“Charlie likes the cold. I caught him up in Apple Falls,” she had said. “Besides, I’ll share my body heat with them until I make him a cozy home.”
Thomas and I stopped talking to listen to Daniel and Abran. Abran rolled his eyes and moved his hand as if he were shooing a bug from the rim of his cup. “We don’t have sick and elderly yet. Point is, everyone has a share and has to contribute a share. There won’t be private property. It will be all communal.”
My eyes narrowed on Abran. Rich of him, who stole the ship’s supplies to trade for alcohol, to say there’d be no private property. Nothing private for anyone but him.
Daniel’s arm was draped around the back of his chair. He raised his eyebrows and took a slow sip of tea. “Really?”
Wayne slammed his cup down on the table. “And I guess there won’t be any government or leadership, either?”
Abran glared at Wayne. “Of course there will be.”
Thomas turned in his chair to face Abran. “Surely we’ll do a vote of some sort? Come up with a system of laws?”
“I’ve already been working on a system of laws. But we’ll sort things out. I have some ideas.” Abran stood up to pour himself more tea and his hands twitched. Sweat beaded on his temples and he wiped at it with the back of his sleeve.
Marjan and I glanced at each other.
“I’d like to see those laws,” Wayne said.
“I’m not finished with them.” Abran filled his cup, set the teapot down, and remained standing, his fists resting on the table.
“You may be captain on this ship, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be some sort of king on land,” Wayne said as he stood up.
The creak of the kerosene lamp rocking on its hook and the groan of the ropes straining against the wind filled the silence. I rubbed my thumb over a crack in my clay cup sharp enough to cut, but my thumb was so callused it didn’t even scratch.
Abran tilted his chin up and the light caught in his bloodshot eyes, their surface dull and watery.
“You do what I say here, you’ll do what I say there,” Abran said, his voice low and even.
Wayne’s knuckles whitened on the back of his chair.
“We’ll vote on who leads,” Wayne said.
“No,” Abran said. “You’ll answer to me or be banished from us.”
Wayne tossed the chair behind him and lunged at Abran, knocking him into the wall. Abran flung a fist at Wayne, but Wayne rammed his head into Abran’s chest, slamming his back into the wall. Abran punched Wayne’s back and clawed at his neck.
Thomas and Daniel ran toward them. Thomas caught Wayne’s shoulder and tried to pry him from Abran, but he caught one of Abran’s punches and fell backward.
Daniel grabbed Wayne around his torso and wrenched him off Abran. Abran shoved Wayne once Daniel pried him loose, and Daniel and Wayne sprawled across the floor.
Abran charged toward Wayne. I stepped forward, caught Abran’s arm, and plowed him backward toward the wall. Abran’s right fist came at my face and I ducked. I grabbed his other arm, twisting it behind his back, and yanked his head back with a fistful of hair.
Wayne scrambled to his feet, his shoulders arched and his fists held out as though he would lunge again. Thomas stepped between Abran and Wayne, putting his hands out toward each of them.
“Everyone just calm down,” Thomas said, looking between the two.
Marjan picked up the chair Wayne had thrown and Jessa leaned his guitar against the wall. The cabin had a deflated feeling to it, like something had been sucked out of the room. The air around us had shifted and we were all rearranged, on edge, looking at one another like strangers.
I let go of Abran and stepped away from him.
“We will vote for leadership in the Valley, Abran,” Marjan told him softly. She clasped her hands in front of her, her chin tilted slightly down, looking at Abran with a stern expression.
Abran looked around at all of us and let out a sigh of exasperation.
“Whatever. You know, whatever.” Abran raised his hands at us, palms out, in a gesture of both resignation and defiance.
“We need to pull together. Be more careful. We’re low on almost all our resources,” Marjan said.
“That’s on her! She’s our fisher and she’s gotten nothing!” Abran shouted, pointing at me.
“Don’t put all this on her,” Thomas said. “I see her out on deck fishing before the sun is up till after it is down. And I see you slipping around the ship, doing God knows what. And when they had Behir, she was the one who first shouted to stop the ship.”
