Rae Carson - The Crown of Embers

“Tornado!” Hector yells, and others take up the cry, but their syllables are washed away by driving wind and stinging rain.

The ship rolls, so hard and fast that Hector falls hard to the deck. He slips across the planking, toward the edge.

“Hector!” I reach for him, but the rope at my waist holds me fast.

He grapples against the planking, finds purchase with his fingertips, but the Aracely continues to tip. Water pours by him, and I know he can’t hold on for long.

“Felix, help!” I scream, but thunder booms all around us, and he does not hear. He fights with the wheel, straining to turn the ship into the wave before we capsize.

I grab for the knife at my knee. It takes both hands to pry it from the deck. I start to saw at the rope around my waist, but then I get a better idea.

“Hector!” I wave the knife to make sure I have his attention, then pantomime what I plan to do. He nods once, his face veined with strain.

I aim carefully, then let the knife slide toward him. He hangs by one hand as he reaches out to catch it, flips it around, slams the blade hard into the deck.

I breathe easier, knowing he’ll last longer holding to a knife grip. Hopefully long enough to crest this wave.

All available deckhands are at the opposite side of the boat, clinging to the rail, trying to use the weight of their bodies to keep the Aracely from going over. Felix continues to battle with the wheel, gesturing wildly to adjust the sails.

I look toward the masts and see the problem: the mizzen sail has not turned like the others. Something must have broken; it’s dragging us, keeping us from steering into the wave. Two figures hang like spiders from the rigging, sawing at the ropes to cut the sail free.

Hector has begun a stomach crawl toward me, using the dagger to pull himself up, which means that for the split second it takes to reposition the dagger, he must hang by the fingertips of one hand. I shout at him to stop, but a blast of seawater fills my mouth and chokes me.

Something claps, like a drumbeat, and the mizzen sail drops for a split second before being snatched away by the wind. Only one man remains in the tattered rigging near the mast. Where is the other?

Realization dawns. Oh, God. He’s gone.

But now the ship turns, with agonizing slowness. The prow rises. Water gushes over my face, up my nostrils. I’m hacking and gasping for air as the bowsprit pierces the wave’s crest.

And then we’re falling, falling into the trough. I feel Hector’s arms wrap around me as we level off at last.

Thank you, God. Thank you. Hector leans against my shoulder in exhaustion, and his chest lurches against me as he coughs water from his lungs. He clings to me, taking strength instead of giving it for once.

“Majesty!” Captain Felix yells. “A bearing!”

The tug is stronger than ever. I point, to port this time, as lightning flashes a portrait of the sky.

I am pointing directly at the tornado, which is nearly upon us.

The captain gapes at me, frozen with shock. His beard is plastered to his face, and it seems as though I stare down a darker, wilder version of Hector. He starts to protest, but a deckhand plunges across the deck to the wheel. “Bilge is to the third mark,” he yells. “We cannot bail fast enough.”

Felix’s features soften as he nods acknowledgment, and the deckhand disappears as quickly as he came. The captain closes his eyes, caresses a spoke of the wheel. His lips move with prayer, and I know he is preparing to die.

One arm still wrapped around Hector, I put my free hand to my stomach. The rope at my waist is in the way. I wrestle it downward to reveal my Godstone, and the effort scrapes my skin through my saltwater-soaked blouse.

I place my fingertips to the stone. What am I supposed to do? I know I should have faith, but this, God, this is impossible.

The boat is suddenly steady, though spray comes at us from all sides. It’s the tornado, more powerful than even the waves, forcing calm to the nearby water before sucking it up.

Hector shifts so that I sit between his legs. He wraps one arm around the railing, the other around me, as if he can protect me from the monster bearing down on us.

I lean back and lift my lips toward his ear. “Pray with me,” I say.

“I have been.”

I find his hand, guide it toward my navel, press his fingertips over my blouse to my Godstone. I hold it there as I intone, “Blessed is he who walks the path of God. He shall stray neither to the left nor the right, for the righteous right hand guides him for all his days.”

Hector is muttering too, urgently, though I can’t make out the words. There’s power in this, something about the two of us praying together; it builds inside me.

“The champion must not waver,” I say, as warmth floods me until my body sings with it, until I am a goblet about to overflow. “The champion must stay the course. Yea, though he pass through the shadows of darkness he shall not fear, for God’s righteous—”

A crack, even louder than the storm. I open my eyes to see that the tornado has snapped the bowsprit in two. Needles of water sting my cheeks and eyes. In moments, we’ll be ripped apart and washed away.

Hector’s hand slips beneath my soaked blouse, his fingers slide across my skin, find the Godstone. He presses down gently. I cover his hand with my own. “The champion must not waver,” he says in my ear. “Yea, though she pass through the shadow of darkness, she shall not fear, for God’s righteous right hand shall sustain her and give her new life triumphant.”

The warmth inside me becomes an inferno. My body blazes with heat, with desire, with desperation. The Godstone is riotous with it, pulsing with unused power. God, I want to live. I want all of us to live. What should I do? Why did you lead us here?

Another snap, a sail ripped asunder. The ship begins to pivot.

And then I sense it, tiny tendrils curling into me. I can’t see them, but I feel them, like will-o’-the-wisps on the wind, coming from every direction. I know them well, for I’ve been living with them my whole life.

Prayers.

Everyone on this ship is praying right now, I’m sure of it. And their broken, desperate thoughts flit toward me and feed my stone with even more power.

The tornado rips into the side of the ship. Planking and splinters fly everywhere.

Hector’s prayer falters. His grip on me freezes for an instant before tightening, even more fiercely than before. Then his cold, wet lips press against my cheek, just in front of my earlobe.

He says, “I love you, Elisa.”

Something breaks inside me. The world flashes brighter than daylight for the briefest moment—debris from the ship spins in the air, and beyond it, the largest wave I’ve ever known looms wicked and black—and then there is nothing but darkness and calm and a stillness like death.

I can’t see. I can’t feel my limbs. I can’t hear. It’s as though I’ve ceased to exist, save for my thoughts in a vast emptiness.

And then a heartbeat, true and steady. No, it’s two heartbeats, mine and Hector’s, beating almost as one.

And then nothing at all.

I’M lying on my side, my cheek mashed into the planking. Hector’s body curls protectively around me.

Everything is still and bright, so bright that I blink against the pain of it. A soft breeze caresses my face, bringing the scent of hibiscus. A gull cries, a slide of sound from low to high.

A gull!

Gasping, I sit up.

Crewmen lie prone all around me. I worry they might be dead, but then my eye catches movement at the wheel. It’s Felix. His great beard twitches as he mutters and stirs from the place he fell. Others stir around us.