Shock rips through my whole system as I am submerged in icy cold water. It threatens to push the valuable air from my lungs, but I manage to control my reactions. As I swim down towards the seabed, I feel the water ripple as some of the Vardrans jump in after me; two, maybe three of them.
I reach the bottom and cling to the anchor of a small commercial boat above. Looking up, I see that the Vardran soldiers are swimming around aimlessly near the surface, searching for me. Unlucky for them, this is my element. My genetic inheritance means that I was born with a protective layer over my eyes that allows me to see clearly underwater while they swim blind, and I should be able to hold my breath long enough to wait them out.
Even though I was soaked back on land, I had barely noticed the cold thanks to the warming crystal tucked under my clothes. But now I’m so frozen to the core that all of my bones ache painfully, except for my leg. The burning of the skin has transformed into a fiery pulsing sensation that seems to be spreading further through my veins every moment. I begin to feel nauseous and dizzy, and I’m sure that the lack of oxygen isn’t helping.
Most Curians are able to hold their breath for thirty minutes or longer, but it has never been my strong suit, and I haven’t practiced in years, so my chest starts to feel strained after about fifteen. There is only one Vardran left in the water now, and he, too, eventually climbs out. I can’t blame them. I wouldn’t have been able to withstand this cold for so long if my life wasn’t on the line.
I give it another minute or two before I let my body drift up to the boat. I breathe in hungrily once I break the surface, and the tightness in my chest begins to subside.
There is no sign of the Vardrans, but I can hear them calling out in the near distance. Using the last ounce of my strength, I pull myself under the tarp covering the boat and allow myself to flop on my back.
I land on what feels like sacks, and when I rummage around them with my hand, I pull out a stack of sealed envelopes. I’m in a postal boat. My heavy, waterlogged cloak is probably soaking them all through, but I feel too cold and sick to care much. I begin to shiver uncontrollably, and the pulsating pain in my leg has spread up to my lower abdomen, amplifying the nausea.
I curl up on the sacks and close my eyes, wrapping my numb, frozen fingers around the yellow crystal pendant for some warmth. I wonder if Dusty managed to give the Vardrans the slip and where Bay ran off to. I worry that either of them might have been harmed, and I want nothing more than to go out and look for them, but my body feels far too heavy.
The Vardran voices sound again, closer this time again, so I carefully reposition myself so that I’m underneath the sacks out of view if they decide to check the boat. The wooden bottom digs painfully into my spine, but the sacks are at least helping to keep in what little body heat I’m producing.
If the Vardrans check the boat, I don’t notice it. I keep slipping in and out of consciousness, and when I am alert, I’m only aware of my body violently shivering and shaking. The pain from my leg now ravages my whole body, my head is pounding, and my mouth seems to be filled with bitter-tasting froth. At one point, I might have rolled over and thrown up, but I don’t fully recall.
I awake to something scratching at my face, and I know that it’s a Vardran soldier. I try to raise my arms to fight them off, but my limbs are too heavy. The soldier is wailing now, and I briefly wonder what it wants from me. Shouldn’t it be killing me already? The scratching and snuffling at my face resume, and I manage to open my eyes enough to look at them. I don’t see a soldier. It’s just Bay lying on my chest and trying to wake me up. Somehow I am back on top of the sacks, but I don’t remember moving at all.
“Just wait five more minutes, Bay,” I croak. “I’ll get you breakfast soon.”
The otter whines as my heavy eyes slide shut again, and I’m pulled back into unconsciousness.
This time I dream that I am falling through a vast void. My body is tumbling and spinning, but since the space around me is so empty, I can’t tell which direction I’m moving in or where I’ll end up. The motion makes me feel sick again, and I feel as though I’m going to throw up again. I don’t know how long I spend falling in the emptiness, but I eventually land on my knees in a small room with a stone floor. I smell the familiar scent of herbs and notice that the wall is filled with them. A woman is hunched over a fire. I try to focus my disoriented vision to get a good look at her. Her hair is black and wavy, and her slim frame seems familiar.
“Mother?” I whisper. I must be dead; I have finally been sent to my mother.
“Follow the otter,” she says. Her eyes are shut tight as though she is concentrating hard.
“But Mam, I want to stay with you,” I protest.
“Follow your otter. Follow your otter!” She demands urgently.
“Ma!” I call out as I start spinning again, backward this time.
I wake again feeling even worse than before, but now Bay is bouncing on my chest, desperate for me to move. Follow the otter, my mother’s voice sounds in my head.
