“It doesn’t matter what anyone else would do, only what you do. We could learn about the relics. Harness their power somehow, to help our people. Help ourselves, too. You’re not sacrificing anything—all of us could benefit. Who knows what—or who—is in the Lashing. They could have more relics. Manuscripts. The history of the Ophir.”
“If that were true, the relics would’ve helped us by now. Why have they been silent for five hundred years?” she argues.
“Maybe because they believe everyone in the Sleeve thinks like you do.”
The comment hangs in the air. She looks straight ahead in stony silence.
Still, I need her. The relics don’t respond to me the way they do for Gin, that’s clear. But if she’s determined to join the Laconian elite, I can try to go alone. Attempt to use the relic myself. Anything is better than returning to the Sleeve without Vergel. No, I’m not doing that. I’d perish at sea alone before I turn back.
“Fine,” Gin relents. “I’ll ask the relic how to find the Lashing.”
I smile to myself but say nothing. I don’t want to inadvertently start another argument. Once we reach the mouth of the river we’ll be out in the open sea, and so long as we don’t run into any Blackcoat ships or Guild pirates, we have a clear path to the Lashing, once we find the way, of course. If we don’t kill each other first.
By the time we get nearer to the opening to the sea, it’s nearly sunset. I reconsider the plan. It looks a lot more difficult than I’d imagined. Being on the water at night when I don’t know where I’m going is a recipe for disaster. We could perish before we even begin. It’s smarter to pull off to the shore and spend the night there, set out again at first light. But where could we dock where we wouldn’t be found? There are Blackcoats on patrol everywhere. Then again, I don’t want to lose her in the middle of the night. She might change her mind and leave. We could be caught. No, waiting for a better time is a luxury we don’t have.
Gin takes the bottle from her pocket. “Should I open it now?”
For a brief moment I think of how the spirit destroyed everything in its path before disappearing. Granted, it was helping us, but maybe it was just luck that we weren’t caught in the blast. “Maybe just, I don’t know, try to talk to it nicely.”
“I’ll try,” she says, without much confidence. She holds the bottle up in front of us and concentrates on it.
“Out loud,” I say.
She narrows her eyes at me. “I know.” Then she shifts around in her seat, clears her throat, and says, “Spirt of the Ophir, esteemed ancestor, please lead us to the Lashing, we humbly ask of you.”
Nothing happens. “Try again.”
“Iamtrying,” she whispers, frustrated.
“Great spirit, please hear our call in this time of need,” she says.
Nothing happens for a long moment.
Gin sighs and slumps her shoulders, when I see it: a small ball of blue light in the bottle. It expands until the entire bottle glows, like there’s a small fire inside. Then it begins to shake. Gin grips it tightly and repeats, “We are Ophir looking for the hidden colony called the Lashing. Do you know the way?” Though she holds on with all her might, her hand shifts slightly to the right.
“I think it’s telling us which way to go,” she says, eyes wide.
I rush to move the boat in the direction of Gin’s hand. When I do, the bottle continues to glow steadily but stops pushing.
Gin stares at it in awe. “It’s a compass.”
In the distance, a bright bolt of blue erupts from the sea, like a beacon. Both of us gasp. We all know the stories: Long ago, before the fall of Ophir, our folk possessed great magic. Ophir was the jewel of the sea, a city that floated atop the waves, supported only by the power of our people. Now, without a doubt, we hold a token of that strength. What was lost in the fall has been found once again.
CHAPTER FIFTEENGIN
You’re welcome. I don’t think I was ever thanked.
I startle at the voice. The sun dips beneath the horizon. On the sea, water and sky are nearly indistinguishable.
Hello. Are you ignoring me? Fine lot you are. Impolite. No wonder our kingdom fell.
“Did you say something?” I say to Eban.
“Huh?” He’s busy rowing toward the distant horizon, in the direction the spirit pointed the bottle toward.
Silly girl, it’s me. Tadhana. Your esteemed ancestor. Guardian. Guide. What have you.
“You’re the spirit,” I whisper. The spirit in the bottle.
