7. You and Violence

Chapter 7

You and Violence

B rilliant, dazzling beams of light danced off the world, reflecting a thousand tiny rays of magic. Mariel was in another realm, a place where fear and starvation and inequity weren’t even words another would recognize, where there was only joy and plenty in endless array.

Mariel laughed, because it was what her heart told her to do. But after, the most unsettling sensation followed, a cloying mouthful of foamy, salty nightmares.

She turned her head and the beauty disappeared. The light turned blinding, obscuring her sense of bearing. An ebbing roar brought her back toward her new, shifting reality, a hint of truth. Warm, wet sand gritted against her cheek... her thigh. Her feet slid through it as she tried to sit and make sense of how fast and completely everything around her had changed.

Her doubling vision made her to swoon into the suction of the sand. Water tugged at her toes and ankles, and she slid in the direction it beckoned. A great pain in her chest made itself known and then other, smaller pains followed as both body and mind awoke to what was real.

Mariel propped herself up with one hand. Her eyes scanned the horizon. To her right was a lush, hilly area, entirely foreign and strangely enticing. She wanted to go there, to climb up into the many shades of emerald and lose herself to the purity of nature.

To her left was a stretch of endless coastline and?—

A ship.

Her ship.

The Mistwitch .

Mariel went to stand, but her knees buckled, sending her skittering sideways until she recovered her equilibrium. Her stare was fixed on the Mistwitch , on a slowly forming story she wished desperately she could erase and write again.

The ship appeared mostly intact, but the bow was almost entirely submerged in the sea, lifting the stern like a whale’s tail. The mast was cracked down the center, the top sail drooping alongside the bottom one.

Like a punch to the gut, she remembered everything. The dramatic cliff diving escape. The sudden wave. The capsize. Losing Eran somewhere in the melee.

She whipped her head around in search of him, but all it did was send her head into a swimming mess. She hobbled down the beach in the direction of the ship, her heart plummeting with every step. He’d been unconscious when the wave had swallowed them, and even in her state of disarray, she knew what that meant.

“Erran!” she screamed, but only a raspy squeal emerged. She cleared her throat, thrust her arms at her sides to project her voice above the sea, and called for him again. The defeat in her voice eclipsed any hope she’d clung to. If he was dead, it was her fault. “ Erran !”

The effort was exhausting. She closed her eyes and worked her breaths into something manageable, and tried once more. “ERRANDIL, IF YOU DON’T FECKIN’ ANSWER ME, I’LL KILL YOU MYSELF!”

All around her, pieces of wreckage drifted in and then out with the ebb tide: planks, pieces of rope, and an axe. A sob formed in her throat, and her hands flew to her neck to trap it there, because she couldn’t afford any lapse, however transitory, when she was in the greatest danger of her life.

No one was coming. No one knew where she was. She didn’t even know where she was.

Her knees went soft again. No. No, I will not fall here. I will not die here. She lifted one leg, then another and resumed her sweeping, cheerless assessment of the remnants of their doomed voyage.

I never wanted him dead. I never wanted that. Mariel wiped a tear, but it blended with the briny, reedy mess coating her cheek. She started collecting everything she could, chasing planks with the waves, but kept losing her footing in the powerful pull of the receding tide.

She realized it was raining. Pouring, actually, but she was so soaked from the shipwreck, it was hard to discern what was storm and what was sea. Ahead, the darkening sky held ripe clouds, promising more of the same, but it was the encroaching evening that made her skin prickle with anxious dread. She needed to find shelter before she lost daylight, and the ship would be too risky.

A shrill screech tore out from somewhere behind her. She turned inland, but it was just more endless forest, far more vibrant and verdant even than the ones that colored the lake district. It reminded her of the paintings in Goldsea Spires of the Hinterlands, the land of the Medvedev, where outsiders were not allowed. But she was a long way from the Hinterlands or the realm proper, and anything so foreign must be evaluated as a danger.

Whatever made that sound was in there .

