by Diane Zahler
It seemed to take forever for Symon to reappear, but finally he came to the surface, holding Luna by the collar of her tunic. And with him, an arm around Luna’s waist, was the swimmer I had seen with the dolphins and again after we’d left the Island of Beasts—the lutin with the turquoise eyes.
Luna kicked and coughed as Symon and the lutin pushed her into the Cateline. Then the lutin boosted Symon in and hung off the side of the boat.
Symon took the tiller from me, and I scrambled forward to where Luna huddled. “Luna, are you all right? Whatever happened? What were you thinking?” I asked frantically, but for once she was silent.
“How do you do?” the lutin said suddenly, and I turned to stare at him.
Even in my panicked state, I had to admit that he was very, very handsome. His perfect features made Symon’s tar-streaked face and dripping hair seem even scruffier.
“Who are you?” I asked, gripping Luna tightly.
“My name is Leander.” He spoke with charm and civility, as if he were at a garden party, not clinging to a very small boat in a very large sea. “I’m pleased to meet you at long last, Niece.”
I gaped at him. Even Luna looked up at this. Niece? That would make him our . . . uncle?
“You—you—” But I couldn’t finish my thought. Symon called out, pointing, and we swung around to see that Manon’s boat had come much closer. I let go of Luna and grabbed the ropes, pulling the sail taut.
Without another word, Leander slid off the Cateline and disappeared again into the waves. We caught the wind and surged forward as Manon advanced.
It was a race, like the one we had run with Manon’s storm—a terrifying, heart-stopping race. If the sun went down completely before Manon caught up with us, there was a chance we could escape her, for we could sail in the dark with the help of the compass. As the sun set with agonizing deliberation, we sped along as fast as we could, but the black-winged boat gained on us swiftly. My heartbeat shook my whole body.
Luna had not taken her seat again. She cowered on the bottom of the boat, not speaking, refusing to meet my eyes. Darker the sky grew and closer Manon came. Then, when we could almost make out her form and features as she stood at the helm of her boat, the sun at last dropped below the western horizon. It pulled the last of its light down with it, as if an enormous candle had been extinguished.
The sudden darkness was disorienting. “Luna,” Symon called in a low voice, “can you see the compass well enough?”
There was a pause, and then Luna answered softly, “Yes.” In the gloom, I could see that she had climbed back onto her bench.
“Keep us on course. If we veer too far off, tell me.”
“I will,” Luna said. Her voice sounded very odd, and I longed to ask her what had happened. Had I been wrong, perhaps, and she’d not jumped but fallen overboard? Was she dizzy, or ill? I dared not speak, for I had no idea how near Manon’s boat was, and I didn’t want to make a noise that would tell her where we were.
We sailed silent and nearly blind. There was no sound but the faint slapping of waves against the side of the Cateline. We didn’t know if Manon was close upon us or miles away. We couldn’t tell how near we were to the third island, or if it might be Emmeline’s island at all. We had no way to tell anything until the moon rose—and then, of course, Manon would be able to see us as well.
“The lutin called me ‘niece,’” I whispered at last to Symon, afraid my voice might carry too far on the night breeze.
“I heard,” Symon replied, low. “What does it mean?”
“There was a part of our story . . . my mother’s brother—,” I began, then stopped. I had too many questions, and I was too tired and scared to make sense of it.
I shivered, for the wind was chill, and Symon most unexpectedly reached over and put a warm hand over mine. I stiffened for a moment, but soon I relaxed. After a few minutes he said, “Aurora, do you have a cloak in your bag?”
“I don’t need it now,” I told him softly, and he turned from me, removing his hand. Unable to see farther than the end of the batteau, I suddenly felt as if all my other senses were heightened. I could smell the fishy scent of the boat and the damp freshness of the wind. I heard the water shushing along the sides of the Cateline as it moved, and an occasional small splash as a fish leaped from the waves. On my lips I tasted sea salt—or was it the salt from the tears I’d wept when Luna was in the water? And my hand, where Symon had touched it, felt warmer than the rest of me.
“Luna!” Symon said. “Are we on course?”
