Glagos peered over the edge. “Thought you could swim.”
“I can,” I gasped, swimming in place, still adjusting to the shocking cold.
“Swimmers usually don’t swallow the lake.”
The boy shooed his hand at me. “Go on, get to work.”
I glared at the little runt and resumed swimming. It didn’t take long to feel the silky tendrils of kelp that grew up from the depths of the lake bed brushing my bare feet. Readying my shears, I sucked in a breath and went under, headfirst.
I found a long rope of kelp and wrapped it around my fist, following it down until my lungs ached for air. When I couldn’t stay under another minute I cut the taut length of vine and broke through the surface, tossing back my head.
Sweet air filled my lungs as I stuffed the kelp into my bag, legs working under me to keep afloat. Something gossamer soft brushed my arm, and I tensed, slowing my tread. I studied the lake’s surface as though I could see within.
A sharp burst of pain flared along my side, and I whirled around in a quick circle in the water, attempting to escape it. “Ow! What was that?”
“Oh, did I mention the carp? They’ve developed a taste for flesh,” Glagos called down at me from the boat, an edge of annoyance to his voice, as though this shouldn’t give me pause.
I pressed a hand to my ribs, feeling a chunk of skin missing there.
“C’mon, boy,” Glagos barked. “You’ve got a net to fill.”
Releasing my side, I sucked another breath into my lungs and dove back under, intent on getting through this no matter how much was left of me at the end. I only needed to survive and get back to Luna. I blocked out the pain and worked until my arms burned, cutting at the kelp, ignoring the nips and tears at my flesh from creatures I couldn’t see coming. I lost track of how many bags of kelp I passed up into the boat. I worked a steady, relentless pace, my mind wandering, remembering Luna. The kiss. The warm taste of her.
A shrill scream carried over the water. I froze and looked toward the other boats. I couldn’t see the diver closest to me anymore. The men in his boat leaned close to the edge, peering over the side and calling for him.
“Don’t stop. Keep working,” Glagos commanded.
“What happened—”
“He either made it or he didn’t. It has nothing to do with you,” he called down impatiently.
Luna’s face materialized in my mind. I tightened my grip on the hilt of my shears.
I couldn’t leave her.
I continued working, alert, trying to feel for the slightest ripple or change in the current lapping around me. I spent as much time cutting kelp as I did swiping at the foreign bodies brushing me in the black waters.
After a while, I didn’t hear any screams or voices searching for the diver. I continued swimming down, pulling up kelp, trying not to think about how cold the water was or what was out here with me. I thought about Luna. The smell of her skin. Holding her. Kissing her.
A movement to my right snagged my attention. Someone else was swimming in that first diver’s place. I focused on cutting vines, one after the other, and didn’t let myself think about what happened to the other diver.
Until the eels came.
The surface rippled as though a giant wind blew, but it wasn’t a current. The eels undulated along the surface, passing through the other swimmers. My stomach dipped at the sound of the divers’ screams. The eels turned and shot a direct line for me. I couldn’t outswim them. This was their world, not mine.
They rolled through the water toward me like a sea of dark snakes, bigger than any snake I had ever seen on land. I braced myself, my pulse hammering at my throat. I flexed my hand around the grip of my shears, every muscle pulling tight in readiness. The slippery bodies swarmed me a moment before the first popping sting. More stings followed, charges of heat exploding on my skin. I jerked, thrashing in the water. I swiped, cut, and stabbed with the shears, but there were so many of them.
I was on my way up for another breath when some other creature grabbed hold of my leg and yanked me back down. It was big. Strong.
I struggled against whatever it was. It pulled me down, the pressure on my ankle increasing, squeezing.
My lungs burned fire, desperate for air. I lashed out, my shears fighting wildly, swiping around me, desperate to gain freedom. Air. Sweet, lifesaving air.
Water choked me, filling my mouth and nose. I continued to go down, descending amid a tangle of kelp vines. Luna. Luna.
I couldn’t pull free. In a final attempt to save myself, I dove, chasing after whatever was holding me, stabbing at it, the tip of my shears making contact. A pair of yellow eyes peered at me from the depths. Its body was indistinct, just a big amorphous form.
My efforts didn’t help. Its grip on my leg didn’t lessen. One of its tentacles clenched tighter, as if sensing that this was a struggle to the death.
Blackness filled my world. A deeper dark than anything I’d known before. The kind of dark one didn’t come back from. A dark that was total and final and consuming.
My muscles weakened, but still I stabbed at the tentacle wrapped around my ankle, hacking at it as my lungs screamed for air.
Amid all that darkness I saw Luna. Luna’s face with the impossible freckles that had never tasted real sunlight. Luna, who I’d given my word to return for.
Luna, who I kissed and wanted to kiss again and again.
Luna, who waited.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
I SAT AT the table in Mirelya’s small kitchen, listening to the busy sounds of the village outside coming to life. A cart rolled past and in the distance children played, their laughter ringing out. The woman next door beat at a rug in steady whacks with her broom.
