It was a slow day. Had the wind been blowing, she wouldn’t even have noticed the white blob in the water. But as it was, bored, she spotted it and decided immediately to find out what it was.
By this point in the journey, she thought of herself as an explorer. She was going to discover the cold part of the planet and—someday, she’d decided—return triumphant to tell the tale.
Also, she missed human company more than she’d thought she would. She’d even taken to talking to herself.
And this white shape in the water was—something new. Something to connect to. So it was a feeling of loneliness as much as anything else that sent her into the sea.
She stripped and dove for the white shape, unafraid. There hadn’t been anything terrible in the water yet; even the stinging jellyfish that she knew from her years on Raftworld had disappeared as the water grew colder. Cold water was friendly water, as far as she was concerned. It was where she belonged.
* * *
• • •
THE SHAPE turned out to be a baby dolphin, a calf, hovering about ten feet below the surface of the water, caught between life and death. It was pure white—so young it hadn’t yet developed its pink underbelly—and almost starved. Horribly, the baby was slashed with five long, deep cuts on its back, parallel marks, as if a monster of some kind had raked long claws across its back.
But there were no such things as monsters.
Rayel wondered where its mother was, and the rest of its pod. And if the wounds on the baby’s back had anything to do with this dolphin being—most unusually—all alone. What could have happened?
She swam under it and pushed it up to the surface, where it flipped on its back and gasped shallowly for air. She rubbed its belly and pressed herself against the small body, half her own size, hoping to warm it up. She wasn’t sure why she felt so strongly—small things died unfairly all the time; it was how the world worked—but she knew, she knew that she couldn’t let this dolphin die. That she needed to save this small creature.
Rayel swam away to the boat and returned quickly with her fresh store of fish—caught only an hour ago and meant for her own lunch. The dolphin slurped them down feebly, barely able to summon the energy to swallow. But once it had eaten, it flipped right way up, bumping Rayel with its long nose, its way of saying thank you.
Gently, Rayel rubbed the baby’s nose, and the dolphin calf nudged her face and nuzzled under her chin. Rayel’s hand slid over the dolphin’s head and down its back, stopping as soon as she reached the slashes.
The dolphin stilled so she could inspect the cuts, as if it trusted Rayel to take care of it. Rayel wasn’t sure what to do—the wounds looked clean, though deep, and as far as she could tell, there wasn’t anything lodged in them. Finally, she swam back to the boat and retrieved the salve she’d made weeks ago, in warmer weather—a simple seaweed gel—and brought a handful of it back to the dolphin, holding it above her head as she treaded water. When she lowered her hand, the dolphin nosed it and then lay on its stomach, the injured area exposed to air, while Rayel applied the poultice. The dolphin floated there for long minutes while she worked, then nudged a thank-you to her again and swam a slow circle around her.
“I think,” said Rayel, “we’d better head to warmer waters. At least until you’re better.” Despite the fact that she wanted to go south, it was not a hard decision to make. She loved the feeling of being needed, and this creature needed her.
* * *
• • •
BY THE FIRST DAY after they met, Rayel had taken to talking to the dolphin, whom she called, by the second day, Nunu. She didn’t name the dolphin, exactly; she simply called her by an approximation of the sounds the baby seemed to be making whenever she greeted Rayel. It was possible, Rayel thought, that the dolphin had named her Nunu. Or that Nunu meant hello.
They traveled, slowly, just far enough north that the steam came from Rayel’s breath only in the mornings and disappeared by midmorning. The dolphin grew and healed. She hunted her own food. Her underbelly turned pink and healthy, and the slashes turned into long dark scars in her back.
Rayel had heard stories about dolphins on Raftworld, and in some of the stories dolphins had magic—some of them anyway—and could become human if they wished, if they loved a human enough to transform themselves. And even though she knew these were just fairy tales, Rayel imagined stories about Nunu and told them to her—how Nunu became a princess, or a warrior, or a gardener or schoolteacher or any number of things, transformed by her love for some human. Rayel wove Nunu’s scars into the stories sometimes too: Nunu was scarred by a land monster’s claws, or by an army invading from the first world with swords, or by a deep sea creature’s sharp teeth—sometimes the injury happened when she was in her human form and sometimes in her dolphin form, depending on the story. Nunu seemed to like all the versions. She always nodded.
And as she listened, Nunu healed from her wounds, though slowly. It took weeks for the gashes on her back to close completely. But the dolphin didn’t seem to be in pain. She was happy and friendly, swimming up to the boat each morning and bobbing alongside until Rayel let down the anchor and joined her for a swim. Each afternoon Rayel swam with the creature again—they were in no hurry to get anywhere, after all. Rayel learned where the dolphin liked to be scratched and how to hold on to her fin for a ride when she leapt.
The leaping was fantastic.
She found herself pouring out her heart to the dolphin, who seemed to listen. And the dolphin poured her heart out to Rayel—or at least that is what it sounded like. It didn’t matter so much that they didn’t understand each other. Maybe it even made it easier to talk.