“Okay, I’ll follow,” I say, using what little energy I have to prop myself up and peer out from under the tarp. It appears to be twilight, but I can’t tell if it is evening or morning. The heavy downpour has reduced to a steady drizzle.
Bay leaps from the boat and swims the short distance to climb up the edge of the harbour. He shakes the water off his body and looks back at me to follow him.
I don’t have the strength to swim, so instead, I feel for the rope that is attached to the mooring hook and pull on it until the boat drifts over to the edge. I try to climb out but just end up stumbling onto my face. Bay dances around, guiding me to the right. The road is empty, and the Vardrans appear to have long gone.
I manage to stand on my feet, but after taking a few wobbly strides, my legs buckle, and I land forcefully on my knees. Bay runs back to me and takes my sleeve in his teeth, trying to make me move.
All of my muscles protest, and it feels like sweat is dripping from every pore in my body. I want nothing more than to lay on the cold stone and let sleep take me, but I have to keep going. Follow the otter, I chant in my head. Walking seems to be out of the question, so I resign myself to crawling instead, forcing my arms and legs to drag my heavy body down the road mechanically.
It must be dawn because the thick clouds are transitioning from a dark blue to a dismal grey, and a few people are hurrying along the road to start their work. Most of them ignore me as I drag myself through the street, and others glance down at me in disgust.
A large man who is heaving a cart of coal storms straight towards me without showing any sign of showing down. I hurry to try and shuffle out of the way, but I’m not fast enough, and my boot catches painfully under the wagon wheel. The owner drops the cart angrily and, without hesitation, kicks me in the face with his solid boot. My head connects with the cobblestone, and a warm metallic tang fills my mouth. Before I can recover, he kicks me twice in the abdomen; the wind is instantly sucked from my lungs, and I struggle to breathe.
“Get out of my way, vagrant scum!” he bellows, picking up the cart and continuing down the road.
I curl up, coughing violently. The blood from my mouth spatters across the pavement.
“Are you okay, dear?” An older woman crouches down next to me and rolls me over to take a look at my face. The sudden movement makes my painful stomach spasm violently, and I roll my head to vomit dark yellow bile.
The woman recoils in disgust and fear and hurries away without a second glance.
I lay there for a while, allowing the pain to radiate through my body until I become aware of Bay's whining and growling. I forgot I was supposed to be following him. Where to, though?
I heave myself to my knees and force myself to crawl again, keeping my eyes fixed on the otter’s tail as he bounces down the road. Are those the city gates that I'm passing? I can't tell because the dizziness in my head is making my vision swim, and the pressure-like pain is becoming unbearable.
Thankfully, Bay leads me off the road, and I instantly feel relief as my battered and bruised knees rest on soft, damp grass.
I manage to shuffle a few more steps, but as the pressure in my head reaches its apex, a blackness appears at the edge of my vision, slowly closing in until it finally consumes me.
When I next begin to regain consciousness, I become aware that I am being carried by strong arms and immediately come to the conclusion that the man with the cart has found me again. He has killed Bay, and now he’s taking me home to torture and kill me.
I try to move to fight him off, but my whole body is paralysed, my eyes refuse to open, and when I try to cry out, all that leaves my mouth is a tiny whimper.
A gentle voice above shushes me, and I allow my burning body to relax as I slip back into sleep.
At some point, I wake up enough to figure out that I’m in a soft bed with heavy blankets weighing me down. I try to move to push them off, but I still have no control over my body. I feel as though I am on fire, and my skin is stinging and blistering from the heat; I want nothing more than to feel the cool air. Somewhere around me, people are talking. I want to tell them to take the blankets off, but my tongue appears to be missing from my mouth.
“What’s wrong with her?” a stern voice says.
“The poison in her system is slow-acting, but it has reached her organs, and they are starting to shut down. At this rate, she possibly has a few hours, maybe a day at most,” a quiet, husky voice replies.
“Can’t you do something to stop it?” another voice demands.
“She isn’t responding to any of the antidotes we have administered. Without knowing what poison the Vardrans used, we have no hope. She’s already severely dehydrated; the poison is making her sweat out the fluids faster than I can pump it in. I think it’s time to prepare to say goodbye …”
The voices drift away as I am pulled back into the blackness. I dream about my mother again. She is in the same room filled with herbs, only this time she is surrounded by beautiful candles. She mutters something under her breath, and I try to tell her to stop so that she can tell me tales about goddesses and ocean folk, just like how she used to when I was sick as a child, but I can’t find the strength to say the words.