“Little good that did,” Abran said and spat on the floor. His face burned almost as red as his bloodshot eyes.
Marjan caught my eye and nodded once.
“Just give us a second,” I said, pushing Abran in front of me out of the cabin.
It was so dark, despite the moon and stars, that my eyes took a few seconds to adjust. Abran twisted his arm from my grasp.
“You’ve got to pull yourself together,” I said.
“I’m not letting you take all this from me.” Abran swiped his hair behind his ears and pointed in my face.
“Abran, I’m not trying to take anything from you. You’re in withdrawal, you’re not thinking straight.”
Abran stared at me and let out a low laugh. “Don’t act like you care about us now. Not after what you did.”
“Listen. We want the same thing. To get to the Valley alive.”
The sound of the wind filling the sails, the fabric swelling and flapping, drew around us in the silence. Everything on deck shone with a gray-blue glow in the moonlight, as if we’d been dipped in the water and it clung to us. Abran turned his face from me, his profile sharp as cut stone.
He held out his palms, his fingers cupped as though holding something. “Everything is slipping through my fingers,” he said.
The fear on his face gripped me. Beyond the withdrawal symptoms, beyond the attack from the Lily Black, this crossing terrified him more than I could understand. That night his brother was murdered haunted him like something he had not just witnessed but had done. Maybe taking responsibility was the only way to lessen the helplessness he had felt that night. That was how I dealt with terror, how I wrestled some semblance of control back into my life.
“If you blame yourself for the bad, credit yourself for the good, too,” I told him. I reached out and touched his arm. He nodded. I left him on the deck alone and went back into the cabin to get Pearl. My hands shook when I touched her small shoulders. We still had so far to go.
Chapter 42
I placed my hand on the small of my back, where a dull ache was turning to a deeper, throbbing pain. I gestured to Pearl to help me lift the halibut, a fish twice her size, with gills the length of her arm. We heaved the halibut a few feet from the downrigger, where I could butcher it on deck without tripping over it to check the lines.
When I straightened I looked across the sea, watching the dawn turn the sky red in the east. Pearl sat at my feet, rubbing her thin arms.
“Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning.”
I turned and saw Daniel standing beside our halibut, his eyes on the horizon line.
“Hm?” I asked.
“An old saying. Red sky means a storm system is moving to the east,” he said.
I shrugged. Sedna had done better than I’d expected with the northern storms. Last week we’d run through a series of small storms that delayed our progress. One of the mainsails tore during a storm, causing us to lose even more time when we took it down to repair it. But with the exception of the torn sail we’d sustained little damage. Some ropes and a block needed to be replaced, but that was typical wear and tear.
Our biggest concern now wasn’t how Sedna was handling the storms, but the timing of our progress. According to Daniel’s original calculations we should have been a hundred miles farther northeast by this time. We didn’t want to arrive at the Valley in winter, when currents in the north were strongest an
d mooring the ship along the rocky coastline would be more dangerous.
“Did you notice the birds flying low yesterday?” Daniel asked.
“Yeah,” I muttered, squatting in front of the halibut, inserting my knife at its vent, and sliding it up its belly toward the base of the gills. I hadn’t noticed the birds. I’d kept my eyes down on the sea all day searching for halibut and schools of cod.
“Air pressure is changing. No birds today. They’ve disappeared. And yesterday—the clouds in long rows, like fish scales. This storm could be much worse.”
“So we’ll board the windows if you think the winds will be bad,” I said. The giant eye of the fish stared up at me, the black hole of its iris so large, I felt I could drop inside it.
Daniel stepped past me to the gunwale, arms crossed over his chest, squinting in the growing light.
“We may not be able to ride this one out,” he said quietly.
I pulled the gills and entrails out. “Well, why don’t we just redirect north for a while? We may miss it.”