“It’s like this,” Rayel explained one afternoon as they swam next to each other, Rayel holding Nunu’s flipper. “I ran away because I felt I had to—to escape from someone cruel. And there wasn’t any reason to stay after Solomon died. I was okay with leaving Raftworld and being all alone—at least, I think I was. But I was lonely. I’m so glad to have found you.”
Nunu clicked in agreement.
“Did I ever tell you about the time we ran away from home together? I mean my brother and me.”
Nunu clicked again. She was the best listener ever.
“Our mom had . . . scolded us. For something stupid.” Nunu didn’t ask—she never pressed for more information than Rayel was willing to give—but Rayel sighed anyway and explained. Nunu deserved the whole story. “She was mad because Solomon had graduated from sailing a child-size boat—the kind that’s meant only for learning how to use the ropes and how to get up if you capsize—to a regular one-person boat. I mean, she wasn’t mad about that. She was mad because . . .”
Why was her mother mad, anyway? Rayel massaged the bump on her head, thinking.
“She was mad because he hadn’t told her when he got home, and then when the tutor stopped by later to congratulate him, she didn’t know anything about it.”
But that wasn’t really the issue, either. No, their mom was angry because Solomon had told Rayel all about it, and when the tutor stopped by, almost-thirteen-year-old Rayel had said to the tutor, “He’s so excited about the big boat. You’re a great teacher,” just as polite as could be. And the tutor had grinned and clapped Rayel on the shoulder and said, “I should have known you’d draw the story out of him. He adores you.”
The tutor had been a nice man—and Rayel hadn’t been wrong to say he was a great teacher. But after that day, Solomon’s mom had transferred Solomon into a class with a different sailing tutor, and she’d pulled Rayel aside and told her, tight-lipped, to stop hovering over her brother. Told her she would only bring her brother down. That if she cared about her brother at all, she’d stop embarrassing him by hanging around him all the time.
What exactly, then, had their mom been angry about? She was mad that Solomon had gone to Rayel with his success, that Solomon had thought to tell
Rayel before he thought to tell his mother. That his mother hadn’t been first—or even on the list at all.
Nunu nudged her. Rayel had been silent too long.
“My mom didn’t know that Solomon heard her yelling at me,” Rayel said.
Nunu bobbed, her head nodding in the water, and she grinned. She always grinned, so that wasn’t a good indicator of listening. But it definitely made her look like she was captivated.
“He found me afterward, crying, and he said we should run away and live by ourselves, just the two of us—and he could sail us there because he could sail a grown-up boat now.” She paused to stroke the dolphin’s nose. “He was only five. He was adorable.”
And so were you, Nunu seemed to say.
“Hah. I was never adorable. But it was . . . cute, I guess, how we thought we could just escape everything. Sail away and live on our own.”
Nunu waited, as if asking a question.
Rayel sighed. “It was also stupid, and we knew it as soon as we really tried to leave. We didn’t even make it out on the water. We snuck out at night, with some food—not nearly enough—stuffed in our pockets, and we got to the docks and found the boat we were going to steal, and we hid in it until it was really dark, and by then I’d rethought everything. How could I run away with nothing but a pocketful of snacks? And drag Solomon into it? I said we should wait until we were older. That there was more to learn. That if we still wanted to, we could run away together later. And he agreed, because he was cold and tired and wanted to go to bed.”
She paused, thinking. Nunu wriggled closer to Rayel’s side, and Rayel began to rub her back, fingers bumping over the old deep scars. “That was only one year ago. But it seems so much longer. I thought we were too young to run away then—but now? Now I’m grown and almost married off. And no Solomon.” She shrugged away from the thought and wrapped her arm over Nunu’s back. “If I’d thought clearly, I probably would have talked myself out of running away this time, too. I’m glad I didn’t. And I wish I hadn’t talked myself out of it a year ago.” Oh, Solomon.
If they’d gone last year, he might still be alive.
She shook herself, and Nunu startled. “Sorry.”
What were the good things about this trip? She’d met Nunu. And she’d discovered her gift with cold and could explore the deep south—probably not something she could have done with Solomon, as he likely wouldn’t have had her gift.
But . . . going south wouldn’t work for Nunu either. Rayel’s stomach sank. It was a problem that had been in the back of her mind for a while now. How could she go south and stay with Nunu?
The dolphin flipped back and swam quick circles around her, wanting to play a chase game.
Rayel, in the middle of the circle, treaded water and thought of Solomon. And Nunu. And south.
9
PUTNAM. THE PRESENT.
IN THREE more days’ time, all Putnam’s fresh food was gone—the bread, the fruit, even the carrots. He and Artie netted as much fish and seaweed as they could and dried them on the roof of the boat; this food would keep them going for a long time. What they needed now was more basic. Despite Putnam’s care, they were running out of water.
Putnam had lived on the ocean his whole life, and the ocean that he knew contained water—water you could drink. The idea of not being able to swallow what surrounded you—well, that was inconceivable.
But now, first gradually and then suddenly, the water was too bad to drink. Hoping he was wrong, Putnam tasted it once again, but it was so strong with salt and bitterness that he spat it out, retching.
Artie, whittling a stick into a flute, said, “Yeah. I tried it earlier this morning.”