Finally, she stops her muttering chant and places a warm, soothing hand on my cheek. “Sleep now, my beautiful child. Everything has been taken care of. You’ll be fine now,” she says gently.
She starts to slip away, and tears stream down my face as I reach for her. Nothing will ever be okay without her.
“I have it! I have a cure! You need to give this to her now!” a loud voice shouts urgently, pulling me from my sleep.
“You want us to use an unidentified and unapproved medicine cooked up by a goat?” a female voice mocks bitterly.
“We might as well go with it; we have nothing left to lose at this point,” the man with the husky voice says. “Hand me the medicine. I’ll prepare to administer it intravenously.”
Soft, plump fingers curl around my hand.
“It’s okay, Seffy. I’m going to save you. I won’t give up on you even if everyone else on this cursed ship has. You can do this. You’re the strongest person I know. Fight it, Seffy!” the voice says.
A cold sensation begins to trickle up my right arm, soothing the fire, and as it spreads over my body like rain on a wildfire, I fall into a peaceful sleep.
I have no way of telling how long I sleep this time, but when I finally wake up, I manage to crack open my eyes. I groan as the light sends shooting pains in my skull. My throat feels as rough as the bark of a tree, and my joints are like rusted metal.
Once my eyes adjust to the light, I glance around the room. I lay on one of the hospital beds in the medical room, and Alban Wallace, the surgeon, sits writing notes at the desk in the corner of the room. There’s no sign of Freya, and if she’d had been here, I’d have forced myself back into a coma.
Alban lifts his pen from the paper and turns in his chair. “Oh, you’re finally awake,” he says huskily.
I have only ever seen the surgeon at briefings and in the mess hall, and at those times, I never heard him talk. His expression always appears solemn and unchanging, but the way he talks now isn’t unkind. I think it’s his sideburns that extend to his cheeks that make him appear more menacing than he is.
“How long have I been in here?” my voice cracks, and I cough. He rushes to grab a jug of water from the side table and pours some into a glass. I struggle to prop myself up as he hands it to me.
“Drink as much as you can. You need to get plenty of fluids back into your system. Your kidneys had a pretty rough time with the poison,” he says.
I oblige and drain the glass, but as I swallow, the inside of my cheek stings. I prod at it with my tongue and feel roughness.
“You had a fairly deep cut in your mouth that needed stitches. I recommend rinsing it with salt water twice a day to keep any infection out. And to answer your question, you have been here for three days, which is two days longer than I expected you’d survive.” The corner of his mouth flickers into the slightest of smiles.
“Is Dusty okay?” I ask.
Alban nods. “The faun is more than okay; he saved your life. I don’t know how he found the antidote to your poison, but he did, and it worked better than any medicine I’ve seen. You were a mere hour from death.” His brow furrows into a slight frown.
I smile. “He’s a lot smarter than people give him credit for.”
“That he is. He’s also been insisting on seeing you as soon as you woke up. Would you like me to go and get him?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” I say gratefully.
“I will return shortly,” he nods.
“Doctor Wallace?” I call out as he is about to exit. He looks back, and I swallow. “Thank you for helping to cure me,” I say finally.
“That’s my job,” the surgeon replies with a smile before leaving.
I lean back on my pillow and sigh. I had been about to ask him to get Cail too, but I know that request is too selfish. I have been pushing him away since Ravenglass, but since my near-death experience, I’m craving his closeness, to see the face that I thought I would never get to see again.
“Seffy!” Dusty barrels through the door and belly flops onto my bed, hugging me tightly. I wince as the pressure hits a tender spot on my abdomen.
“Careful, Dusty, the patient is still recovering,” Alban chastises, returning to his notes.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “How are you feeling.”
“I’m okay,” I reassure him. “I’m just feeling weak. My head and throat hurt more than anything.”
“Well, make sure you get plenty of rest and heal quickly,” Dusty says, his face concerned.
“I will. Speaking of healing quickly, though, I heard you saved my life.” I pat his hand gratefully.
A blush spreads up his face, and he scratches the back of his neck. “It wasn’t all me, or I guess it was, but … I had help, I think?”
I laugh croakily. “You’re making no sense.”
“Okay, so, Doctor Wallace told us all that you were going to die, and I got upset and ran to the galley. I might have cried for a little while and then accidentally fell asleep in front of the fire. I dreamed about a book—your book. The one with the herbal remedies and stuff. The pages moved by themselves until they stopped at the page with an antidote to poison. I wasn’t sure what it was at first but I heard a woman’s voice in my ear. She said, ‘Brew the antidote. Save her’. When I woke up, I rushed to your room to find to book, and when I went to the page I saw in my dream, it was there. I found all the herbs in the galley, and I brewed it exactly the way the book said.”