Daniel sighed and shook his head. “I’ve charted out both going straight north and straight east, and either way, with these currents, we’d be hitting crosswinds. And it wouldn’t guarantee we’d miss it. Only thing that’d increase that chance is slowing down.”
“We’re not doing that,” I said. I glared up at him, my hands stained red. I was dizzy from the stench of guts. Why couldn’t he go make himself useful?
“It’d be our only chance to avoid the worst of this storm.”
“We don’t know yet how bad it will be,” I said.
“We should slow down,” Pearl said, standing up between us. “I hate storms.”
“I know, honey,” I said.
“No, you don’t,” she said defiantly. “I hate storms.”
I wiped my hands on my pants and reached out to touch Pearl’s shoulder, but she jerked it from my reach.
“Pearl, just because there’s a storm doesn’t mean we’ll sink,” I said.
“You never listen to me!” Pearl cried, stomping her foot. She spun on her heel and ran across the deck to the rigging, which she swiftly climbed, the handkerchief tucked in her pocket waving in the wind like a red feather.
Daniel watched Pearl and then turned to me. “Can you get Abran to put it up for a vote? To slow our course to avoid the storm?”
“We can’t reach the Valley in the dead of winter. We don’t have time to slow our course,” I said. I turned back to the fish, sawing its head off.
“Myra, you’re the only one who can convince him.”
“I don’t trust you,” I spat out. I wiped my brow with my sleeve and squinted up at him.
A line formed between his eyebrows; a hurt expression tightened the corners of his mouth.
“I want us to get there in one piece,” he said.
“Then you’d better work on that,” I said, turning back to the fish.
Daniel disappeared into the cabin and it was quiet, only the sounds of water lapping the side of the boat and my knife cutting through scales and flesh. I stood up and dragged the box of salt toward the fish and began cutting off the dorsal fin.
Voices tumbled out of the cabin, getting louder and louder until I recognized who they belonged to. Daniel and Abran.
I wiped my hands on my pants again and hurried into the cabin. Daniel and Abran stood across the table from each other. Marjan stood near the curtain covering the kitchen, her hands clasped in front of her, her head down. Abran’s face was already flushed and his hands were balled into fists. Daniel stood still, as immutable as stone.
“If we slow down, northern currents will be worse, plus there’ll be more ice around the coasts once we reach the Valley. It could make landing impossible,” Abran said.
“I get that, but Sedna may not survive this storm,” Daniel said. “Slowing down and avoiding it is worth the risk of losing time.”
“We should put it to a vote,” Marjan said softly.
Abran sent her a hard look. “No. I’ll make the decision.”
“I can’t navigate through—” Daniel started.
Abran slammed his hand on the table. “You’ll navigate through whatever you need to.”
Abran turned from the table and leaned against it, his chin resting on his fist, and saw me standing in the doorway.
“I suppose you want us to slow down, too?” Abran asked me.
I glanced at Daniel and then back at Abran. They both had let me down; I didn’t trust either of them.
But Daniel knew what he was talking about, knew the weather and the currents. We could lose the mast and the mainsail if it was as bad as Daniel thought it could be.
But what would happen if we made it to the Valley so late in winter that we couldn’t navigate the coastline? We were already low on supplies; we needed to be able to anchor and get to land. And each day that passed was a day closer to Row boarding a breeding ship. Each moon that rose, white as an iceberg drifting in a black sea, gave me an ominous feeling, a sinking in my gut.
I imagined Row in the Valley when the epidemic came. Imagined her eating breakfast in a small canteen, maybe a biscuit or a bowl of oatmeal. And then the sounds. People from the village running, limbs thrashing, heads turned behind them to keep an eye on whatever they were fleeing. Clamoring and screaming, sounds of footsteps on hard ground.
Would she first think it was water coming for them? Roaring up over the mountainside?
And then an arrow shot through a woman in front of her. People colliding with her as she tried to flee. The smell of blood clinging in the air, a bitter taste in her mouth. She might have ducked into a church that doubled as a saloon, a small brick house with a window facing the well.
