The ship lurches sharply one way and then back the other, rolling over the mountains of waves. Each change in direction puts strain on the mast, which, miraculously, is still holding strong.
Maybe, just maybe, we can get down before it’s too late…
CRRREAKKK!
The mast sways when it’s hit by a giant’s breath of wind.
CRRAACKKKK!
It shatters, shuddering and groaning, wavering one way and then the other. The Deep Blue beckons it, calling for wood and blood and destruction and debris.
“Huck!” Jade cries as we fall, clutching at me as I clutch the side of the bird’s nest.
We fall, slowly at first, but then faster and faster.
This can’t be happening. A bad dream. A really bad dream.
I stare into the waiting arms of the waves. There’s nothing to be done. Nothing but fall and beg for mercy, think silent prayers. Deep Blue, please take me instead of her. Let my life be your sacrifice. Take me. Please.
All I see in the face of the Deep Blue is hunger. There will be no trade. Not when He can have us both.
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
One by one, the rope bridges we so carefully constructed to allow us to repair the sails break off, snapping past us, cracking like whips. One lashes my face, stinging my skin. If we can only grab one, swing away…
It’s too late—far too late for action.
The Deep Blue calls my name. Huuuuuuuck!
The impact of hitting the water is as powerful as the shock. Water surrounds, cold and frantic, trying to force its way into my mouth, my nose, to pull me under. I clutch the splintered shards of wood sticking out from the bird’s nest, cutting my hands. Fighting for my life. That’s when it hits me:
Where’s Jade?
Chapter Thirty
Sadie
Firm hands shake me awake in the dark. “Sadie!” a voice says.
Reflexively, I reach out, grab the hands with my own. Heat flashes in my head and chest. The hands are rough and strong and Remy’s.
I let go like I’ve been burned.
“What is it?” I say.
“It’s, uh, I’m supposed to, um…”
I’ve never heard him stumble so much on a simple sentence. Did I surprise him just now? “Spit it out,” I say, smiling in the dark at his rare display of awkwardness.
“He’s awake,” Remy says, and he doesn’t have to explain who the he is. The guard. The injured guard.
But there was so much blood.
“He won’t last long,” Remy says and I push out a heavy breath. He’s dying.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” I say.
“Later,” Remy says. “You have to hurry. Father says you should be there for the questioning. You’re the closest thing to a witness we have.”
The weariness falls away from me like a snake shedding its skin. I’m on my feet in an instant, hurriedly pushing out of the tent and following Remy. Light, misting rain leaves glistening drops on my skin, attaching to the fine hairs on my arms. The night is ink-black, save for the burning glow of the Big Fire, raging strong enough to withstand the sprinkle from the clouds above.
We reach the string of healing tents and Remy leads me inside one. A man cries out in agony. Gard kneels beside him, filling a corner of the tent. A Healer mops the man’s brow with a wet cloth.
A woman cries softly into her hands. The guard’s wife. Remy’s mother comforts her with a gentle hand on her back, an occasional whisper in her ear.
I know her loss, and no amount of words can comfort her now.
You sssee what I have done? the voice says in my head.
You’re not real, I think, only realizing I’ve spoken it out loud when Gard looks up at me in confusion.
“What was that, Sadie?” he asks.
“Nu-nothing,” I stutter. “You asked for me?”
A question clouds his wrinkled brow for a moment, but then his face relaxes. “I fear you’ve wasted your precious hours of sleep. Mother Earth is taking him in the most painful manner. We’ve barely drawn a word or two out of him, and nothing meaningful.”
Across from Gard, the woman sobs.
“Let me speak to him,” I say, fear squeezing my heart as I wonder: What did this man see? Will he tell us a tale of a clawed forest-dwelling monster? Attacking and ripping and tearing.
I am Evil, the voice says.
I shake my head as Gard moves aside so I can get closer.
The man’s face is wracked with pain, his eyes closed, his lips clamped tight until he lets out a tortured moan that pushes a shudder down my spine.
“His name,” I say.
“Nole,” Gard says.
“Nole,” I say, trying to keep the uncertainty out of my voice. What can I say that Gard hasn’t already? How can I convince Mother Earth to let this man speak one last time? “My mother and father have both been taken. Soon you will go to join them.”
Nole stiffens for a second, but then relaxes. Sweat trickles down his cheek. Or is it a tear? Thick white bandages are wrapped around his naked stomach. The Healer has done all she can do. It’s in Mother Earth’s hands now.
A flash of pain crosses Nole’s face and his eyes spring open, but this time he doesn’t cry out. “Nole, tell us what happened. You could save many lives,” I say.
His eyes meet mine for the first time, like he’s only just realized I’m here, that I’m the one speaking. A wail slips from his wife’s lips, but I raise a hand in her direction and she manages to stifle it. How am I so calm when this man is dying? The answer is black and obvious: Because I have to know what did this.
“It…was…” The words come slow, like rainwater dripping from a leaf long after the storm has passed. “…our…fault.”
What? He’s dying, and yet he’s taking blame…for what exactly? For getting stabbed? For bleeding on the ground? He’s confused, from pain or loss of blood or trauma.
“You did nothing wrong,” I say. “Just tell us who did this to you.”
His body stops convulsing and he suddenly looks so calm that if it wasn’t for his sweat-stained face and bandaged gut I’d swear he was nothing more than a man trying to get some sleep. His voice strengthens. “They appeared out of nowhere, as if the night spat them out just in front of the camp.” Nole takes a deep swallow, but then continues. “There were two men, one as light-skinned as a Soaker, but not as fair, with dark hair and a thick beard; the other was darker skinned, but not like us. Light brown. They surprised us. Our fault.” He cringes, but I can tell it’s not pain, but sadness that causes it. Tears flow freely from his eyes, spilling over his lips, which are open enough to show that his teeth are grinding sharply against each other.
“No, Nole,” I say, trying to get his attention back. “Nothing’s your fault. What happened next?”
For a long moment I fear I’ve lost him to despair, but then he speaks again. “Their hands were out and they held no weapons. I drew my sword and they stopped moving closer. The white-skinned one had anger in his eyes, but he didn’t threaten us, only asked to see our leader.”
At that, Gard crowds in close beside me. “They wanted to see me? But why?”
“I—I…” Fresh tears well up. “I’m sorry. I waved my torch to get a better look at them, and the light glinted off a long blade hanging from the brown-skinned man’s belt. We panicked. We attacked him, both of us, at once. We fought to kill. He was a great warrior. Far superior to us. He had no choice.” Nole clutches his side as if remembering when the brown-skinned man’s blade sunk into his flesh.