flask. He managed a little before slumping down again.
‘Wishing for a fat husband and a cold castle?’ he murmured as I lay down next to him in the bottom of the boat.
‘No. Orrik and a horsewhip.’
‘Ah. Even better.’
Long into the night I stared at the sky, but saw only the stars above.
In the morning I was pleased to find we hadn’t been murdered in our sleep. As I washed my face with seawater, Griffin dropped a fat silver fish in the bottom of the boat. I gashed it deeply and squeezed, but there was little blood to speak of and it wasn’t the least bit satisfying. Still, it was food, and I scaled it with my knife and divided it into four portions.
Rodden looked askance at his breakfast, assessing whether his stomach was about to cooperate with thepale, uncooked flesh. He nibbled some, grimaced, and lay down again. Leap and Griffin were more than happy to finish his share. I gave them all some water but didn’t drink myself, preferring to wait. I knew my limits with thirst, and while I didn’t relish the sensation I wasn’t about to keel over.
Rodden slept the day away. I did my best to keep him out of the sun, bullying him into the shadow cast by the sail as the sun moved across the sky. In the afternoon I gave him some more water, but ten minutes later he threw it up. It was on the tip of my tongue to yell at him. I was hot and terribly worried about him, and it was a dreadful waste. We were already a quarter of the way through our supply. But he looked miserable enough already so I kept my mouth closed.
In the late afternoon, I tested our distance from Pol. I felt like crying when I found we hadn’t travelled nearly as far as I’d hoped. Instead, I cleaned Rodden’s crossbow and sharpened all the points we had, Orrik’s face floating before me.
Night fell, and my anxieties grew. I clutched some bolts in one hand and the crossbow lay across my lap, ready if we were attacked. Leap kept an anxious vigil, his body curled tightly into me. All night I watched the reflection of the stars in his eyes.
The wind blew gentle and steady. The sea lappedat our boat. Dawn came, and after another uninterrupted night I realised that not even harmings could find us. We were no more than a drop in this great ocean, and though this should have gladdened me it only made me feel more forlorn.
At breakfast time – ridiculous to call it that as we had little breakfast to speak of – I couldn’t rouse Rodden. I poured seawater on his face. I kicked him, shouted at him, but nothing drew a response. I clutched the thread between us and found that it was weakening. He was slipping away from me, the cool water of his soul becoming stagnant and cold.
I forced down the fish Griffin caught, though the clammy flesh sickened me. I eased Rodden’s head into my lap, feeling for the first time the softness of his black hair, the heaviness of his skull. I smoothed a hand across his brow and found it feverish.
Taking the knife from his belt I regarded my wrist. There was a network of bluish veins beneath white skin as thin as tissue paper. I’d never noticed it before but wrists are vulnerable things. I was reminded of the delicacy of birds’ bones and the soft underbellies of fishes. I imagined gutting my wrist like I had our breakfast, blood and nameless viscera spilling from my arm to lie in the bottom of the boat. I shuddered, and decided to approach the problem mathematically,like Orrik’s sextant: I would do this by degrees. First, no more than a scratch to see how the blood flowed. I drew the blade across the inner edge of my wrist, hissing in pain as a thin red line appeared. I rubbed the wetness across Rodden’s lower lip. He frowned and took a deep breath. I cut again, deeper this time, and the blood began to bead up. I placed my wrist against his mouth, letting the dark red liquid trickle over his lips. He didn’t open his eyes but reached up to grasp my forearm, the way I’d seem him hold the carcass of a
‘Wishing for a fat husband and a cold castle?’ he murmured as I lay down next to him in the bottom of the boat.
‘No. Orrik and a horsewhip.’
‘Ah. Even better.’
Long into the night I stared at the sky, but saw only the stars above.
In the morning I was pleased to find we hadn’t been murdered in our sleep. As I washed my face with seawater, Griffin dropped a fat silver fish in the bottom of the boat. I gashed it deeply and squeezed, but there was little blood to speak of and it wasn’t the least bit satisfying. Still, it was food, and I scaled it with my knife and divided it into four portions.
Rodden looked askance at his breakfast, assessing whether his stomach was about to cooperate with thepale, uncooked flesh. He nibbled some, grimaced, and lay down again. Leap and Griffin were more than happy to finish his share. I gave them all some water but didn’t drink myself, preferring to wait. I knew my limits with thirst, and while I didn’t relish the sensation I wasn’t about to keel over.
Rodden slept the day away. I did my best to keep him out of the sun, bullying him into the shadow cast by the sail as the sun moved across the sky. In the afternoon I gave him some more water, but ten minutes later he threw it up. It was on the tip of my tongue to yell at him. I was hot and terribly worried about him, and it was a dreadful waste. We were already a quarter of the way through our supply. But he looked miserable enough already so I kept my mouth closed.
In the late afternoon, I tested our distance from Pol. I felt like crying when I found we hadn’t travelled nearly as far as I’d hoped. Instead, I cleaned Rodden’s crossbow and sharpened all the points we had, Orrik’s face floating before me.
Night fell, and my anxieties grew. I clutched some bolts in one hand and the crossbow lay across my lap, ready if we were attacked. Leap kept an anxious vigil, his body curled tightly into me. All night I watched the reflection of the stars in his eyes.
The wind blew gentle and steady. The sea lappedat our boat. Dawn came, and after another uninterrupted night I realised that not even harmings could find us. We were no more than a drop in this great ocean, and though this should have gladdened me it only made me feel more forlorn.
At breakfast time – ridiculous to call it that as we had little breakfast to speak of – I couldn’t rouse Rodden. I poured seawater on his face. I kicked him, shouted at him, but nothing drew a response. I clutched the thread between us and found that it was weakening. He was slipping away from me, the cool water of his soul becoming stagnant and cold.
I forced down the fish Griffin caught, though the clammy flesh sickened me. I eased Rodden’s head into my lap, feeling for the first time the softness of his black hair, the heaviness of his skull. I smoothed a hand across his brow and found it feverish.
Taking the knife from his belt I regarded my wrist. There was a network of bluish veins beneath white skin as thin as tissue paper. I’d never noticed it before but wrists are vulnerable things. I was reminded of the delicacy of birds’ bones and the soft underbellies of fishes. I imagined gutting my wrist like I had our breakfast, blood and nameless viscera spilling from my arm to lie in the bottom of the boat. I shuddered, and decided to approach the problem mathematically,like Orrik’s sextant: I would do this by degrees. First, no more than a scratch to see how the blood flowed. I drew the blade across the inner edge of my wrist, hissing in pain as a thin red line appeared. I rubbed the wetness across Rodden’s lower lip. He frowned and took a deep breath. I cut again, deeper this time, and the blood began to bead up. I placed my wrist against his mouth, letting the dark red liquid trickle over his lips. He didn’t open his eyes but reached up to grasp my forearm, the way I’d seem him hold the carcass of a
Similar Books