Mariel continued her cursory scan of the horizon and spotted, astoundingly, a small, utilitarian building resembling a shed. It was a neat, modest wooden rectangle with no windows, one door, two steps leading up to it, and no sign of anyone nearby.

She blinked in case she was imagining it, but it was real, and it looked to be serviceable. What it was for, what was inside... It didn’t matter. It was shelter. The ship wasn’t safe. Whatever had screamed from inside the forest, there would be more, and other creatures besides. She’d washed up onto an island mostly unbothered by man, a kingdom unto itself. The shack was the only sign someone had been there before her, but she wondered if she’d discover more evidence if she became brave enough to venture into the forest. What else she might find...

Focus!

Mariel wiped her face and continued through the haze of dusk and rain, in the opposite direction of the Mistwitch . She needed to go back, to collect as many supplies as she could salvage and what little food she’d stored, but if there was even a chance Erran was out there, she had only a narrow window to find him.

She wandered in a haze of mist and exhaustion until she’d outpaced the wreckage. With her hands linked over her head, she stared down the expanse of beach and fought another sob. The last of the sun tickled the edge of the sea’s horizon. If she didn’t turn back now, she’d be salvaging in the dark.

At least I know which way is west.

Reluctantly, she spun around and hobbled toward the ship. As she drew close, she saw that the angle of the wreck had wedged the bow into the shore itself, and the starboard side was pinned against a rock. The unused oars served as dikes, wedged into the sand. Water was seeping inside, but the stern had shifted high enough to be almost entirely out of the water. For now.

Mariel gripped the highest rung on the ladder she could reach, but when she tugged, the sodden wood snapped in her hands. She tried again with a lower one and climbed, pulling herself over the broken one with an aching burst of strength she’d pay for later. Grunting, she squirmed over the gunwale and dropped onto the stern deck, but the pitched angle sent her rolling down the planks and stairs until she slammed onto the main deck with enough force to knock the breath out of her and bring some of that magical light back.

She staggered to her feet, leaning forward to fight the slant, playing a careful game of balance and physics as she inched sideways toward the hatch. She wrestled with the bolt before throwing back the door, then used it as leverage as she angled sideways down the steps.

Mariel looked around the lower deck. The portside hull had a massive opening, through which she could see the increasingly darkening skies. Her mind assembled all the repairs needed to make the Mistwitch seaworthy again, but even if she could make them, she didn’t have the tools. The manpower. The strength.

She pushed deeper until she reached the galley, where she’d stored what few supplies she’d brought onto the ship, and laughed in traumatized relief when she saw they were all where she’d left them, and mostly dry. She grabbed an empty crate and filled it with blankets, pillows, food, netting, and candles, stuffing them down so they didn’t spill out, and then pulled herself along the wall to fight the slant.

When she reached the beach, she peered down the coastline once more, praying Erran would have washed up in the minutes she had been below deck, but the result was exactly what her sinking heart had expected.

Sighing, she started toward the miracle shack when something large caught her eye, propped against a rock.

Mariel dropped the crate and raced down the shore, laughing and sobbing all at once. She fell to her knees, her hands floating above Erran’s pale face, and brushed the torn shirt exposing his chest. She leaned in to listen for breathing and moaned in delirious delight when she both heard and felt it. A palm to his chest revealed a strong heartbeat. Alive, alive, alive.

You’re one tough little princeling, aren’t you ? she thought, turning his face back and forth, hoping it was enough to stir him. When it didn’t, she slapped him. He agitated with a shrill mumble but didn’t wake.

“Erran, you listen to me. You feckin’ listen to me. You’re too heavy for me to carry, and if we don’t get off this beach soon, there’s no telling what might come for us. I heard... Well I don’t ken what I heard, and I don’t want to, especially not when darkness falls.” She winced in silent apology and slapped him again. His face scrunched in pain, one swollen eye cracking open. “There you are!”

“Mar...” Erran’s face crumpled, his head falling back to the side.

“Oh, no. No. Don’t you feckin’ dare.” She moved to slap him again, but one of his hands shot up and gripped her wrist.

“You and violence,” he muttered. His head lolled back, and she reached to right it. “Where...”

