Blood Storm: The Second Book of Lharmell (8 page)

‘Get off me,’ I shrieked, kicking at the sailor’s shins. I heard an almighty splash. ‘
Rodden!
’

‘Your turn,’ said Orrik, as he began forcing me to the side. More pairs of hands grabbed me and I was lifted into the air.

‘One,’ they chanted, swinging me forward.

‘Stop it! Put me down. Are you all mad?’

‘Two.’ I was swung again.

‘No! Orrik, you flipping numbskull, you’ll all die if –’

‘Three!’

I was hurled like a sack of dirty linen over the side and down, down into the dark blue water. I plunged several yards beneath the surface, my eyes wide with shock. I saw a blue-black abyss below me, an awful bottomless nothing. It was the most terrifying thing I’d ever laid eyes on. More terrifying than traipsing alone through the burnt forest in Lharmell; more, even, than being pinned by the harming as it ransacked my mind. It was, I thought, in the split seconds that I hung at the nadir of my submergence, uncanny how quickly the sunlight disappeared just a few yards down. Then the air in my lungs and the frantic kicking of my legs brought me spluttering to the surface, just in time to see Leap hurtling overboard. I made a grab for my cat and, claws out,
he climbed up my body and onto my shoulder, clinging to me like a limpet to a rock. A soggy, unhappy
not like
thought-pattern emanated from him. Drain-cats, it seemed, did not like the ocean. Between his considerable weight and my sodden clothing I was finding it hard to keep my head above water. Rodden was close by, treading water.

I began to yell with all my might, begging Orrik to throw us a rope, anyone to do
something
.

‘Look out!’ Rodden’s words were garbled with seawater but I looked around just in time to see the rabbit hutch being thrown into the sea. It hit the water not far from me and sank like a stone, taking the remaining rabbits with it. Next were our bags. Rodden dived beneath the waves and managed to come up with one, but the rest were lost, sinking slowly into the watery abyss beneath our feet. I tried not to imagine how many miles they would fall, how dark it would be down there on the ocean floor, what sort of creatures –

Rodden saw the look on my face and swam over. ‘Stop it. Calm down.’

In a panic I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and made both of us go under briefly. My legs were tiring already. ‘I c-can’t help it.’ I was shaking with fear and cold. Despite the heat of the day the water was
freezing. The
Jessamine
was twenty yards away and moving fast. ‘We won’t – catch them up – we’re going to – drown.’

I saw Griffin above us, flying in frantic circles. I told her to go back to the ship – ordered her, but she refused.

‘She won’t go back,’ I cried. ‘She’ll just drown with the rest of us.’

‘Ask her if she can see any brants in the sky.’

Griffin widened the circumference of her flight, searching this way and that. But she could see nothing. No brants. And no other ships.

Leap tried to climb higher on my shoulder and his hind claws scratched ragged stripes down my chest. I screamed in pain but the sound was muffled by seawater. The taste was foul, and I coughed and spat to rid myself of it.

The ship was now fifty yards away and beginning to look frighteningly small. There was panic in Rodden’s eyes. I could see how pale he was; how days of illness had weakened him.

‘Give me that bag,’ I said, wanting to relieve him of the weight he carried. I would not see him slip beneath the surface first. I would not.

‘No.’

‘Are you going to argue with me right to the
end? Give me that bag you stubborn, arrogant, obstinate –’

Griffin screamed in triumph and hurtled towards the
Jessamine
. Were they turning? No – but someone had dropped the ship’s boat. Leap screwed up his face in disgust and launched himself towards the vessel, his body slipping otter-like through the water.

‘Oh, praise for blood,’ Rodden groaned, muttering the harming oath.

We swam the seventy yards, our eyes rooted to the bobbing boat, frightened that it might slip from our reach if we looked away even for an instant. Griffin sat on the stern, shuffling left and right as she watched our slow progress.

Leap reached it and struggled up over the side, his ears flat to his skull. I reached it next, groaning with relief as I hung from the bow, my body still in the water. I found the strength to pull myself up and over and then haul Rodden up too. He lay in the bottom of the boat, gasping like a landed fish.

I scrabbled around, hoping to find emergency supplies. Strapped beneath a seat were a packet of ship’s biscuits and two flasks of water.

Rodden lifted his head. ‘Is there a mast and sail?’

I felt about in the bow, and let out a sigh of relief as my fingers touched canvas. Rodden fought down
his nausea just long enough to raise the mast and rig the sail before collapsing in a fit of puking.

‘Angle the rudder right to go left, and left to go right,’ he gasped. ‘Keep the sail about forty-five degrees perpendicular to the wind.’

I angled the sail and made a grab for the tiller, turning the rudder so we were headed towards the
Jessamine
. By now it was a mere speck. Soon it would disappear over the rim of the horizon and we would be alone.

I wondered who had dropped the boat. Not Orrik, that was for certain. It must have been Lisson, the red-headed Amentine cook. He’d been so friendly every time I’d gone to him for ginger, an amused, secretive smile playing on his lips.

Whoever it was had saved our lives, but whether it was only so that we might die a thirsty, sun-burnt death on a tiny craft in the middle of the ocean instead of sinking quickly to a watery grave was yet to be determined.

But I was forgetting the third option. The harmings might still get us.

At dusk I checked the bag that Rodden had saved. It
contained his crossbow, a handful of plain points and some coin. My bow was lost, my beautiful bow that had been my silent companion for the past two years. I mourned it for a moment, and then thanked the stars that I hadn’t joined it at the bottom of the ocean.

