Sailing at night is remarkably easy. The wind blows the way I want it to, and the shore is easy to see because there’s a lot of algae that glow in pale green, showing me where not to steer.
The boat doesn’t lean much to the side, thanks to the outrigger. If it did, I think it could be faster. I can feel the current in the water, slowing me down so that the wind keeps blowing my hair forward into my face. But the sail is effective, and the oar works fine as a rudder. The boys really made it work.
It should be a triumph for my idea. But all I can think about is what I’m leaving behind.
“Damn, he was really good,” I say into the night air. “In every way that matters. So he wanted to keep me safe and not take me to sea unless he knew the weather would be nice. Can I really blame him?”
I have a constant urge to turn around. Because it was good in that village. Mostly. There was food and funny boys, andclothing and fruit juice in large amounts. And world-shattering sex with a big, impossibly strong, and bright man I’m pretty sure loved me.
I keep wiping my eyes and nose, but I also keep thinking of him and wondering what he’s doing. Sleeping, of course. With deep, calm breaths, his arm seeking me in a protective gesture that he kept even when asleep.
No. I had good reasons for this. If I’d stayed, I would have stopped being Callie, and I would have become ‘Crat'ax’s woman’. Or the tribe’s woman, if he would lose interest at some point. Not that I think he would, but people change, and there wouldn’t be much I could do.
The wind picks up through the night, adding tension to the boat and pushing the outrigger deeper into the water. But the boat handles it, and the keel stops it from doing crazy things.
As the morning grows brighter, I have a scare as something living climbs into the boat from the side. But it’s only Plik, the half-beaver skirr that I’m pretty sure is Crat'ax’s unofficial pet.
“Hi, Plik,” I greet him. “How did you keep up with me?”
He slaps his wide tail on the bottom of the boat a couple of times. I know he sometimes warned us like that, but sometimes those slaps didn’t have any particular meaning.
“Anything wrong?” I ask. “Except that I’ll never again be held close by an eight-foot caveman with the confidence of a whole pride of happy lions?”
I look around. There are no signs of a krai or a tentacled velan. But the waves are getting unreasonably big now, and their tops are white with foam.
“Or do you mean that I should think of taking a break?” My hair keeps being blown into my mouth, and wind makes a ghostly whistling noise as it passes the top of the mast. The boat starts moving erratically, and the outrigger slams into the water every six seconds or so. The clouds are getting ever darker, and it’s clear that a storm is coming.
My assessment is confirmed when there’s a sudden gust, and the sail rips open. The boat leans hard into the sea before it slowly straightens.
For a short moment I consider just continuing with the sail in tatters and letting things take their natural course. It’s not like I’ll ever be happy again.
But then Theodora won’t find out what became of me, and I can’t have that.
I steer towards shore, looking out for reefs and rocks. There’s no beach here, just a mangrove where trees grow right out of the sea.
The boat doesn’t like going this way. I lose control of it. Waves roll in from the side, and I’m being splashed with walls of water until the boat has filled up and starts to sink.
Soon it’s no longer a boat. I’m sitting with water up to my waist, and waves keep washing all over me.
I throw myself over the side and kick off towards the shore.
Plik comes up alongside and chirps his happy noise.
I see no reason to answer, but I’m happy he’s here.
Swimming in waves this big is exhausting and plainly deadly. I’m being tossed around, and I have trouble keeping my head above water. I gurgle and splutter as I try to get a breath of air.
After a couple of minutes, I realize that this is not going to work. The shore is too far away, and I have trouble staying afloat.
Plik keeps bumping into me, and finally I get why: he wants me to grab him.
So I take gentle hold of him, and he drags me towards the shore with powerful strokes of his tail and limbs.
I’m still being pummeled with waves, and breathing is a challenge, but at least now that’s the only challenge, and not coupled with the impossible task of swimming.
Plik drags me in among the roots of the mangrove, but when I finally feel land under my feet, my knees won’t keep me up, and I splash pitifully forwards. Plik drags me on until I can stand on my knees, breathing hard and weeping sore tears from exhaustion and the shambles my life has become.
“Poetic justice,” I groan as I’m finally able to drag myself up on a patch of dry grass. “I should never have doubted him. He was going to take me to the saucer. But he had to do it safely. All he wanted was more time. Sorry, Crat'ax. I guess you were right.”