My hands wrapped tightly around a mug of tea made from the kelp leaves that Fowler was out there risking his life harvesting. It had grown cold in the stretch of morning, but I still sipped at it. If it had nutrients and healing properties as they claimed, then I would take my fill. The journey ahead wasn’t going to be easy. Especially since I would be doing it alone.
I squeezed the bridge of my nose between my fingers and released a shuddering breath, trying not to dread the prospect with every fiber of my being. It wasn’t making the journey alone to Relhok City that filled me with dread. It wasn’t even facing the man who murdered my parents and would now murder me. In some ways, that was long overdue. No. It was never seeing Fowler again.
I picked my mug back up and downed the last of the tea. I’d slept restlessly, if at all, thinking of Fowler somewhere on that lake. I knew he would be gone this long. They did runs back and forth to the lake only during midlight, but that didn’t stop the worry. Midlight was close. I could smell it on the air.
Fowler’s promise to come back played over in my mind, offering some solace.
Despite the heated words we’d had before he left—and despite that soul-searing kiss—I’d made up my mind to go to Relhok City. Where it all began. Where I would end it. And yet that didn’t change that I wanted him safe. Before I left, I needed to know he was well.
A familiar thump sounded on the wooden deck outside Mirelya’s cottage. The flap that acted as a door shifted, a hand shoving it back. Somewhere far off a horn blew that reminded me of the one that sounded when we’d stepped off the lift the first day.
Mirelya entered and the door covering fell back in place with a slight whisper on the air. “Hello, there,” she greeted, dropping a basket on the table.
“What’s all the commotion outside?” I asked as she made her way to the table where I sat.
Despite her frail form, the chair creaked beneath her weight as she lowered down into it. “Another visitor arrived.”
“Oh?”
“Aye. Unsavory-looking sort, but they let him up seeing as he’s just one. I’m sure they’ll send him out on the boats next. They
always need volunteers for that.”
Like Fowler, he was someone to be sacrificed.
I shuddered and attempted to shake off the thought.
“Don’t fret, girl. Your man is stronger than most. One look at him and you can see that.”
“He’s very strong.” I nodded in agreement, recalling the sensation of his body, muscled and honed from years of hard living. “He’ll be back.”
Sitting there, her words ran over in my mind. One look at him and you can see that. Yes, I could feel him. But I would never have a look at him. I understood the notion of beauty. Some people were more pleasing to the eye than others. Such superficiality didn’t matter to me one way or another, but I was curious at how others perceived Fowler . . . and me. Sivo and Perla only ever sang my praises, but here was a woman who had no personal stake in cosseting my feelings.
“Mirelya? Am I like other girls?”
“You mean your appearance?”
Heat crept over my face.
“You’re asking for that boy of yours?” She cackled. “You’re wanting to know how he sees you? Whether he finds you comely?”
I shook my head, feeling foolish. “N-no.”
“Don’t deny it now that you’ve put the question out there. I don’t expect you to know that you’re comely enough. Not a great beauty, mind you, but passing fair, as I expect that boy would agree from the way he stares at you. Quite free with his stares he is, knowing you can’t see him. Watches you like you’re some tasty pudding he would like to sample.”
The heat in my face turned to scalding.
“And what of him?” I asked before good sense came over me. “What is he like? I already know he’s tall and strong of form—”
“Aye, his face is fine enough to draw the female eye. Not that there are too many your age left to admire him.”
At that sobering reminder, I pressed my mouth shut. How could I worry about such trivial things when the world was what it was? When girls were being murdered because of me? When he was out there risking his life for us? When even if he did make it back, I would be leaving him?
Outside, steps approached the front of the cottage door. The leather covering rippled once from the movement. I tensed, relaxing after several moments when it became clear it was just a passerby. Mirelya had been helpful, keeping me out of sight so I didn’t rouse curiosity. But it couldn’t last forever. I was bound to come face-to-face with others again.
The chair creaked again as Mirelya rose to her feet. “You should rest. I could hear you tossing all night. Take a nap. By the time you wake, midlight will have passed and Fowler will be back.”
It was tempting—the idea of closing my eyes and opening them again to find Fowler before me—but it would be futile. I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I knew he was back.
“Go on with you,” she pressed. “Have a rest.”
Deciding against arguing, I rose and slipped into the room where I had spent the night alone. Curling up on the bed, I pulled the blanket up around my shoulders and waited for midlight, begging silently for it to come and then fearful that it would. That it would and he wouldn’t arrive with it.
Moments slid into long minutes. I couldn’t be certain how much time passed, but then I heard Mirelya talking to someone. I sat up with a lurch, excited with the possibility that Fowler was back.
I swung my legs over the bed, but then paused. The other voice was unmistakably male, but too reedy to belong to Fowler. Standing, I inched toward the door.
I moved to the door covering, my hand hovering in midair, some deeper sense stopping me from pushing the covering and going through.
“I don’t care who told you that. They were confused,” Mirelya was saying.
“Perhaps you’re confused, old woman.”
That voice. Anselm.
My breath locked tight in my lungs. I held myself immobile, my fingers curling into knotted, bloodless fists, my nails scoring into my palms. I recognized the voice. I’d never forget it. Not mere days after he had attacked us. Not years from now.
