I snatch my hand back. ‘I’m sorry. I would never—’
Sinigang looks at me, less afraid than curious, as if he’s reading my mind, ‘You would if you could. Power calls to power. Energy cannot be created nor destroyed, only transferred.’
‘What do you mean?’
The boat lurches, and my hand slides across the wood, catching a splinter. I stagger back, clutching my hand. I wait for the moment theskin will begin to stitch itself together. It doesn’t come. It never will. Sinigang looks to the wound and then back at me.
‘With time, you can find the sweet in the salt.’
I have nothing to say to that. Expelled from the only places I’ve known, and having my power stilled within me. A bird whose wings have been clipped. The others are ungifted, or more like unburdened, by magic. They catch glimpses of what they think it is: the delicate power Biba possesses, something wild and untamed, creating out of love and joy. It isn’t the hardened branches tied down and trained to grow only higher, reaching for the sun, never out to each other. Crown-shy.
chapter fifty-three
finlyr
To my naked eyesas I stand on the forecastle deck, it is a blot on the horizon. We’ve been on this journey for weeks, and yet I almost didn’t believe the moment would come. I hold up the spyglass and watch the sea spray from the Maelstrom, catching the sunlight and creating a rainbow of colours. I shouldn’t be this close to the bowsprit, but I want to see it first. Above the pit, the spiralling tendrils and branches of a tree. It seems impossible, a tree above a pit in the middle of the ocean. It stretches out, yawning over the chasm, bark streaked with vivid colours, new branches shooting from the skin of the old. The wood is gnarled and knotted at the base, livid growth of fungi and lichen splattering its surface. I thought I was fungi-fevered the first time I saw it. It comes upon you impossibly, the great mass churning, a white and clean foam disappearing into the endless void. My heart lurches, and I try to keep my hands steady. Even from this distance I can feel the standing waves forming from the upswelling surge. Soon they will be crashing against the bow stem. The jib sail pulls taut in the wind.
‘What is that?’ Hanan asks.
‘What we came for,’ I say, grimly.
‘No, the tree,’ she says, mesmerised.
‘Impossible, isn’t it?’
‘It reminds me...’ She trails off, going into that frustrating dreamlike reverie again. ‘It’s like the Tree of Life at Aistra.’
I feel the shudder pass through each of us.
‘What do you mean?’ Ris asks, steadying the helm.
‘There must be a source of great power beneath the Maelstrom,’ Hanan says, her voice distant. She’s staring fiercely at the tree, wind whipping her streaked silver and black hair. ‘Take root where the sea meets the sky.’ Her eyes light up. ‘It’s here! Paranish, I think it’s really here!’
We don’t have time to question her riddles. Everything is drawn to the Maelstrom, the water churning, to the dark glass heart of the vortex. Not many sailors get to look at the Lahon Maelstrom and survive. I’m the only one who’s dared to look twice. And to make it to the other side? Unheard of. I try to push away the memory of the previous voyage, of Larkin. I reach for Ris, needing to feel her solidity. She squeezes my hand as if she knows what I’m thinking.
‘We’re doing this together,’ she says.
‘I’ve got you,’ I reassure her.
The deep whirling pit is a blue hole, a deep chasm that looks like the end of the world. I stare into the jaws of it, my entire being wanting to fall into it. There’s an unearthliness about it, something unreal. By turns it undulates and seethes, a drawing in and exhalation like breathing or sometimes screaming.
‘How is it possible?’ Isagani asks, leaning over the balustrade.
We are caught in the strange softness as we stand aloft. Everything on course, smooth sailing, wind at our backs, a peaceful bliss as birds pass through the skies overhead. Nothing to indicate we would be on the edge of our destiny. Currents gently but firmly wrap around the ship.
‘Do you think we can navigate past those roots?’ Ris asks, ever the pragmatist.
We had discussed the steps so many times, but now that we’re here, I think we’re fucked. I know a smuggler’s reputation doesn’t mean much, but I hope I can keep it together.
‘It’s an ancient strangler; those branches are thick beasts,’ Hanan observes.
‘We stick to the plan we discussed,’ I say, addressing them all. ‘Follow the Maelstrom, don’t try to fight it. It will drag us in and we need to ride it round so we minimise damage to the ship. We’ll keep using the bilge pump religiously to stop us taking on too much water. Anyone not needed above gets to the living quarters in the berth deck.’
‘Fine,’ Ris says, with a nod. The ship is creaking now, trying to stay on course while being seduced towards the centre of the Maelstrom.
Resistance is futile. We are being lulled on the gentle waves into that great pit. I scramble up to meet Ris at the helm, and we try to keep her steady. The others are frantically tying down loose necessaries and throwing everything else into the hold. Even though this is what we came for, it feels as though we’ve been snapped from a reverie, and all is chaos.
‘Steady, crew!’ I shout over the sound of the rushing waters, growing ever louder. ‘We’re going to approach side on and try to meet the whirlpool of the Maelstrom and glide through. We’re not trying to fight the current here. It’s going to be rough going, but I trust this ship, and I trust all of you.’
