Page 7 of Whispers of the Starlit Sea (Avalore Chronicles #1)

Chapter four

D arkness encompassed Arick the moment his feet left the ship, the rope in his hand his only connection to safety. The wind tugged at him, holding him aloft. Rain whipped from all directions, and he tucked his chin down to get a breath before plunging into the ocean.

The cold enveloped him. The water flung him around. With his lungs screaming for air, he fought for where he believed the surface was.

He broke free of the water as a piercing bark sounded to his left.

“Cookie!” he shouted, his mouth filling with water as a wave sloshed over him.

He struck out toward the sound of Cookie’s barking.

The rope in his hand burned, but he refused to let go and wrapped it around his arm.

If there was any chance of getting Thomas back to the ship, he needed to hold fast to the line.

He rode a wave to the top and caught a glimpse of Thomas’s white face on the crest of the next. Arick shouted again, then set out with renewed energy to reach his cousin. Cookie had stopped barking, but stayed close to Thomas.

Lightning ripped around him as he angled toward Thomas, the rope tight around his arm. Every wave sought to pull them farther apart. Thomas swam toward Arick, but even with one arm flung over Cookie’s back, he faltered.

Arick was only a few strokes away when Thomas sank beneath the waves. For a moment, his white hand clung to Cookie’s collar, then that too vanished.

With a sob for breath, Arick dove in search of Thomas.

His hand brushed something. The rope jerked him back.

His eyes straining, Arick spotted his cousin drifting just out of reach.

To reach him, he’d have to let go of the rope.

But without the rope, they’d never make it back to the ship.

Thomas looked up, his gray-flecked eyes filled with fear — and trust. Arick let go of the rope that was holding him back and kicked with everything he had.

He grasped Thomas’s shirt and hauled him up.

Arick’s lungs burned. He clamped his lips together to stop the urge to open his mouth and let the water pour in. They broke the surface and gasped.

Arick looked around for any sign of succor. The loss of the rope to guide them back to the ship sat like a weight in his stomach. His sense of direction was gone, but surely safety couldn’t be that far away. They were in the harbor, encased by land. If only he could see where it was.

Beside him Thomas floundered, his grip tight on Arick’s arm. Still pressed against Thomas’s other side, Cookie yelped in pain. The sound barely registered as Arick fought to keep them all above water.

“Arick!” Thomas gasped.

Arick turned to see what Thomas needed.

A piece of the ship about the size of a door floated just out of reach, each second sending it farther away.

Arick struck out after it, trusting Thomas to keep hold of him.

A wire trailed from the flotsam, and Arick grabbed it.

He pulled the door toward him. His hand landed on the ring holding the wire to the wood.

It wasn’t a door at all…it was the diving platform that had been so cleverly fastened to the side of the ship.

The broken mast must have ripped it free.

For a moment, the two rested against the wood, catching their breath. But the storm wasn’t so kind, and within a moment, it threatened to tear their salvation from their hands.

His arms trembling, Arick helped Thomas onto the platform, then shoved poor Cookie up after him. The little dog was shivering from cold and fear, his drenched coat making him look half his usual size.

“Come on, Arick!” Thomas shouted. He shifted to one side to make room. The platform rocked. Arick grabbed the side to stop it from flipping over.

His fingers were stiff and cold, and he struggled to hold on and lift himself out of the water.

“Arick!” Thomas screamed, his eyes wide in terror.

Then the world became crushing, whirling water as a massive wave crashed down on them. Arick’s head banged against the platform. Pain seared across his vision. The wire ripped from his hand.

Thomas. He had to get back to Thomas.

The water was never-ending — swirling, tearing, crushing, until all thought was gone and only the desperate ache for air remained.

He surfaced, his breaths coming in short gasps. A small board bumped into him, and he clung to it with what little strength he had left. Was Thomas okay?

He just had to hold on a little longer. Get back to Thomas. Swim to shore.

Blackness crowded his vision, and he choked as he breathed in water. No, he couldn’t give up. He had to…had to…something.

Lightning flashed, and he winced at the glare. With renewed alertness, he tucked the board under his chest and began to swim.

But the ocean was having none of it. The water under him rose and rose until the world turned upside down.

Once again, his lungs burned, and all sense of up or down vanished. He was so tired.

Something brushed against his shoulder, and he reached for it. Forcing his eyes open, he searched the darkness for hope of salvation.

A shape that seemed made of the ocean and yet wholly separate from it loomed before him. The continuous roaring of the storm began to fade as he was wrapped in a lullaby. The ocean sang to him, and he thought he must surely be dying, for before him was an angel, lifting him up.

If this was death, then it was far lovelier than he had thought.

E ven below the surface, the water was in turmoil. Sorcha fought her way to the man. Why wasn’t he trying to swim?

She grasped his arm, startled at how cold he felt.

Turning, she swam upward. He was heavy, pulling her down.

She adjusted her grip, holding him under his arms. Thick, dark liquid drifted from his head.

Knowing he would die if she didn’t do something, she began to sing.

The words to the familiar lullaby came easily this time, but she struggled to compel her voice.

Dragging the human through the water stole her breath.

The dark spiral from his head slowed, whether from healing, she didn’t know. But she kept singing until they broke the surface, her voice changing in the air.

The storm hadn’t abated, and they were propelled by the waves. If only she had a dolphin! She held him out of the water as best she could, continuing to sing.

“Rest in the embrace of the starlit sea,” she panted, feeling her magic fill the words.

The man coughed once, then sputtered.

A sharp pain filled her chest, and she cried out, losing her grip on him. He gasped for air and flailed about, forcing her farther away.

She swam in a tight circle around him as the pain faded. He gave no further signs of awakening, and now that she could breathe again, she darted in to grab hold of him once more.

Wind pummeled them until she didn’t know whether she was above or below the waves. For what seemed like hours, she could do little more than hold him out of the water so he wouldn’t drown. Exhaustion clouded her vision, but every time she thought about letting him go, something warned her not to.

At last the crashing thunder faded away, and the lightning no longer blinded her. The waves were still agitated, but she could swim through them.

Ahead was a stretch of sandy shore, just behind the rocks.

She flipped the man onto his back and grabbed hold of his collar.

It took all her concentration, but she began to make headway against the waves.

Rocks lurked along the shore, and despite her best efforts, she was tossed against them repeatedly.

Sand brushed against her fins as she kicked. She pushed the man in front of her and used her arms to propel them both forward onto the beach.

The tide followed them up the sand as though seeking to drag him back into the depths.

Sorcha turned so she was sitting in the sand, the water over her waist. Every seventh wave sloshed over her head as she scooted backward.

She settled into a rhythm of shuffling back, then hauling the man as far as she could.

Her arms trembled with exhaustion, and the temptation to return to the ocean grew.

She panted, unable to catch her breath. The farther she went out of the water, the harder it was to breathe.

But the water kept reaching for them, and she couldn’t leave the man until he was above the high water line.

His chest rose and fell so slightly she had to put her hand on him to feel it. She should sing for him again, but breathing was too difficult, and she doubted she had the strength to pull her healing magic into it.

Finally he was free, and she collapsed onto the sand beside him. The rain had stopped, and the wind no longer threatened to strangle her with her hair.

A fiery pain rippled through her fin and tail. She cried out. It washed over her like the traitorous tides. Whimpering in agony, she crawled back to the water, seeking its soothing touch.

Swimming back to the grotto was out of the question. She tucked into a corner of the rocks where she couldn’t be washed out to sea and laid down in the water. She tried to sing, her voice barely a whisper between the sobs, until at last she passed out.