He spat again, then took a small swig of their remaining water to clear out the taste.
“We don’t have much left,” she said.
“Maybe it’ll rain.”
“We need to find land.”
She wasn’t wrong. But as far as he could tell, there wasn’t any land nearby—which made sense, as the world was mostly ocean. The island of Tathenn—Artie’s homeland—was the biggest island in the world, as far as everyone knew. But then, Raftworld never traveled so far south; maybe there were more islands here, maybe even big ones with their own lakes and streams.
And maybe they’d happen across one.
And maybe that was one too many maybes to count on.
Artie brushed wood shavings off her lap. “Meanwhile, we should ration the water we have left.” She eyed the two jugs remaining—both of them somewhat brackish from being filled as the ocean’s taste worsened. “Or . . . we could head north.”
“No,” said Putnam. “If I’m going to figure out what’s wrong, we need to head south. Besides,” he said, trying to get his own way without sounding bossy, which was a fine line to stand on, “if people are looking for either of us, the only direction they won’t look is—”
“South,” she said. “I thought of that. No one’s looking for me. But they might be looking for you by now.” She sounded disgruntled.
“Are you wishing I’d stolen a different boat?”
She surprised him by not replying with an outright yes. “Partly. But you’re . . . not too bad. I mean, the food you brought was good. And you did think to fill the jugs of water.”
“Glad to know I’m so wanted.” Putnam could feel himself grinning. Artie was trying so hard not to sound like she liked him. But she did, at least a little. He could tell. “Well, I’m glad I got on this boat. You’re good company.”
She ducked her head. Pretended not to hear. But she did hear, and a little smile flashed across her face before her hair hid it.
* * *
• • •
LATER IN THE DAY, the sky cleared to a bright, bright blue, and the sun shone down and glinted from every wave.
They’d been at sea for five days. It had been getting colder as they headed south, but today was suddenly warm again, a last glint of summer before winter. They both lay on the deck, soaking in the rare sunshine. Artie had even shed her outer layers of clothing and was dressed only in leggings and a shirt.
For the first time since the journey had started, Putnam felt sluggish and tired, and the water stretched endlessly in every direction. Before he realized it, the boat had stopped moving.
When he took the oar to steer them back into the current, Artie was staring into the water, at a small bloom of seaweed. “Wait a bit?”
And before he could answer, she dove off the boat and disappeared.
He hadn’t wanted to stop. They should be heading south as quickly as possible. Cursing under his breath, he shoved the little craft farther out of the current and dropped the anchor. At that moment, Artie popped up with armfuls of seaweed. Putnam reached to take the plants and climbed on the cabin roof to spread them to dry. They would make good eating later.
When he finished, Artie was treading water, her wet hair pushed back. For once her whole face was visible, almost free now of bruises and filled out with close to a week of good food and sleep.
She looked—happy.
The water was shallow almost everywhere in the ocean, but here it was especially so, the anchor easily reaching the sandy bottom, which Putnam could see in the clear water. There was no coral in sight, but dark beds of seaweed dotted the ocean’s floor, and fish darted in and out of the grasses. Putnam saw a small octopus shoot from seaweed to sand, where it quickly changed color to match the floor—and disappeared from sight.
Artie dove and leapt in the water like a dolphin, rising to catch her breath and then shooting back into the water headfirst.
There was something in her face now that reminded him of the first time he’d seen her—at the bonfire. She came up again, gasping, and this time remained at the surface, swirling her arms to tread water. “Come in, the water’s fine.”
Suddenly Putnam recognized what it
was that reminded him of the bonfire. Her face was lit up, glowing. At the bonfire, he’d thought it was a trick of the fire itself—that the fire had given its brightness to her as it did to anyone who came near it. But now he wondered. Maybe she had that glow inside herself, and sometimes it just leaked out—as it did now, in the warm light of afternoon, nowhere near a fire—because she was so focused on something outside herself, so alive to the world around her.
“You could have warned me before you dove off the boat,” he said. But that wasn’t what he wanted to say, which was: Why are you suddenly so happy? Why are you diving and smiling?
“Just a quick break,” she said. “Before the water gets so bad we don’t want to swim in it.”
“Sure,” said Putnam. Suddenly he felt happy, too, without being sure why. He tore off his shirt and dove in, resisting the urge to flip in the air on the way down. No need to show off.
* * *
• • •
ARTIE WAS RIGHT; the water was fine—not nearly as cold as Putnam had thought it would be, given that their nights were quickly becoming frigid.
When they both tired out, they floated near each other on their backs, faces to the last warm fingers of sun. Artie held an empty clamshell half the size of her palm that she’d found on the sand below the water. She seemed to be weighing it in her hand.
“Keepsake?” he asked, turning his head toward her to talk and hear. They were practically lying on top of the water, they were so buoyant. The sea itself was unusually still.
“I was thinking about keeping it for my luck pouch,” Artie said, studying the shell.
She wore her luck pouch even in the water—he’d never seen her take it off. “I used to think everyone on the Islands wore the pouches, but it seems like not too many people do,” he said.
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