Page 49 of A Broken Promise (the Freckled Fate #1)

49

T he rivers this far north were calm. Too calm . Not a single ripple. The waters, clear and pristine, opened to the utter blackness. As if the water itself was not water but pure black ink.

I dipped my hand to ensure that it was indeed just water. My mind still expecting my hand to come out black, yet only ice-cold water dripped off my hand.

A large, mill-like wheel securely stationed behind our boat propelled us quietly further. We’d been traveling for a week now, taking river routes I didn’t even know existed. Some of them so shallow that a thin ice was covering them, yet the boat kept on going.

It was just the two of us on board. The captain was in his fifties, his gray beard neatly trimmed, his skin permanently red from the salt and water of the oceans and rivers. He wore a large, round hat, rubber boots, and a heavy, double layered coat. His pants and shirt were clean but heavily worn, with patches and worn-out streaks seen here and there.

The boat was small, just a single room cabin that we shared. We slept in two neatly hung hammocks that were put away during the day to allow for more room. One old oil lamp served as the only source of light within. Days got so much shorter here, sun only peeking through for a bleak few hours.

It snowed on day two. I walked out one morning to specks of white landing on my cheeks. My very first snow. So enchanting, so beautiful yet, instead of excitement, I welcomed my grief.

Somehow, I expected snow to be different, clumpy and fluffy. Instead, it was more like crystalized crumbs of dust that melted the moment they touched my skin, evaporating as if they never were there.

It hadn’t stopped snowing ever since. Large, dark clouds followed our boat, even as the shores became emptier each day. No longer could I see any docks or little towns spread alongside the riverbanks. We stopped seeing even fishermen’s boats as we made our way up the river further north.

So tranquil.

I finished my dinner of canned beets, stale bread and smoked cheese, sitting on a small box. Our wooden, mill-like boat casually cruised on the line between the opaque blue sky and the dark water. I watched Cap as he watched the horizon, holding on tight to the steering wheel. I pulled out a pen and paper.

“What’s beyond the Cursed Forest?” I questioned, eyeing the small map he occasionally stared at. The world looked as if it ended past the Cursed Forest.

He shrugged, but still took my paper and pen. Our only way of communication. He was mute, barely literate.

All go, all die. Nobody come back, nobody speak.

I took a long breath, wrapping my cloak tighter around myself.

The answer seemed to be the same no matter who I asked. The girl we bought provisions from in the last village went pale and said that I should be cursed for even asking those questions. The fishermen I asked were a little less dramatic, just telling me only those who have a death wish go to the Cursed Lands and that nobody could ever pay them enough to sail their boat there.

The Captain handed me back the pen and paper.

“It’s okay. Go eat,” I said, gesturing to the small bag hanging on the door filled with whatever remaining food we had. We would arrive tomorrow, in the last known small village on the border to the Cursed Lands. When he hesitated, I smiled, pointing with my chin to each of the river shores so far apart.

“I promise I won’t crash the boat,” I smiled. The river was wide, so surprisingly wide, it was odd for me to see no large boat, no sea barge coming through. Surely this black ink water was deep enough for them to pass.

Cap paused, debating. He raised his finger to gesture one minute and went off to grab some food and relieve himself off the side of the boat.

I grabbed the steering wheel, coming to the conclusion that I would much rather be a man and pee off the side of the boat, than having to squat over a stupid bucket every time.