Page 6

The seas rolled as if trying to drown us. We made it out the rocky pass, past two islands, and halfway to the next before the skies turned marigold, and by that time we were both soaked.

“Aksel has no idea where he’s going,”

Clark grumbled as Aksel’s ship veered west again. I adjusted our rudder.

“He has a clue. He better know where he’s going,”

I grumbled. Cold mist licked cruel trails across my skin, and the rising sun had done nothing to stave off the chill. The spring months were wicked ones this year. I took my eyes off Aksel’s ship to fumble for my satchel.

I dumped everything out to string the satchel as a scarf around my neck and settled back against the stern.

Clark peeked at my belongings.

“You didn’t pack much.”

“My three best knives,”

I kicked them as I counted.

“two sacks of bread and dried meat, and five papayas.”

Clark glanced at the small, wooden box with the copper clasp, but graciously kept his mouth shut. And my father’s notes to me. When I found Gerald, I’d use the letters as proof of who I was. Years of clutching them had weathered the edges and dulled the writing, but the love poured clearly from every inch of the parchment, and I’d memorized the words long ago. I’d rather enter the Quarter Labyrinth with nothing but my fists than go without those notes.

Clark tightened his grip on the strap of his own bag. There couldn’t have been more than a few knives in his. Both of us were wildly unprepared for this journey.

“Did you have time to tell your parents where you were going?”

His gaze slipped away, and his voice turned weak.

“They’ll figure it out soon enough. I’ll bet you five coppers they miss you more than me though.”

I didn’t take that bet. He’d win.

The oars sliced through the water, cutting up our silence. As much as I’d been chasing the idea of my family, Clark had been running from his. His father built a promising career as a shipwright, repairing most of the ships on the island to be fit to sail again. His handiwork led many to believe he possessed a certain kind of magic, but I’d seen him work. It was pure talent.

A talent the gods didn’t see fit to give Clark. Not by a long shot.

My best friend had grown too fast for his own good, and never got accustomed to his proportions. Nor did his mind allow for the dainty work required as a shipwright. As soon as he turned fourteen, he apprenticed with the blacksmith, and found his comfort at the anvil.

A light breeze swooped Clark’s hair away from his forehead, freeing my sight to his soft green eyes. He sent me a shrug like his parents’ love didn’t matter to him, and I sent him one back that said I believed him. Both lies.

I always wondered if he envied that his parents did care for me. Especially since he’d been the one to connect us.

Clark hadn’t laughed when I told him my secret. He’d nodded thoughtfully a few times, then said.

“I suppose you should know how to sail then.”

He brought me to his father, who taught me everything I knew. I worked whatever jobs he needed during the day—everything from drawing preliminary blueprints to ordering materials to engraving custom designs on the hulls to drive a higher sale price—then he’d take me sailing in the evenings.

My mother taught children during the day, and I learned a great deal from her, but everything I hoped to impress Father with, I learned from Clark’s father.

Meanwhile, Clark got to stay as far away from the water as one could on the small island. Until now. When he’d thrown himself into the sea to help me chase down the man I hoped was waiting for me.

“Thank you,”

I said.

“I don’t think I mentioned earlier how much I appreciate you being here.”

His smile came back, the one that he shared so freely. I’d always been envious of that. Like he could wash his worries away with one twist of his lips.

“You were too busy telling me how you’d throw me from the skiff if I tip it over.”

“I meant it. Just stay in the middle of the skiff and we will be fine.”

He’d already almost toppled us twice. The narrow beam of the skiff cut through the sea quickly enough to chase after Aksel, but it also allowed us to teeter dangerously to either side when Clark shifted his weight too much. As the sun rose, he seemed to find his footing, but we’d spent all night in a constant struggle to man the ship as well as keep an eye on the red sails that only seemed to get further away.

Other ships passed in the night, and even more now that day fell upon us. Gold sails, green ones, some as bright blue as the waters. All searching for the Quarter Labyrinth.

“How soon until they give up, do you wonder?”

I asked as I settled my back against the knots of the hull. Clark had just taken over rowing, while I rested my burning arms. Aksel sailed on a larger ship, and we’d have a beastly time following him on our own. We could only hope he found the labyrinth soon. Neither of us said it, but at the rate he traveled compared to us, we’d lose him in a day.

Clark eyed the ships around us.

“I wager none give up until midnight falls in two days. To hold the rights to the Shallows is certain wealth. It’s an especially good prospect for the Seaweeds of the islands.”

Two days. We couldn’t even sail to half the islands in two days. Aksel knew that though, and he set out anyway. It must be close enough to reach.

Close enough for him to reach. We’d need a few hours beyond that.

“None of the Seaweeds know how to handle the Silver Wings, nor the Shallows. It’d be wasted upon them.”

“You’re a Seaweed,”

Clark pointed out.

I shot him a look.

“Do you plan to return to your family on Haven?”

It took him a long time before shrugging.

“Well, if you don’t, then you’re a Seaweed too.”

He quieted at that. I’d never been bothered by the term. Seaweed was a tenacious thing and provided most of the nutrients Mother and I survived on for years. None of the other Seaweeds I ran with were bothered by the term either. It’d more than defined us. It’d given us a community, one almost as strong as family. But Clark had been a Pearl. Borderline one, but a Pearl nonetheless.

To give it up and become a Seaweed would cost some of his pride.

He sucked in enough air to fill his chest, then let it out slowly.

“I hear most Seaweeds don’t make it into the labyrinth. They battle each other on the outside, but few make it through the gates.”

I’d heard that too. The borders of the labyrinth were lined with Seaweeds who couldn’t figure out a way in, and who never made it back home. The Pearls always won.

“We’ll make it,”

I said.

“Aksel’s turning again.”

I adjusted the rudder three knots, then checked the skies.

Interesting. I’d noted it before, but it became more evident during the day. Aksel used the stars to navigate, as any good sailor would. But a few stubborn stars refused to leave when night melted away, and they were shifting in a way that they shouldn’t. When they turned, Aksel followed.

The stars were dim. I had to squint to see the barest outline. But they were there, and they were guiding him.

A swell caught against the skiff, swaying us to the side. My box of letters slid across the ground.

At the same moment, Clark and I both reached for it.

The swell rose.

With our shifted weight and the toss of the sea, we were helpless to stop the turn of our boat. In one swift motion, we were upended into the sea.

Clark screamed, something cracked like wood against bone, then we both hit the water.