by Bex Hogan
‘Can you two hurry up?’ Grace snaps from the shadows. She’s already gone far enough along the tunnel that I can’t see her. ‘Ship full of assassins looking for us, remember?’
Bronn touches my arm. ‘This doesn’t mean I’m coming with you.’
‘I know.’ But it’s enough for now.
A rush of warmth sweeps over me. There’s so much to be afraid of, but I’m unbelievably glad that they’re both with me. Though there are many reasons why I shouldn’t trust either of them, I do. And so when Bronn gestures for me to lead the way, I walk without hesitation, allowing the darkness to swallow me whole.
The tunnel winds endlessly through the mountain. I walk beside the wall, running my fingers along slime-covered rock, trying not to stumble over stones I can’t see. We don’t speak, all sensing that silence is our friend at this point, just in case anyone else has sought sanctuary in the darkness.
It’s several hours before the first glimmer of light tells us the opening is nearby, and when we finally emerge from the tunnel and on to another cliff face it’s early morning. The air feels wonderfully fresh after being in such dank murkiness and carries salt on it that clings to my lips. We are near the sea, just as Bronn said we would be.
Our descent is far easier than the way up. Once we’ve scrambled down from the ledge, waging war on the thicket of thorns covering it from prying eyes, we take a dusty path towards the town. A quick check of my compass tells me we’re facing west, nothing but the vast expanse of ocean in front of us until the Western Isles – a thought that makes me prickle with unease as I remember Grace’s claims. I tuck the compass into my pocket, glad to still have one of my birthday gifts. Bronn’s dagger is somewhere at the palace. The King may as well have buried it in my back after selling me out to my father.
The betrayal still stings, even though it shouldn’t. Our dinner together left me in little doubt of what kind of man the King is. I just hadn’t wanted to believe he was such a coward that he’d rather make a deal with his enemy to protect his own skin than work with a willing ally to restore peace. And now I’m gambling everything on his son. Bronn is right: I don’t know anything about Torin, have no real reason to believe he’ll help, only a momentary connection forged in the melding of flesh. I could be making a terrible mistake.
We walk for about an hour and hear the town long before we see it. Though it’s still early the thrum of voices reaches us, and I glance over at Bronn.
He’s frowning. ‘Thought this side of the island might be quieter. Obviously not.’
‘The more people, the more cover,’ Grace says.
‘Maybe.’ Bronn isn’t happy. ‘We’ll split up. I’ll sort out boats; you two send word to Torin you’re on your way. The sooner we’re off land the better.’
And once we’re back at sea he’ll be gone. The thought makes my insides tangle together. But if he’s determined to leave, then there’s something I want to do before he goes.
I fall into step beside Grace, and pull her back a little, so Bronn can’t hear me. ‘Can you take care of the message on your own? I have an errand to run.’
She gives me a curious look, but nods.
If the main port had seemed busy, this is mayhem. Hundreds of people have flocked here, hoping to land unnoticed on this quiet part of the isle. Crowds of desperate islanders are beseeching the regiment of the King’s Guard blocking their way, and judging by the bodies strewn about there has been fighting overnight. I realise this was probably what I could hear when we were leaving the palace. My instincts that it wouldn’t end well appear to have been horribly right.
The moment we arrive we’re besieged by people clawing at us for money, for food, for shelter. Bronn shakes them off like flies, determined to secure both him and us passage off the island. Grace pushes through them in the opposite direction, searching for a stall with sea vultures ready for service.
These exceptionally intelligent birds are the quickest way to deliver messages around the Isles. Simply tie a note to their leg and whisper the location you want it taken to and they will fly there with haste. Few people have their own sea vulture, and Talon is another symbol of my father’s power. Their amazing understanding of our words has always seemed to me a remnant of the magic we once had, a link to a lost past, and normally I would welcome any opportunity to see a flock of them lined up on their perches.
But it is not the sea vultures I’m interested in today. My mission involves finding an apothecary. The town isn’t big and most of the merchants have packed up, afraid of being robbed by desperate people, but healers don’t disappear, not even in the darkest of places. That’s where they’re needed most.
I ask several of the people rushing past me, until eventually one man pauses long enough to point me in the direction of a tiny cottage. Crooked and neglected, it looks just right to house what I’m seeking.
I have to knock twice before an old woman appears at the door. Two gold coins is all I’m required to part with to get what I need. I slip the bottles into my pocket, then set off through the throng of bodies again in search of Grace.
I haven’t walked far before someone tugs low down at my trousers.
A small girl stares up at me with eyes that remind me painfully of Tomas. ‘I’m hungry,’ she says.
I bend down to lift her up, worried such a little body will get crushed in this tide of panic. ‘Where’s your mother?’
‘I lost her.’
I don’t need this. But I can’t just leave her. ‘Let’s get you some food, then I’ll help you find her, OK?’
The girl nods, looping my hair round her finger.
We push our way into the inn where I buy her a bowl of gruel – the only food on offer – at a ridiculous price. I watch her, very intentionally not asking for her name. I mustn’t get attached. Grace will have the bird sorted soon, then she’ll come looking for me, and won’t be pleased to find me saddled with a child.