Maybe she crouched beneath a window, breathing heavily, blood thrumming in her ears as she tried to slow her breath. When she looked through the window, maybe she saw two raiders drop a body in a well. A body with sores and blackened limbs.
Or maybe the whole time she was at a house tucked away in the mountain, missing all of it, only to come outside once the village had been half burnt to the ground, the stench of disease heavy in the air.
However it had been, it didn’t matter now. What mattered was that I get there in time.
My lip itched and I swiped a fish scale from my face. My hand left behind the taste of blood. I avoided Marjan’s and Daniel’s eyes. “Let’s board up the window here in the cabin. Do some storm prep, but don’t take down the sails,” I said.
Daniel let out a long exhale, and when I looked at him his disappointment hit me like a hard shove.
Abran nodded. “We’ll keep northeast. Keep on track, full speed ahead.” Abran strode from the cabin and Marjan disappeared behind the kitchen curtain.
I went to the shelves and pulled down a small bucket of nails, my hands buzzing with a nervous energy. When I grabbed a handful, rust left orange smears on my palms.
Daniel stopped next to me before leaving the cabin.
“This isn’t the way to get back at me,” he said softly.
“You overestimate how much you factor into my decisions,” I muttered.
Daniel sighed and shook his head. “I’ll drop the sea anchor if I need to. I don’t care what he says. I’ll go overboard before this ship sinks.”
A hard wind shuddered the door to the cabin violently after he left, and I felt a lurch in my stomach. The makeshift hinges rattled against the wood and I jumped forward and slammed the door shut, but it still shook, vibrations that pulsed against my hands.
Chapter 43
By lunch the wind had grown stronger and howled around the cabin as we ate. Everyone was silent, keeping their eyes on their bowls. The sky darkened by midafternoon, the horizon disappearing. It had a flattening effect, like we were being pressed down by some hand above us. I kept reaching for Pearl—tucking her hair behind her ear, straightening her shirt, nervous gestures that belied my confidence. Pearl swatted my hands away. Even the air was different; it smelled sweet and pungen
t and carried a certain sharpness, like a line pulled taut.
Marjan began putting everything in the kitchen into cupboards and spare boxes and nailing them shut. Daniel avoided Abran, but Wayne asked Abran if we could run before the wind with no sails.
“No, we’re not lying ahull yet. We’re going through it,” Abran said.
A chill spread through me. I knew Abran felt he had something to prove after Broken Tree, but I hadn’t expected such recklessness.
Daniel reefed the mainsail, and when Abran saw him anger flashed in his eyes. Abran ran to Daniel and shoved him.
“I said to run full speed ahead!” I heard Abran shout to Daniel over the wind.
Daniel elbowed Abran out of his way and turned back to the mainsail.
“I will maroon you!” Abran roared at Daniel.
A wave rose and collided with Sedna. We rocked like a cradle bumped in the night. White spray blew across the deck, blinding cold.
I ran into the cabin and began tying all my fishing rods together with a rope. Pearl came in after me, tugging at my sleeve.
She whimpered. “Mom, we’ll go down.”
I wrapped the end of rope around the shelves and knotted it. “Wrap my hooks in this cloth and stuff it at the bottom of that basket,” I said, handing her a rag.
Pearl stamped her foot. “You aren’t listening to me!”
I gave her a handful of lures. “These, too.”
Pearl obeyed, her lips pressed together in a tight line. “I hate you,” she murmured, just barely audible above the wind.
I gritted my teeth and finished weaving a rope around the shelf and the handles of baskets and buckets. “Are you sure you don’t hate storms more?”
“I don’t want to be in the water.” Her expression was pleading, her eyes wide. She leaned toward me as if she wanted to bolt into my arms.
I knotted the rope, dropped to my knees, and pulled her into my chest.
I spoke into her ear, the soft smell of her a comfort. “You won’t. We aren’t going to capsize. Or sink. Daniel knows how to navigate a storm.”
After the Flood Page 24