Now that the
Jessamine
was well out of view it was time to find out just how good my harming navigation really was. I closed my eyes, braced myself, and let the tor-line pull tight. The pain that gripped my insides told me we were headed straight to Pol. We’d made excellent progress the previous night, but my heart sank as I realised we were still a long way from the shore. About four days at our present sluggish speed, if I was estimating correctly, and I wasn’t entirely sure that I was. It could be longer.

The sun sank out of sight and the wind all but dropped. It was tempting to call up a breeze but at this time of day there might be harmings in the area. I gripped Rodden’s loaded crossbow in one hand and gazed at the sky. Griffin, who’d dozed through the afternoon, was now a sentinel atop our mast, scanning the heavens. Not for the first time, I was thankful for her alert and steady presence.

Rodden hadn’t moved all day and I was beginning to worry about him. He was already thoroughly dehydrated from his days of illness, and the water we
had wasn’t going to go far. I didn’t dare touch the flasks until moonrise. Then, I poured a little into my hands for Leap and Griffin, took two mouthfuls myself, and helped Rodden into a sitting position.

‘Don’t puke this up,’ I said, and gave him the flask. He managed a little before slumping down again.

‘Wishing for a fat husband and a cold castle?’ he murmured as I lay down next to him in the bottom of the boat.

‘No. Orrik and a horsewhip.’

‘Ah. Even better.’

Long into the night I stared at the sky, but saw only the stars above.

In the morning I was pleased to find we hadn’t been murdered in our sleep. As I washed my face with seawater, Griffin dropped a fat silver fish in the bottom of the boat. I gashed it deeply and squeezed, but there was little blood to speak of and it wasn’t the least bit satisfying. Still, it was food, and I scaled it with my knife and divided it into four portions.

Rodden looked askance at his breakfast, assessing whether his stomach was about to cooperate with the
pale, uncooked flesh. He nibbled some, grimaced, and lay down again. Leap and Griffin were more than happy to finish his share. I gave them all some water but didn’t drink myself, preferring to wait. I knew my limits with thirst, and while I didn’t relish the sensation I wasn’t about to keel over.

Rodden slept the day away. I did my best to keep him out of the sun, bullying him into the shadow cast by the sail as the sun moved across the sky. In the afternoon I gave him some more water, but ten minutes later he threw it up. It was on the tip of my tongue to yell at him. I was hot and terribly worried about him, and it was a dreadful waste. We were already a quarter of the way through our supply. But he looked miserable enough already so I kept my mouth closed.

In the late afternoon, I tested our distance from Pol. I felt like crying when I found we hadn’t travelled nearly as far as I’d hoped. Instead, I cleaned Rodden’s crossbow and sharpened all the points we had, Orrik’s face floating before me.

Night fell, and my anxieties grew. I clutched some bolts in one hand and the crossbow lay across my lap, ready if we were attacked. Leap kept an anxious vigil, his body curled tightly into me. All night I watched the reflection of the stars in his eyes.

The wind blew gentle and steady. The sea lapped
at our boat. Dawn came, and after another uninterrupted night I realised that not even harmings could find us. We were no more than a drop in this great ocean, and though this should have gladdened me it only made me feel more forlorn.

At breakfast time – ridiculous to call it that as we had little breakfast to speak of – I couldn’t rouse Rodden. I poured seawater on his face. I kicked him, shouted at him, but nothing drew a response. I clutched the thread between us and found that it was weakening. He was slipping away from me, the cool water of his soul becoming stagnant and cold.

I forced down the fish Griffin caught, though the clammy flesh sickened me. I eased Rodden’s head into my lap, feeling for the first time the softness of his black hair, the heaviness of his skull. I smoothed a hand across his brow and found it feverish.

Taking the knife from his belt I regarded my wrist. There was a network of bluish veins beneath white skin as thin as tissue paper. I’d never noticed it before but wrists are vulnerable things. I was reminded of the delicacy of birds’ bones and the soft underbellies of fishes. I imagined gutting my wrist like I had our breakfast, blood and nameless viscera spilling from my arm to lie in the bottom of the boat. I shuddered, and decided to approach the problem mathematically,
like Orrik’s sextant: I would do this by degrees. First, no more than a scratch to see how the blood flowed. I drew the blade across the inner edge of my wrist, hissing in pain as a thin red line appeared. I rubbed the wetness across Rodden’s lower lip. He frowned and took a deep breath. I cut again, deeper this time, and the blood began to bead up. I placed my wrist against his mouth, letting the dark red liquid trickle over his lips. He didn’t open his eyes but reached up to grasp my forearm, the way I’d seem him hold the carcass of a rabbit or squirrel as he fed. The reflex gladdened my heart. I felt a sharp tug on my insides, the thread between us, and wondered if he knew that the blood in his mouth was mine. My wrist looked even more insubstantial in his large hands, and I despaired at the insufficiency of it, doubting that I would ever be able to keep him alive.

A few minutes later the wound clotted and Rodden slept a proper sleep. I felt light-headed and ate some more fish, though it was a poor substitute for the blood I needed.

By afternoon I was tired of our sluggish progress and certain that if there were harmings around, they would have found us by now. I sat in the bow with the sun warming my back and began to summon a wind. Leap sat tall and proud beside me, his eyes slitted in the strong
breeze. The little craft surged forward, and I managed to keep it up for an hour before spots danced in front of my eyes. I thrust my head between my knees, trying not to faint. The boat slowed to a crawl.