"You and your cleanliness," Milo said. "We can clean up when we get back from testing this. Now let's go." Reaching his hand out to the metal bowl that held the snakelike pieces of fire powder clay, a tiny blue arc of static leaped between his finger and the bowl. It was enough to ignite the dust in the air and produced a mighty thump. The initial explosion threw Milo and Gustad back, which was a blessing since the ignited dust engulfed the fire powder snakes. Two larger explosions followed, creating a mighty cloud of noxious smoke.
From beneath the remains of a crumbled worktable, Gustad crawled. His hair smoking and his face blackened, he glared at Milo.
"I told you it would work," Milo said, grinning, and Gustad just shook his head.
"Birds ahead, sir," Bryn called from the crow's nest.
"Land can't be too far," Kenward said. "Double the watch. Keep your eyes open for outcroppings and reefs. I want no surprises."
Catrin, her gaze focused on the waves, looking for any sign of obstacles, was terrified to see a huge, dark shape dart beneath the ship and emerge on the other side, its movements graceful and serpentine. More came, seemingly drawn by curiosity if not hunger. None broke the surface, leaving Catrin and the crew to guess at their true nature.
"Never seen the likes of that," Kenward said. "They haven't attacked yet, but remain watchful nonetheless. Bring out the spears from the hold; we may need to fend them off yet." His words inspired fear in the crew as they watched the dark shapes moving beneath them, taunting them, staying just deep enough to remain ambiguous.
"Rocks to port," Bryn called, and Kenward guided the ship clear of the danger. "Land, sir! I see land!"
Excitement ran through the crew as a large landmass came into view, but for Catrin it was a moment of dread. Here she was, the Firstland, a place of legend and the place where some said the first men and women were born. It was a place abandoned-surrendered-by her ancestors. As it stretched across the horizon, Catrin was overwhelmed by anxiety, suddenly convinced she would die on the Firstland. In the past she had believed, deep down, that she would survive, that someday she and her loved ones would all get home safely, but Benjin was gone. Too many others were already dead. What reason did she have to believe she wouldn't be next? She found no reassurance, and her guts churned.