I turn on my heel, run to the hatch, and shout into it, “Oi! Wake your sorry asses! We’re here!”
There’s a groan from below, followed by the muffled sounds of cursing and bodies shuffling. Footsteps pound up the ladder as the crew drags themselves up one by one, eyes wide despite just having slept.
Fabien’s head appears first, his face hard and pale. He catches my eye, then looks past me, scanning the mist with an intensity that tells me he feels the same chill I did.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice rougher than usual, like he hasn’t had water in days.
“It let go.” I gesture at the slack lines, the empty water around us. “The beast—it’s gone.”
He sucks in a breath, but there’s no relief in his eyes. Only wariness. “So we’re here?”
“Looks like it.” I nod, though I barely believe it myself.
First, we get the impossible task of reaching the Sister Islands in two days, then the Marauders find us on open waters, and then… we survive being pulled by a giant whale.
Kali and Silver would piss themselves if they heard about this.
When this is all over, I need to make sure the bard spins a tale so that my name will be remembered not only in the Whisperwind Sea but across all seas.
The rest of the crew stumbles out, each one wearing a look somewhere between awe and dread as they take in the misty horizon. No one says it, but we’re all thinking the same thing: this is not over yet.
Zayan and Vini clamber up last, the first looking like he won’t quickly get over the fact that Roche nearly caught up to him, while the latter gazes up with sad, weary eyes.
“Head up, V,” I tell him, offering him a hand to steady himself on the deck. He takes it. “We’re not dead yet.”
Zayan, already eyeing the mist, mutters, “Uh-uh. Yet.”
The crew gathers around, forming a loose circle as we all look out over the still water below the bow. It’s quiet, so quiet that the creaks of the ship and the occasional slap of a wave against the hull sound like cannon fire.
Fabien, standing tall among us, breaks the silence, his voice low and serious. “Help me haul the net up. I want to see the artifact.”
Zayan is the first one to react, his jaw tightening as he heads over to the net, fingers flexing around the ropes. He nods at me as I join him, and together, we pull the net up from the depths.
“I don’t see it anywhere,” Zayan mutters, his eyes narrowing.
With a final tug, we manage to hoist the net up, dripping seawater across the deck.
At first, I think it’s gone completely. But then, my stomach drops as I catch sight of the splintered shards. The artifact isn’tin one piece anymore; it’s broken, split clean down the middle, shattered right where the rune was carved.
I let out a low chuckle, the kind with no humor. “Guess that shaman wasn’t full of shit after all.” I glance at Rancour. “Looks like the artifact really did only work once.”
Fabien scowls, kneeling over the wet, tangled net to pry the two pieces apart. “Well, at least some of them aren’t lying bastards,” he mutters. “Or we’d be nothing but a memory by tomorrow.”
I don’t need to ask who he’s really talking about—it’s not the Marauders. A sea battle, we could handle. Sure, we’d bleed, break bones, maybe lose a few, or the ship, but we’d stand a chance at seeing the next sunrise. No, what he’s talking about is the Lady. She’d make sure we all drown after the mark of two days passed if we didn’t reach the Sister Islands. Might even send another monster after us, just to prove her damn point.
“So we’ve got a whole day to work this out, yeah?” I ask, running a hand through my hair and pacing, trying to shove down the creeping worry rising in my chest.
Fabien’s gaze doesn’t leave the splintered artifact as he mutters, “I guess,” he mutters, voice low. “Assuming she doesn’t go back on her word.”
The thought sends a shiver down my spine. Could she? Make us jump through all her hoops, solve her riddles, only to turn her back on her own rules and drown us anyway? My gaze shifts over the mist-choked waters, trying to spot any sign of land. Out there, somewhere in that rolling fog, the Sister Islands are supposed to be waiting for us. But the mist clings tight, thick as wool, swallowing the horizon so the sea and sky bleed together in one endless blur.
I don’t see a damn thing.
“Ridley,” I say, turning sharply. “You got a spyglass on you? I need to know if we’re actually close or just drifting around like fools.”
Ridley pats his coat before pulling out a battered spyglass. He unfolds it, and I snatch it from his hand, lifting it to my eye, trying to see through the thick mist.
The spyglass only sharpens the fog, barely worth the trouble. But then, after a second of straining, I catch what I’m looking for: two faint shapes. One’s flat and bare; the other, rough and reaching, tree canopies clawing at the sky. Sister Islands.