“Can you stand?”

“I don’t...” He pressed a hand to the sand, sagging into the effort. “I don’t know.”

“I can support you, but I can’t carry you. I need you to get your head on straight, to help me. Can you do that? Erran, please, can you do that?”

His tongue lashed at his bloody mouth. He closed his eyes and nodded.

Mariel slipped one of his arms over her shoulder, bracing herself against a rock. She waited for him to grip before heaving them both to their feet. He reeled, but she held tight, and he nodded to show he was fine, though he didn’t look it. She didn’t want to even think about his injuries—or her own—until they were safely inside the mysterious shack.

They hobbled up the beach, struggling through the sand and the uneven weight. Twice he seemed to drift off again, so she pinched him, almost smiling at the curses he muttered at her in defiance. He was alive, alive, and together they’d find a way out of their impossible predicament.

“Hold onto this wall,” she ordered when they reached the shack. She opened the door, then considered there might come a need to deal with the screech from the forest. Her bow was with the horse she’d borrowed. Her daggers had survived the chaos, still strapped inside her sopping boots, and Erran’s sword had somehow stayed with him through all the tumult, but whatever had made that awful sound would require something much bigger.

Mariel pulled one of her daggers anyway and held it aloft as she reached for the handle. The door swung open and slapped the outer wall, then bounced back. She waited, counting to twenty before stepping inside.

It was a single room, two tables in the center. Both tables and floor were stained with blood, though it looked old and worn. Hooks hung from the perimeter of the ceiling, some still holding remnants of animal carcasses. They were so timeworn, they’d turned to leather, and the smell of the place was more old and musty than rotting.

“Let’s get you inside,” she said and helped Erran up the two steps. She settled him on the floor, against a wall. “Stay put. I have blankets and a waterskin and... I’ll be right back.”

Mariel raced back to the beach for the crate and reached it just as the last sliver of sunlight inched below the horizon. She carried their meager supplies back like they held the answer to all their problems, and she dropped them just inside the door with a heavy gasp of relief.

“All right, I’m just going to—” She glanced at Erran and saw him slumped over. “No. No, come on.” His skin was cool and clammy, his lips bluish. He was shivering hard enough to make his boot buckles tinkle. He was going into shock. She needed to get him out of his wet clothes.

Mariel leaped to her feet to rip the blankets and pillows from the crate and quickly spread them out on the cleanest patch of floor. She crawled back to him and unlaced one boot, then another, gritting as she grappled with the leather suctioned to his feet. They came off with a thwack, sending her flailing backward.

She started on his trousers next, cursing at him with every grueling tug. It would be quicker to cut them off, but she had nothing else for him to wear, and they had to preserve everything they had, for it was all they had.

His sword belt clattered when she shoved his pants aside and worked on his vest and shirt. The blouse had sustained the worst damage, but it was still functional. It would protect him from the unforgiving sun and save him from burns, if he survived the night.

Panting, she surveyed her work, trying to keep her eyes from lingering in any one place for long. He was nearly naked, except for his skivvies. She had no desire to see what was underneath, something she hoped he’d believe when he finally came to his senses and realized what she’d done to save him, but she was terrified it would be this one little oversight that killed him, and he was all she had left.

With a sigh, she pulled those off too, averting her eyes. She lifted his arms and wriggled him until he was on top of the pile of blankets, then patted him dry him with another.

Mariel recalled what her mother had done after Angelika’s near drowning. Her little sister had looked an awful lot like Erran: color lost, body wracked with shivers, and unresponsive. Mother had stripped them both to their flesh and twined their bodies together to transfer her warmth. Slowly, Angelika had returned to life, while Mariel and Destin had watched on, through stunned tears.

She stared at a trembling Erran and started peeling off her own wet clothing. When she was done, she climbed in beside him, tugging a blanket tight over them, and curled around him from behind. Her eyes closed, her hand reluctantly sliding over him until it was locked against his muscled belly.

Never in her life had she ever been so close to a man. It might have been the last time she’d be close to anyone.