Luna turned and replied, “We’re fine. Just keep on.” Her words were terse and strained.
“Sister, are you all right?” I asked her, concerned. “You’re soaked and exhausted. Here, give me the compass for a time. It will keep me busy so I don’t fall asleep. You can show me what to do and then take a rest.”
“No!” Luna said vehemently. “It’s my job, and I will do it.”
She was so very stubborn.
On we sailed, more slowly now. Symon feared coming upon the third island unexpectedly and hitting rocks. We strained our eyes to peer through the darkness. And finally, the moon rose in the east, casting its pale glow on the waters.
We looked in every direction, but there was no sign of Manon, or the island, or the lutin. There was, in fact, no sign of anything at all. The Cateline glided over the waves toward an endless blank vista where water met sky, and in every direction we saw the same horizon.
“Have we lost her?” I asked, turning toward Symon.
“So it appears,” he replied with relief. “Luna, check the map. How far away do you think we are from the island? Are we heading in the right direction?”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Then she cried out, “I don’t know!”
Startled, I hissed, “Hush!”
“I don’t need to hush,” she said loudly. “How should I know how close we are, when I don’t know how far it was to the island, or how fast we are going, or even how long we’ve been sailing?”
“But surely we should be near,” Symon said reasonably. “Are you certain that we’ve stayed on course?”
Without warning, Luna let out a wail and burst into wild tears. Aghast, I scrambled up to her seat in the bow.
“Sister, what is it? Are you hurt? Oh please, tell me what’s wrong.” I folded her in my arms and held her, still damp and shaking with sobs. She was crying too hard to speak. “There, there,” I said soothingly. “It will be all right. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”
“No, it won’t,” Luna finally gulped, raising her head from my shoulder. “We are utterly lost. We are done for.”
“It only seems that way,” I assured her. “Truly, I believe we will find Emmeline. Don’t despair!”
Luna hiccuped. “We’ll never find her. We’ll never get back or see Mama or Papa again. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”
I pulled back a little and looked closely at her. Her tear-filled eyes met mine, and I felt a sinking in the pit of my stomach. This was not just Luna being overly dramatic and hysterical. This was something serious.
“Luna, what did you do?” I tried to keep my voice level, though there was no way to make those words sound like anything other than an accusation. But Luna didn’t bristle and grow angry. Instead, she shrank into herself, looking very defeated and frightened.
“Luna,” I repeated. “Whatever did you do?”
“I dropped it into the ocean,” she replied in a tiny voice.
“Dropped what?”
“The compass,” she whispered. I stared at her.
“When—when did you drop it?” But I was afraid that I knew the answer.
“Before dark.”
“But when, exactly?”
She began to cry again, shaking her head violently.
“What’s happened?” Symon called.
It took me a minute to get the words out. “Luna has dropped the compass,” I told him.
Symon winced. “Did it break?”
he asked.
“She dropped it into the sea.”
“Oh no,” Symon breathed. “When? How long have we been sailing directionless?”
Luna did not answer.
“Luna, you must tell us,” I insisted. “Stop your crying and tell us, now.”
Luna took a deep, shuddering breath. “Since—since before sunset,” she managed. “That’s why I jumped in. I was trying to get it.”
Symon let out one of his whistles. “But that was hours ago!” he exclaimed. “We could be anywhere. Anywhere at all.”
“Oh please, please, forgive me,” Luna begged, holding out her hands to Symon, though he was too far from her to reach. “I’m so very sorry. I shouldn’t have pretended that I still had it.”
Her words echoed in my ears—I shouldn’t have pretended—and a sudden, unexpected rage took hold of me. I was so tired, and for the first time I wanted to blame my exhaustion—and everything else—on Luna. If she hadn’t meddled, I wouldn’t have pricked my finger. If she hadn’t suggested we use the ladder, I wouldn’t have fallen. If she hadn’t dropped the compass, we wouldn’t be hopelessly lost. I turned on her.
“You didn’t pretend, you lied!” I cried, my voice shaking with fury. “Don’t try to put a pretty name on it. You’re always making trouble, and then you lie to protect yourself. And now your exploits have put us in the middle of the ocean, with no way to tell where we are and no way to get back home. We shall all die here because of you and your lies!”