I sit up quickly, ignoring my body’s painful protests. “The woman in your dream, what did she look like?” I demand.
Dusty shrugs, “I didn’t see her. I only heard her voice in my ear—or maybe it was in my mind.” He ponders thoughtfully.
“It was my mother,” I say quietly.
“Your mother? How do you know?”
“Because I saw her too when I was unconscious after I was poisoned. She told me to get up and follow Bay—Bay! Where is he?” I panic. I haven’t seen or heard him since I passed out on the grass outside the city; he wouldn’t normally leave my side.
“He’s okay,” Dusty hurries to reassure me. “He’s in your room. I’ve been looking after him. Freya wouldn’t let him stay in here with you, though, because she said he’s diseased.”
I scoff. “The only disease on this ship is her. The woman is more toxic than fungal mould.”
“Seffy!” Dusty reprimands, glancing back around at Alban, making sure he hadn’t overheard.
I shrug nonchalantly.
“What were you saying about your mother?” he prompts, shaking his head and grinning.
“Oh, yeah, I saw her in a dream, and she told me to follow Bay. Then I saw her again right before you made the antidote that saved my life. She told me that everything had been taken care of and that I’ll be okay. She’s still watching out for me.” I smile sadly. Cail was right. She wants me to live.
“How is your mother communicating with us? Is she magic?” Dusty asks, confused.
“No, she’s dead,” I say.
Dusty’s eyes widen in horror, and the colour drains from his face. “Her spirit is communicating with me?”
“It’s okay. She’s not malevolent. I don’t know how she’s communicating from death, but she is. It was her book after all; of course, she would know the recipe for the antidote was in there.”
Despite my reassurances, Dusty doesn’t seem convinced, so I try to change the subject.
“What happened after we got split up?” I ask.
His expression becomes solemn. “Since you were injured, they seemed to be more focused on capturing you. None of them came after me when I ran down an alley. I’m so sorry. I wanted to go back for you, but I’m hopeless at fighting, so I ran to get help instead.”
“No, don’t apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for. I told you to run; I’m just glad you’re safe.”
“I’m glad you’re safe too. I ran back to the Zarla as fast as I could and told them they needed to go back and save you but …” He frowns, “the captain wasn’t there; Cail was in charge. He ordered the crew not to leave the ship; he said that rescuing you would jeopardise the mission, that sometimes sacrifices needed to be made.”
My heart pounds painfully in my chest, and I almost bring an arm up to hold it. I can’t argue with Cail’s logic, he did what was right for the whole crew, but it doesn’t make his decision any less painful. Cail had taken an arrow just to save me back on the Vardran ship, but now Dusty is saying he left me to be tortured and killed. His sudden change in attitude makes no sense. Perhaps my efforts to keep my distance from him worked better than I wanted.
“Did you find out anything about the magic that was used? The captain kept questioning me about it, but I wasn’t close enough to the ship, and you never got a chance to tell me what you found,” Dusty says.
It takes me a few moments to comprehend what he’s saying because my mind is still too focused on Cail. “Oh, erm … It wasn’t magic. The purple stuff is some type of hard coating, maybe metal. It’s hard to say. I didn’t get much time to examine it.”
“Huh, that’s odd. So we have been chasing the wrong bunyips this whole time. I should probably go and tell the captain so that he can send a message to the fae to stop their search,” he says. “Will you be okay here alone? I’ll be back to visit you later. I might even be able to sneak Bay in.”
I smile. “Of course, you go pass on the message. I’ll be fine. I’m actually feeling really tired again.”
Concern flashes over the faun’s face. “You’re in the best hands here. Get plenty of rest, and I’ll see you soon.” He leans to kiss me on the forehead.
As soon as Dusty leaves, Alban returns to my bedside. He pours another glass of water and drops in some kind of pill, stirring it with a small spoon. “Drink this; it will help relieve your pain,” he says.
I take the glass from him and guzzle it down without hesitation. My whole body is still aching unbearably, and I’m willing to try anything that will relieve it.
“Why am I still so tired after I slept for so long?” I yawn.
“Your body has been through a lot, and some of your major organs were damaged by the poison. Your body needs to heal itself, and the best way it can do that is by sleeping,” the surgeon explains. “When you wake next, perhaps you’ll be ready to eat some nutritious soup that your friend cooked.”