As the rain hammered the roof, Mariel pressed her face to the space between his shoulders, drew a jittery breath, and finally allowed herself a good, long cry.

Erran had no explanation for why he and Mariel were wrapped, naked, in each other’s arms, though there was only one that came to mind.

The night returned in sparks. The wreck. Mariel slapping him—repeatedly. The grueling trek up the beach that had seemed to never end.

His entire body ached with its own remembrances.

Fragmented light highlighted the strange cabin, illuminating dust and blood and other peculiarities he decided to save for later.

Mariel was still asleep. He lifted the blanket to see her hand cupped against his torso. Her breasts were pressed against his back, her knees tucked into his. We’re cuddling ? he wondered but could only guess what that was like. Yesenia had never been the cuddling type, something he’d always found disappointing, though he’d never told her so.

Though he couldn’t be entirely sure, he didn’t think they’d had sex. He could imagine no scenario in which she’d even allow it—or that he’d want it.

Erran carefully peeled her away and crawled out of the makeshift bedroll. His muscles screamed in protest, but he needed more clarity than his awkward wake-up had provided.

The shelter wasn’t much, but it would keep them shielded from the elements, and that was all it really needed to do. Make shelter was the first lesson he’d learned in training for emergencies. Find water was the second.

Loosely, he remembered his boots being removed with excessive force. His clothes. Sometime in the night, she’d hung them all, hers included, but even the thought of trying to dress himself was overwhelming. He was too tired just yet to do more than wander.

He rifled through the half-spilled crate of necessities she’d pilfered from the ship, relieved to see she’d grabbed the dried meat, what little there was. Three waterskins too, mostly full. It would buy them time to find a place to fill them.

Reminded of his complete nakedness, he reached for one of the two blankets lying over Mariel and wrapped one around himself. She slept on, and he let her. If not for her, he wouldn’t even be alive, and though he hadn’t yet put together every piece of the prior evening, he understood she’d borne the brunt of it.

Erran opened the door and stepped into the glow of the morning sun. He closed his eyes, leaning against the frame for support, and took in the warmth before the full weight of reality set in.

The sun was behind him, opposite the sea. Earth’s compass.

The high tide lapped nearly to the edge of the forest floor. Boards and other detritus floated in and out on the current. Still wedged against a cluster of rocks was Mariel’s ship, its mast split, hull exposed. There’d be no fixing her, not without a lot of help.

And there’d be no help, because no one knew they were there. Samuel only knew he’d gone after Mariel, but neither one of them had known about the ship when they’d parted. Word would soon spread though, about the runaway woman and the steward’s son. It was only a matter of time before everyone assumed them dead.

“It’s irreparable,” Mariel said, wrapped in the other blanket as she pulled up beside him. Her hair was plastered to one side of her head, a mess of briny tangles. “Though I ken that’s stating the obvious.”

Erran nodded, too tired for the laugh building in his tender belly. “Aye, I ken it is.”

“Are you all right?” She sounded like she couldn’t land on whether she was concerned for him or ready to let the sea finish its job.

“My head.” He winced when his hand touched the knot forming along the back of his skull. “I’ll live.”

“Despite all my efforts to kill you,” she whispered.

Erran was too bone-tired to laugh. He assessed the needs ahead of them. Shelter was secured. Water was next and then fire, but it wouldn’t be long before they ran out of food. They couldn’t waste a minute. “I want... I need to say thank you, Mariel. You could have solved what to me feels like a big problem in your life by letting me die. Not only did you not, but you cared for me, and I know it couldn’t have been easy for you.”

She sighed deeply. “Erran?—”

“Nay,” he said, turning toward her. “Let me finish. I owe you a debt I’ll never be able to repay, but I intend to try, by keeping us alive until someone comes along and finds us. I’ve been trained for this, though I never thought I’d need the lesson.” He breathed deep. “But one thing that has naught to do with this debt is the explanation you owe me. We’ll get our water, fire, and hopefully find some food to last us, but after that, you’re going to tell me exactly what you were doing at Banner’s. And then you’re going to explain to me why you told those guards you were the Flame, and why they believed you.”