There was a long, terrible silence. Almost immediately, I wished I could take back my angry words. When I thought of all that Luna had endured for me, I was ashamed. She had suffered through battering by sea and wind, through hunger and thirst and heat and exhaustion. She had nearly died—most horribly—in quicksand, all for my sake. But what was said could not be unsaid.
Symon, ever practical, acted as though I hadn’t spoken. “Well, I shall have to try to steer by the stars.” His voice was matter-of-fact.
“Can I help?” I asked humbly. I would apologize later. I would make it up to her somehow.
“Maybe,” Symon said. “Tell me, do you see the North Star?”
I scanned the clear night sky. It looked like there were a thousand stars, or a million, all clustered together.
“It should be at the end of the tail of the constellation Ursa Minor, the Little Bear.”
Though it seemed very long ago, I remembered standing outside Castle Armelle with Luna as Master Julien pointed out the constellations. Cetus the whale, Delphinus the dolphin, Sagittarius the Archer. Where had he said Ursa Minor was? I strained to see the shape of a bear in the sky. “That one, I think,” I said at last, pointing at a group of stars. “The North Star is the brightest one, at the tip of the bear’s tail—is that right?”
Symon, looking upward where I pointed, nodded. “If that’s north, then we want to head slightly to the left. That is, if we’re still on course.”
“Shouldn’t we go back?” I asked anxiously. “How can we ever find one tiny island in the whole dark sea without a compass?”
“If we go back, we’re certain to fail,” Symon noted. “If we go on, we have at least a chance of succeeding. And besides, Manon is surely between us and the mainland.”
I took a deep, shaky breath and reached out to put a hand over Symon’s, as he had done before to me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I never meant to put you in such danger.”
“Oh, I knew it wouldn’t be easy,” he said calmly, turning up his palm and twining his fingers with mine. “And think of the stories I’ll be able to tell when we return!” He gave me his crooked grin, and I pulled my hand back, feeling my cheeks flush.
I kept hold of the ropes and tried to attend to the stars, and we turned slightly to adjust our course. “Keep watch, Luna,” Symon said. “We’ll need your keen eyes.” His voice was very kind. Luna, huddled in the bow, nodded wordlessly.
The night seemed to last forever. My back and arms throbbed from sitting upright so long and holding tightly to the ropes, and I fought Sleep with every breath. Luna and Symon took turns resting and holding the tiller. We ate most of our remaining food. There was no way to make tea, so I sprinkled the little bit of devil’s shrub left in the vial into my last ration of fresh water. The mixture was gritty and tasted awful, but I knew that without it, I was finished. Indeed, with no more water, we all were.
The moon set, and then clouds came in and blotted out the stars. The breeze stiffened, and I needed all my strength to hold the sail steady. The waves slapped more loudly against the boat.
As the sky began to lighten in the east, Luna sat up straight and pointed. “Is that land?” she called out.
We peered through the dimness. I could make out a dark form, a small hillock rising from the sea.
“It’s too small to be the island on the map,” Symon said, “but we’ll head for it. Perhaps there’s a spring, or at least a pool of rainwater, and we can drink.”
We turned toward the knoll and approached it swiftly. As we neared, Luna said, “I see two islands now. No, wait, there are three!”
The sky turned from dark to light gray as the sun rose behind the clouds, and in the first light we could see what Luna saw. Three brown humps, one behind the other, all the same size.
“Those are very odd-looking islands,” Symon remarked uneasily.
And then they moved.
I gasped. “Oh, what are they?” I cried.
Symon swung the tiller, and I ducked as the boom came about. But before the boat turned completely, a fourth island erupted from the sea, closer to us. Only it was not an island—it was a head. A serpent’s head, with a jaw twice the size of the Cateline and a pair of dark, fathomless eyes that fixed on us as the boat spun around and we prepared to flee.
Up and up it rose, seawater cascading from its scales and splashing into the ocean. Its neck seemed to stretch to the sky, and it opened its enormous mouth as if to swallow us with a single gulp. Luna gave a wild shriek, and even Symon cried out, but I was too terrified to scream.
