Page 209 of The Space Between Stars

Niklaus looked at the warehouse roof, two stories above the sea. “I think so.”

“I have to get to him.”

“Much as I can appreciate your optimism, the best thing you can do right now is hold yourself together.”

The woman fell silent. The waves cascaded against the stone beside them. The yells and clangs of battle sounded beyond. Niklaus thought for a moment she had lost consciousness. But when he searched her face, her eyes had narrowed, silver centers darting all around.

“Niklaus… what you just said… is right.”

He’d waited twenty years for someone to say so. Even if that someone was a half-dead, out-of-her-mind kelp enthusiast. “Glad you can see sense,” he panted.

“No. I’ve been seeing nonsense. Distorting wrong. I’ve been trying to pull energy when I should have been holding it together! I have to…”

Preservation help him, the fall had addled her brain. Niklaus searched his memories for how to treat a concussed person, but could hardly bring them to surface above the cold creeping into his limbs.

A fleck of ocean spray did a peculiar thing, then, after splashing off the rock. It hovered in the air, an arm’s length from his nose, just above the surface. It was a perfect sphere of water: smooth as glass and berry-red in its reflection of the sky. He stared at it unblinking, daring his mind to reveal the trick.

“There was a book—Calver’s book—by Katlas Dreiden. He wrote chapters and chapters about fighting tactics, categorically defined for Ruxians. Because the pathways upon which they could distort depended on the Fate for which they served as Conduit.” She stared at the bead of water, and her words gained strength. “Niklaus. This is stabilized. It’s not pulling anything.”

A hundred more identical beads of water halted in the air beside it. Niklaus’s frozen grip slipped from the rock, and he plunged into the water. When his head broke free again, the Ruxian was still floating where he’d left her.

“It’s stabilized,” she said again, weary voice touched with excitement. “Niklaus… you fixed me.”

“I-I-I—” he stammered as she sat on top of the water—legs crossed like she was sitting for tea.

“There isn’t much time. I’m going up there,” she said, eyes cast toward the building above them. The beads of water cascaded like rain back into the ocean.

Distortion magic.

“Do you want me to bring you with me?”

The options were unfathomable: drown in the Casowhatan, get captured by an enemy vessel, or transport by stabilized Ruxian powers—from an unstable Ruxian—to a battle beyond his control.

“Bring,” he managed to splutter.

It was better than being bored.

CALVEROUS

The two soldiers barred Calver on either side. Calver edged sideways, waiting for an opening that would avoid fighting them at once.

Seconds passed. Each felt like hours with Raimee underwater.

The first soldier lunged at him with ferocious intensity. A number of deft twists and parries, and his opponent’s dowaga went wide. Calver spun to slice up the middle, felling the man to the rooftop. Cul’Mon moved in where the first had fallen.

This was the moment, the battle, he’d dreaded for years. But suddenly Cul’Mon didn’t matter. Raimee will drown. As soon as his blade began to fly, instinct took over. Calver skipped backwards, retreating to the far corner of the roof to avoid being trapped between opponents again. That put distance between them, but Cul’Mon pressed forward with confident, loping strides. Calver lurched forward with the dowaga claw dipping low.

Cul’Mon swerved to the side and lashed out with a backhanded swipe Calver barely deflected. Too long has passed. Calver took the offensive, launching into a series of intricate blows, but his efforts were rewarded only by parry after parry. The remaining soldier had reached the roof’s edge, prepared to leap after Raimee.

Calver wrestled the claw of his dowaga free of Cul’Mon’s and hurled the weapon through the air, where it axed into the retreating soldier’s back. The man collapsed over the lip of the wall, unmoving. Cul Mon took advantage of Calver’s disarmament and swung.

Not enough time.

Calver scrambled backwards, the blade whisking just past his ear.

Even less roof.

He dove forward to retrieve his weapon. His hands clenched around the leather of the center grip and he rolled to his back in time to catch Cul’Mon’s blade over his abdomen. Their dowagas locked. The Tohatu sat astride him—pinned. His sweat dribbled over him. The heat of his body pressed down. Terror occluded any and all rational thought. Good thing Calver was wired with reflexes to kill. He leveraged the dowaga to clip Cul’Mon in the chin, stunning him.