I sink under the water, salt stinging my mouth, but hell, I keep it open anyway. It’s the first real relief from this godforsaken sun, and I let it coat my tongue, tasting the sea as it wraps around me.
In fact, it feels so good that I almost forget why I’m doing this in the first place. Almost.
I break the surface, and that peace shatters with Rancour’s bellow.
“Cagney!” He’s wading in like he’s afraid the ocean might bite, water barely up to his knees. He’s splashing the cool water all over his body. “Stop pretending to be a fish and get a move on!”
I am just where the water starts getting deep enough, just where the mist starts coating my head and the turquoise depths turn into that toe-curling shade of navy.
Right. I need to check where the ship is. If I manage to see it, maybe its position will help us identify when the hell we’ve arrived to this island. All we need to know is the position according to the north pole, and then we can take it from here. Usually, we’d rely on the sun’s position or environmental signs to navigate, but on Solis, nothing behaves predictably. Here, we can’t trust the usual methods.
I remember that we approached this island from the south, crossing the Whisperwind Sea, and angled slightly to the east as we swam toward land. So, if I can spot the ship from here, its position should mark the southwest direction. It should give us a fair idea of the time of night or day we got here.
At least a hint.
Our memory’s fickle at best, but Rancour and I are on the same page for once—find the ship’s position, then get back to it after we’ve picked up whatever it is we’re looking for. As fast as possible.
“I’m trying, mate!” I call back, putting more power into my strokes, pulling myself through the water with grit and muscle. I don’t want to stray too far—just enough to lose some of this blasted mist. But the more I push, the heavier my limbs feel, and still… nothing. Just thick fog swallowing up every damn thing around me.
Then, there’s that voice from shore again, snapping through the haze like a whip.
“I said, get a move on!”
I grit my teeth, spin around in the water, ready to see nothing but a wall of mist where I left him. But no. There he is. Clear as day. Close enough that I could probably spit and hit him.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, more to myself than to him. I could swear I’ve swum a mile at least. Yet there’s the shore, like I’d barely moved at all. I could push twice, and I’d be standing again.
This place is toying with me. I narrow my eyes, hoping to make some sense of it, but all I get is a fresh wave of dread gnawing at my gut.
Seems like not knowing the direction or time is the fucking point here.
“Enjoying yourself, Cagney?” Rancour’s shout cuts through the mist, smug and mocking. He hasn’t budged an inch, standing right where the waves lap the shore, arms crossed, just watching.
I swallow back a curse and throw my own shout over the waves. “Oh, having the time of my life! In fact, I can’t swim any further than this! It’s tons of fun!”
That shuts him up fast enough. His arms drop, and after a moment, he splashes into the water, wading out to meet me.
I swipe a hand across my face, brushing off the salt as I watch him close the distance. Let him figure it out the hard way—it’s better for me, anyway. Heaven only knows that Fabien Rancour is a mistrustful man. I wouldn’t want to be on the other side of his accusations, especially if we’re bound to spend time here on this mind-fucking island.
He finally reaches me. “You sure you’re not just stalling?” he growls, glancing suspiciously at the water that seems to pull us both closer to shore no matter how hard we swim.
I shake my head, still catching my breath. “I’d rather not be wasting energy on laps in this ghost sea, believe me.”
“Fuck,” he curses.
I can see him struggle, moving his legs as fast as possible, even trying to dive and come out inches ahead. But it doesn’t work. No matter what, we stay in place.
Finally, moments and all the possible actions later, I nod my head toward the shore. “Let’s go,” I say. “Let’s take what we’re here for. We’ll worry about the escape route later.”
His eyes flash with frustration, but he nods, spitting seawater out with a sneer. We wade back to shore, instantly feeling this awful heat.
“Let’s keep repeating the important bits,” I say, once we venture again into the heart of the island. “Just so we don’t forget again.”
Fabien grunts, half in agreement, half in resignation. “Fine. Important bits.” He pauses, his gaze shifting to the ground as he stalks forward. “Number one: we’re here to retrieve something. Something… vital to the Lady. Without it, we won’t make it to the Trial in time.”
“Right,” I echo. “Number two: we can’t trust the time here. Every instinct we have about day and night, it’s wrong. The sun’s playing tricks, and so is this whole damned island.”
For what feels like hours, we keep moving, rattling off every scrap of memory, a back-and-forth mantra, to keep ourselves sharp. Bare trees rise up around us, sand patches stretch out like small deserts, and rocks with plants wedged between them blur as we march forward. Onward, and onward. Feels like we’re stuck in some endless, sun-baked dream.
