Rae Carson - The Crown of Embers

There can be no doubt that we face a hurricane. Already the lanterns swing violently as we dip and plunge through the sea. White water gushes over the prow at irregular intervals, soaking everything. We’ve shortened the sails to take less wind, and several crewmen have lashed themselves to the rigging, ready to cut the sails completely if the masts start to give way.

I stand with Felix and Hector near the ship’s wheel, for we are sure to go off course. No ship can sail directly into a storm. The best we can do is tack through the water, pushing directly into the waves whenever possible to avoid being capsized. My Godstone and I will be the ship’s compass, pointing us in the right direction as we do our best to make corrections. Hector holds thickly coiled rope in his hands, ready to tie me down if the waves threaten to wash us overboard.

I have trouble keeping my feet as we climb and dive. In the night, the waves are a huge black darkness tipped in foamy white, swelling higher than the gunwale, but always, at the last moment, our prow breaks through and my stomach drops as we slip down the other side.

Felix tells me it’s too early to be afraid, that they’ve survived harsher weather than this. “We are barely at the edge of the storm, Your Majesty,” he says with a grin that holds more mania than humor. “The worst is yet to come.”

An older man with a gray beard and a missing earlobe rushes up to the captain and yells, “Bilge is halfway to the first mark.”

“What does that mean?” I holler through the wind.

“Some of the water coming over the side filters down to the bilge,” Hector yells back. The wind has whipped his hair into a wild, curly mess. “Someone mans the pump at all times, but if the water gets high enough, we’ll have to use buckets too. If it goes past the third mark, the ship is lost.”

And then it begins to rain in great stinging sheets.

The deck is slick and chilled. I cling to a bit of rail stretching across middeck that seems to be made for that purpose. The sky flashes brighter than daylight a split second before thunder crashes around us.

God, please show us the way and keep us safe.

A smidge of warmth snakes through me, bringing the sensation, stronger than ever, of tugging at my navel.

Hector bends close. “You just prayed, didn’t you?”

I look up at him, surprised.

“I can always tell,” he says. “Your face changes.” He wears a slight smile, as if we’re sharing a secret. Lamplight shines against the planes of his sea-soaked face.

The ship rolls sideways, flinging me against him. He wraps one arm around me, braces us against the railing with the other. “Maybe having you on deck is not such a good idea,” he says in my ear. “You heard what Felix said. Things are going to get worse.”

“I have to help navigate!”

“There will come a point when it doesn’t matter anymore, when we just have to survive.”

I stare up at him, acutely aware in spite of everything of the way our bodies are pressed together. What if I don’t survive? It would surprise no one if I died young, like most of the bearers before me.

Or worse, what if he doesn’t survive? I lost Humberto before I could tell him how I felt. I can’t bear to do it again.

“Hector, I need to tell you—”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he says, putting a finger to my lips. “No good-byes, no confessions. Because we are going to live. Both of us. It’s faith, right?”

Lightning streaks the sky behind him, as if in punctuation. “Yes,” I say. “Faith.” He’s right. I need to prepare to live, not to die.

Maybe I’ve been preparing to die for too long—ever since that day in the desert when I decided it would be better to die in service to God than to live uselessly. And maybe I will. Maybe tonight.

But I’m suddenly frantic to do something—anything—to prove to myself that I won’t, to feel some kind of power over my predestined future. Hector’s face is very close. It would be so easy to wrap my arms around his neck, force his lips to mine, and kiss him until we are both breathless.

I want more from Hector than a single ill-timed kiss. No, I want more from life. I clench my fists, and my nails bite into my palms as I think, My supposed destiny can drown itself in the deepest part of the sea. Along with everyone else’s plans for me.

“Elisa?”

“I’ll be right back!” I yell, and dash across the deck to Captain Felix’s quarters.

I bang open the doors, and Mara looks up, startled. She’s huddled on the floor at the foot of the bed, knees to chest, and her cheeks are streaked with tears. “Elisa?” she says waveringly.

I shed water everywhere as I grab my pack and drop down beside her. The ship rolls while I reach inside for the naked figurine that holds the lady’s shroud.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Preparing to live.” I put my hand to the stopper.

Mara grabs my wrist. “Wait.” She reaches for her satchel and retrieves a matching figurine. “Me too,” she says with a shaky grin. “Ready?”

In answer, I pull the stopper and upend a few seeds into my palm. She does the same. In unison, we toss them back and start chewing. They’re bitter and hard and taste faintly of lemon rind.

The ship rolls again, and I almost choke on the seeds. The captain’s chair slides across the planking and tips over at our feet. Mara whimpers. I wrap my arms around her, and she does the same right back, mindless of my soaked state. I shouldn’t linger, but I revel in the luxury of stealing these precious moments with my friend.

“You should go,” she says, disengaging.

I rise to my feet, and though the floor sways beneath me, I feel steadier than I have in a while. “Stay here. I won’t risk you getting washed overboard.”

She nods. “Be safe, Elisa.”

I open the doors to a dark deluge. Water pours from the frame, soaking the entrance. Hector is there already, as if standing watch, and he helps me fight the wind to pull the doors closed.

My thanks are whipped away as we lurch and slide across the deck. Captain Felix mans the wheel himself. “I need a bearing, Majesty,” he shouts.

I grab the rail and close my eyes. Wind sends rain stinging into my face, and it’s a moment before I can focus enough to feel the tug, but it’s there, steady and sure. I point toward starboard. “That way.”

What I don’t tell him is that the Godstone has gone ice cold.

Felix gives the order and swings the wheel while others adjust the sails, and slowly, gradually, we fight through wind and waves toward a new heading.

During the next hour, the waves grow higher. The deck tips precariously as we climb and plunge. My hands become stiff with cold, and my grip on the rail slips. I slide to the deck and wrap a leg around the rail instead. Hector takes it as a cue to tie me down. He wraps the rope once around my waist and ties off with a quick but sturdy knot.

Then he pulls a long dagger from one of his vambraces and plunges it into the planking beside my knee. “If something happens to me,” he yells, “you may need to cut yourself free.”

I nod, praying, Please don’t let anything happen to Hector.

Lightning streaks the sky ahead, illuminating the strangest cloud I’ve ever seen. It’s a long, crooked finger poking at the ocean’s writhing surface, sending spray in all directions.

I tug on Hector’s pants and point. But there is only darkness, and he looks at me, confused. “Wait for the lightning. Watch!”

The next time lightning cracks the sky, the finger cloud is even closer, close enough for me to understand its Godlike power, how even the mighty sea tossing us about like driftwood is helpless against it.