“Sleep and soup sound good,” I mumble as my eyes droop.
The sound of voices out in the corridor wakes me from my sleep. The room is cast in darkness, and the only light that filters in is from the slightly-open door.
My ears prick up at the sound of Cail’s voice. It has been four days since I woke up from my poisoning, and while nearly all the crew have visited me at some point to wish me a speedy recovery, Cail hasn’t stopped by once.
I strain to hear what he is saying, but he is talking too low to make out words. What I do hear, however, is Freya laughing in response to whatever he said. She says something back to him, and I can’t mistake the flirtatious lilt in her voice. I hear him chuckle, and my heart sinks, a heavy pain weighing on my chest. I know I don’t have a right to be feeling this way; we’re not together, and he doesn’t owe me anything, but once again, I’m betrayed by the emotions that I have no control over.
I want to bury my head under the blankets, pretend to be asleep, and drown out their conversation. I want to fool myself into thinking that it isn’t happening, but I’m suddenly sent into a loud coughing fit that surely alerts them to the fact that I’m awake.
“Just give me a moment to talk with her,” I hear Cail say.
“Don’t take too long,” Freya whines sulkily.
As Cail enters the medical room, I almost turn around and pretend to be going back to sleep, but a bigger part of me wants to talk with him, to understand what's going through his mind.
When I meet his gaze, I immediately know something is wrong, and a heavy feeling of anxiety hits my stomach. His normally relaxed, friendly face is as hard as stone, and his eyes are like cold steel. He stops at the side of the bed with his hands tucked behind his back. It’s unusual just to see him standing straight and not slouching on something.
“I thought you were never going to show up here. You seemed so desperate to talk the last time I saw you,” I tease, attempting to break the tension that has suddenly filled the room.
He sighs, seemingly annoyed, and my stomach knots even tighter.
“What’s going on, Cail?” I ask warily. Is this about him being with Freya? He doesn’t owe me an explanation; in fact, I’d much rather that he didn’t.
“I think you should leave, Sefarina.”
Shock washes over my body, and it feels like I have jumped into the icy ocean all over again.
“What?” I manage to say.
“It’s become increasingly obvious by your actions that you don’t belong here, or to any crew for that matter,” he says coldly.
“Is this about me sacrificing myself again? Because that is not what happened in Torver. It was my whole intention to escape the Vardrans, but I got shot in the leg with a …”
“I know what happened, Dusty told me,” he interrupts. “This isn’t about you sacrificing yourself. It’s about your recurring disobedience. Time and time again, you have disobeyed the captain’s direct orders and put the crew and our missions at risk as a result. Aerials may work under different rules than the Linarian army, but we are soldiers all the same, and soldiers need to follow orders, not the stupid narrative in their head.”
His words pierce my chest like a cold dagger, and I start to feel sick. “So you’re kicking me off the ship?” I ask, dumbfounded. I find it hard to believe that this is just about my choices. Is it about the kiss in Ravenglass? Does he think I will become between him and Freya?
He hesitates for a moment. “No, I’m not the captain, so I don’t have that authority. I’m asking that you leave of your own accord. I can have a ship take you to Bise to be with your aunt.” His face remains stoic, seemingly oblivious to my breaking heart.
“And if I refuse?” I choke, fighting back the tears that threaten to pool in my eyes.
“Then I’ll talk to the captain about having you dismissed from the crew. Think about it,” he says bluntly before turning on his heel and marching through the door.
Before I can recover from Cail’s shock assault, Freya flounces into the room with a smug look on her face that tells me she overheard the whole conversation.
“Don’t act so surprised,” she taunts. “Since I joined the crew, Cail has been mine. One day he will be the captain, and I will be by his side as his wife.”
I try to laugh mockingly, but it ends up sounding like a forced choking sound. “Good luck with that. Cail doesn’t even want to be captain.”
“Cail just needs to be supported by the right woman, not an incompetent wretch like you,” she snarls as she fiddle with something at the table.
“Oh, so this is why you’ve hated me from the beginning. You’ve been worried that I was going to take your place as the ship whore,” I taunt.
I barely notice her raise her hand as her palm strikes me forcibly across the face before pinning me down by my throat. I struggle to breathe as she leans down so that her face is nearly touching mine.
“I was supposed to be here to give you your pain relief, but I think you should take a long nap instead,” she says quietly.
Before I can try to reply, I feel the sharp prick of a needle on my upper arm, and soon a fog begins to cloud my vision.