“The map was right,” I whispered. “Here be dragons.”
14
Of a Threat from Three Directions
The Cateline swung around, and then we were speeding over the water away from the sea-dragon, faster than we had ever gone before. We skimmed across the waves as the wind blew harder and harder, with a terrible sulfurous smell that made us cough and choke.
I glanced back and saw the monster rear up in the water, its head so high that it seemed to tower directly over us, though it was still a hundred yards away. Its scales were brownish-green, and its neck as thick around as the biggest oak in our forest. On its head spikes erupted in all directions, and it had nostrils that flared and teeth as long as branches, but sharp.
That was not the worst of it, though. When I turned to face front again, I saw a black sail in the distance moving toward us.
“It’s Manon’s boat!” I shouted. Symon pulled at the tiller and we veered swiftly to the right. Now we sailed at an angle as the sea-dragon approached from one side and Manon from the other. The acrid breath of the dragon whipped the waves into whitecaps, and I heard a roaring sound. I feared it was the noise of my own blood rushing through me and that I would faint. As we skipped wildly across the ocean, the sound grew louder and louder, and suddenly I understood its source.
Directly in front of us, the water rotated in a circle to a center that appeared like a great, white-foaming hole in the sea. There was no way to avoid it.
“Whirlpool!” Symon yelled, just an instant before the boat was caught in its deadly current. We were at the outermost rim. Our movement as we rotated seemed terribly slow, after our great speed just moments before. But the spiraling vortex pulled us steadily in. Our next circuit was faster, and the next faster still. In a great panic I worked the ropes of the sail as Symon struggled furiously with the tiller. It was no use. Faster and faster we spun, the world revolving before my eyes. I saw the serpent pass by, then t
he black sail of Manon’s boat, then the serpent again as we turned, ever closer to the hole in the center. Serpent, sail; serpentsailserpentsail.
Through my dizzy dread, I remembered the cruel things I’d said to Luna. I couldn’t bear it if they were the last words she ever heard from me. “Forgive me, Sister!” I cried out, just before the boat reached the center of the whirlpool. With a great sucking noise, the water pulled us below the surface, and we were gone.
Everything seemed to slow to a crawl. I saw Luna’s terrified face and reached for her, but she floated out of my grasp amid the shattered debris of Symon’s boat.
And then I saw something strange beyond all reckoning. The lutin, Leander, swam up behind Luna and took hold of her beneath the waves. I blinked my eyes hard, for the salt stung them, but when I opened them again, he was still there. He held my sister with one hand. Symon clutched the lutin’s shoulder, his own eyes wide with bewilderment.
Leander pointed to me and then to Luna. I kicked my legs hard and moved near enough to grab her arm. Then he motioned to his own chest and his mouth, and it seemed that he was telling me to breathe. My lungs ached for air, but I knew that if I tried to inhale, I would take in water and suffocate. Of course the lutin could breathe like a fish. But I could not. Still, it was impossible to hold my breath any longer. I let out the air I had been holding and drew in a breath, prepared to choke.
I did not choke. My lungs filled, and I gasped and breathed again. The others’ chests were heaving too, and I realized that we were all breathing below the surface of the sea. It was incredible, but it was happening.
Leander pointed the way ahead and began to swim like a dolphin, as I’d seen him do before. I kept my grip tight on Luna and kicked my legs, and the others kicked too, and paddled with their free hands. We were clumsy compared to the lutin, but we moved forward, swimming down into darkness.
I could barely see Luna’s arm where my hand grasped her, it was so dark. But then a bluish light moved toward us out of the murky depths. As it passed close by, I saw it was a bizarre-looking fish with bulging eyes and a sort of lantern affixed to its head. The lantern was giving off the blue light. Other similar fish emerged from the darkness and then disappeared again. Once I glimpsed a row of glowing blue dots, and then as we came closer I could make out a long, thin fish spotted with blue. A horrid phosphorescent snakelike creature scared me with a show of teeth, but it slithered into a cave between two rocks and didn’t bother us.
