The wave swept past, and theTouchstoneemerged on the other side of the storm. Still heaving, still rough, but rain now instead of breakers and wind instead of squalls. There were no shears on the horizon, only storm clouds.
TheTemplemorewould not follow now. But there had been a cost, and all had paid.
We had lost Kithriit, the fierce, she who had traded life in the skies for one on the sea and had given it up to prevent a death roll. We had lost eleven seamages to the waves and the rig, and two down below, a gunner’s mate crushed by a cannon and a swab pumping the bilge. We lost our cow, two goats, and all of the eggs from the cackling scratchfowl in the hold.
And Buck, our dear, strong, sardonic bosun, lost his leg just above the knee because of the loose cannon. He had saved all of us from sinking, and he’d paid for it dearly. It took Echo days to fit him for a post and peg, and when an infection set in, it required my mother’s alchemy to cure. Naturally, she made me assist. But it was Buck. He was strong and good, and I’d do anything to help. He was up on it and back to work within theweek.
Bad things happened in the Sheets.
Kit had been right.
But she couldn’t have known the horrors that were waiting for us in the Silence.
30. The Silence
Where the Sheets were all rain and wind and waves and storm, the Silence was none.
None. Nothing. Only water as still as glass.
Only hot air choked with chimeric, burning my skin like many small needles.
We’d made it through to the Silence in a little over a day. Faster than I’d hoped, slower than we needed. The skies shifted black to gray to hazy blue. Forge filled the horizon, Ember a distant glimmer, the Dreadwall faint on the edge of sight.
The captain had a plan.
Our course would chart east-southeast, closer to the Dreadwall with every league. Thanavar meant to catch the Dreadcurrent that dragged the sea into the sky—and then tack sharp, riding the zephyr of wind that roared up the wall, filling our sails, racing the razor’s edge of death to the island.
A dreadful plan, but he wouldn’t turn.
And I couldn’t blame him. TheTouchstonehad gone quiet. The music in her boards from two days ago was gone, her timbers weak as if mourning all we’d lost. Everyone felt it. The urgency. The need to find the Cloudgate. To make this fool’s journey worth the cost.
But after hours of lessening winds and slack currents, the sky had become a hazy gold, the water a sickly green, and the horizon was a fog of both. Soon, we lost sight of the suns by day and the moons by night, and all was shades of bronze because of the Dreadsky, the streaking mass that carried the Dreadwall’s water over the Silence and back to the Sheets. There was no wind in the Silence, and I knew it was because of the heat, causing the air to rise straight up and robbing us of sail.
And always, always the chimeric in the air, a thousandneedlepricks biting down on me.
Once again, uniforms and shirts were discarded in the heat. Even the officers had given over to breeches and tunics only, forgoing the waistcoats and topcoats of rank. I was glad of it, for in this sweltering heat, the linen stuck to my chest, and my breeches sagged like dungarees. I took to tying my neckerchief around my head to sop the sweat that ran like little rivers into my eyes. The ironmages still wore their robes, but I rarely saw them on deck.
Everyone prayed to Forge in the Silence. We prayed to him to avert his gaze, to look away, to forget we sailed this boiling sea. We prayed to Ember, sweet, gentle Ember, to remember our fauns and our minotaurs and dear, departed harpy, and to send a shower of rain to slake our thirst. And lastly, we prayed to the Sister Moons to entreat their brothers for mercy by stirring their breath and making a breeze.
Despite the lack of wind, the ship was still moving.
Wewerethe Ship of Spells, after all.
Our spinners worked in four crews, with short shifts to accommodate the heat and lack of fresh water. Smoke, Buck, and Dev worked endlessly those days, calling the water to push us across the glassy yellow sea. From morning to night, night to morning, one of them manned the pup, hands wide across the stern, eyes closed, skin glistening with sweat, and lips moving with incantations only seasoned waterspinners knew.
Not fast, not far, but until the Dreadcurrent picked up, we needed to move, else we would die from dehydration, heatstroke, or madness.
A knot of unease pulled tight in my gut the closer we sailed to the Dreadwall. It was now a looming presence, the roar and the rush of the sea growing louder with every league.
We couldn’t afford to miss if the island suddenly moved again, so I would assume my position on theTouchstone’s hull andchase for only a few hours before Echo would haul me up for water, hard tack, and salt fish. He would also rub wax across my lips, cheeks, nose, and collarbone. While my skin was tanned, the compounded elements of the Silence created new blisters every day. By nightfall, I was exhausted and needed help to my bunk, where I slept like a stone until the morning.
My runescars had swallowed my shoulders and met across my back and chest with only patches left on my thighs, belly, and face that were bare. My throat and jaw were beginning to mark, and I purposefully stayed away from Echo’s pit with its slivers of mirrored glass. It was bad enough that I felt them. I didn’t need to see.
My berth was quiet now, without Kit.
We were closer to the Dreadwall now, and I climbed the stepladder to the main. When I opened the hatch, the heat hit like a fist. Much of the crew lay about on deck, reduced to their trousers and kerchiefs or sunscaps. I glanced to the pup, where Thanavar stood. He, too, had discarded his coat and vest, and the gold beneath his skin shimmered in this heavy chimeric light. He blinked slowly when he saw me, and I tried to smile, but my cheeks were burned, and I didn’t succeed. I had to believe he knew me by now. Our silence spoke volumes when we didn’t have words.
As usual, Buck helped to belay me, theTouchstoneslid out her planks, and I took my position over the side.