“I’d know if I let any strangers into my home,” Mirelya snapped, her dislike strong in her voice, but there was something else. She was speaking loudly, stalling obviously. Everyone knew she had taken me and Fowler in. Any random passerby could confirm the truth. Or he could search the cottage.
I understood her purpose with sudden clarity. She was warning me. Turning, I moved quickly, slipping my jacket over my tunic and snatching up my dagger and sword.
“I was told an older boy went out on the boats, but a younger boy stayed with you.” Footsteps sounded and I knew he was moving, circling the room, coming closer to the flap covering. “These two sound like they could be my friends.” His voice took on a silky quality that Mirelya didn’t mistake.
“If they’re your friends, how is it you’re not with them?” she challenged.
“We got separated running from dwellers.”
I inched away, still straining to listen as I came closer to the window. When I felt it bump my back, I turned, reaching for the edges of the tarp covering. I loosened the ties anxiously, my fingers tripping in their haste as I untied the fabric from the knobs at the window’s edge. Securing my cap snugly over my head, I swung a leg over the sill and slipped out of the cottage.
I settled my weight carefully on the wood planks, trying not to make a sound. There was only stillness at this back side of the cottage. I didn’t sense a flow of people like in the front. I inhaled and smelled only trees before me, the crispness of leaves fluttering softly in the breeze, the pungent musk of the centuries-old bark.
I pressed myself along the exterior wall of the house, not straying far from the window, still listening for sounds within. My ears separated their voices from the other noises around me. I waited, hoping, my lips moving in silent entreaty for him to just take Mirelya’s word and turn and leave.
A crash carried from inside the cottage. He didn’t believe her.
Mirelya’s voice rang out, “You can’t go in there!”
I pushed off the wall, knowing he would see the open window with its dangling cover. He need only to stick his head out and I would be discovered. One look at me—disguised or not—and he’d recognize my face.
Breathing raggedly, I moved, skimming a trembling hand along the side of the house until I rounded it and came to the front. My feet flew, relying on my memory combined with instinct as I followed the path that wove between trees and homes, bypassing villagers.
I had not gone very far when I heard a bellow. I froze for a moment before resuming my pace.
The cry came again and it was distinctly male and closer. Reedy and thin, it wrapped around me like a closing fist.
“Stop!”
My heart lurched. The heavy beat of his footsteps followed his cry. He was coming after me.
I ran. Desperate fire burned through me. My ears strained, listening and feeling with my skin, with my every nerve and pore and muscle. It didn’t even matter if I fell. If he caught me I was dead anyway.
No one would stop him.
I bumped a woman’s shoulder. She snapped at me in protest. I rushed ahead. There were more sounds behind me. He wasn’t being careful in his pursuit of me either.
Someone stepped into my path before I could stop my momentum. We collided. I fell over him in a tumble of limbs. I staggered back to my feet, gasping out an apology as I continued ahead.
I reached the bigger thoroughfare that we had walked down when we first arrived. It was bustling with people this time of day. The fresh aroma of bread and dried meat filled my nose and made me ache for home even as I was running for my life. Perhaps because of it. The thought of Perla flitted across my desperate thoughts. My warm bedchamber. Sitting with Sivo before the fire as he sharpened weapons.
Someone grabbed at my arm, but I dodged free. The end of the lane approached. I heard the chains of the lift rattling in the breeze. I stopped before the ground dropped down to the lift platform. I hopped down, to
ttering on the edge of the platform, arms wide at my sides for balance. One wrong step and I would plummet.
I could hear his panting breaths and curses behind me. My pulse hammered, drumming in my neck.
I arrived at the far side of the landing. My hand groped at a giant tree there, finding and seizing a curling branch. I circled my arms around it and leaped, scooting up until I reached its trunk. From there, I scaled a little bit higher, grabbing another branch, then another. Fortunately, the branches were as big as I was and strong enough to support me. My arms burned as I climbed, no clear direction in mind except away.
I heard Anselm below, climbing up after me, cursing and gasping for breath as his shoes and hands scuffed against bark.
My arms worked, straining, pulling me along. I reached for another branch, this one extending from another tree. It was a little too far. My shoulder screamed as I stretched harder for it. I knew it was there. I could sense its presence, hear its creak on the wind. Please, please . . .
I choked with relief as I grasped hold of it and swung, crossing over into the neighboring tree, finding footing on a lower branch.
My mind raced ahead, trying to strategize beyond the idea of merely getting away from him. I needed a plan.
If I made it down to the ground below, I could lose him in the forest. There was no rescue coming. This was all on me.
Following that logic, I started to reach for lower branches, at times even scaling the tree trunk itself, sliding down against the rough bite of bark that rubbed my skin raw in places. My arms quivered from exertion, whimpers escaping me.
My fingers dug deep, nails cracking and splintering from the abuse. My boot lost its foothold and I dropped several feet before I hit another branch. The impact stopped me—and shot pain to every fiber in my body.
Panting, I held still for a moment, fighting for breath.
My heart pounded as I took a moment to assess for injuries and to regain my breath. All of me hurt, but I could still move. I had to move. I tested my limbs, turning and stretching to my full height, my spine flat against the tree.