Fortunately the girl eats quickly, so hungry she practically inhales the sludge, and when she wipes her mouth clean on her sleeve I smile at her.
‘Where did you last see your mother?’
‘I don’t know. There were horses.’
‘The blacksmith’s?’
She nods, though a little uncertainly.
‘Come on then, let’s check there first.’
I hold her tightly as we fight our way through the crowds. The shouting’s getting louder, and then a gunshot blasts through the air. I turn round in time to see a man fall to the ground. It looks as though his crime was attempting to run past the guards, as they stand over him, kicking his legs to see how injured he is. While I watch him lying there, his body shuddering in the grip of death, someone tries to pull the girl from my arms. I spin round, ready to attack, fighting to keep hold of her, but the woman is screaming at me.
‘You stole my child! You stole my child!’
Releasing my hold on the girl, I stare in confusion as her mother snatches her from me, accusing me of terrible things. The girl says nothing, just watches me as the two of them disappear into the crowd. It all happens so fast that I don’t have time to say a word, and so I go after them, wanting to explain, searching every face, trying to find the woman’s.
And then my blood runs cold.
My father is striding towards me flanked by Cleeve and Nestor. Behind them are a dozen other members of the crew and, even consumed by their plight, the crowd parts fearfully out of the Viper’s way. By some miracle none of them have seen me yet, so I lower my head and walk quickly the other way, hoping not to draw attention to myself.
I see Grace up ahead whispering the coordinates Bronn’s given her to a sea vulture, before releasing the magnificent creature into the air.
I run towards her. ‘My father’s here.’
She’s instantly alert. ‘Where?’
‘To my left, and he’s not alone.’
‘They must know we’re here,’ she says, grabbing my arm. ‘Come on.’
We move
quickly to hide ourselves behind the stall, keeping low as we run in the direction Bronn took, towards the jetty. The crowds thin the closer we get to the water – most people want to get on the island, not off it – and we start to lose our cover.
I see Bronn the same moment my father does, the same moment my father pulls out his pistol and shoots.
Everyone close by screams.
For me, though, it’s as if time stands still while my brain processes my options. My father is right there. I could end this all now if I confront him – if I kill him. But even after everything he’s done to me, I don’t know if I can do it. Not him. Not my father. Besides, the more rational part of my brain screams at me that with the rest of the Snakes here we’re outnumbered, and trying to stay and fight will just result in our capture and death, which will help no one.
And so I run. I sprint as fast as I can towards the jetty, dodging the shots being fired in my direction. Bronn is unharmed, my father too far away to aim accurately. He’s in a rowing boat, hastily untying it as he shouts for Grace and me to hurry.
As we pound down the jetty Bronn starts to row, deep strokes taking him quickly away. I don’t hesitate. I leap from the edge and fall into the boat. Seconds later, Grace tumbles on top of me.
‘Keep down,’ Bronn says as several more shots are fired in our direction.
‘You coming with us then?’ Grace says, sitting up.
Bronn gives her a withering look.
‘Which one are you heading for?’ Grace is looking at the ships, trying to figure out Bronn’s plan.
I’m more interested in how close behind my father is, and to my horror he and his men are already jumping into other boats in pursuit.
‘A skerry-cutter?’ Grace sounds confused, and then her mouth falls open with disbelief. ‘The fiord?’ She’s worked out what Bronn has in mind and is not amused.
Bronn isn’t interested in debating this. ‘It’s the only way to outrun them.’
‘You’re a bloody fool,’ she says, but I can tell she’s impressed with his gutsy idea. She leans forward to take Bronn’s pistol from his belt, turns elegantly and shoots at my father. They’re out of range, Bronn a stronger rower than the others, and so knowing we can’t be hit either I stand up, ready to leap aboard the vessel we’re pulling up alongside.
We scale the side of the sailing boat and drop on to the deck. Small and narrow, designed for speed and agility, the skerry-cutter is used by trade carriers to deliver goods around the islands, enabling them to stay close to land and avoid the small clusters of rocks beneath the surface known as skerries. No one in their right mind would think of using them to attempt the route Bronn intends, though. A route only desperate people would take, which just about sums us up.
I weigh anchor as Bronn runs to the wheel, and Grace releases the neat triangular sails that immediately catch the breeze.
My father is firing again, as are most of his men, and we duck low to avoid their shots as our cutter sweeps hard to starboard, taking us out of their reach. There are several other skerry-cutters anchored offshore and it’ll only be a matter of time before they’ve commandeered them and make chase.
We sail north, hugging the coastline as we head towards Skerrikut Fiord, the narrow waterway that crosses the island. Centuries of strong currents have carved their way through the rocky land, creating a channel that will lead us to a tunnel in the cliff face at the far end of the fiord, and into the open sea on the other side. It’s a faster route than going round the island, but it’s obstructed by so many small skerry formations that it’s virtually impassable.
As we approach it my eyes widen with horror. Even from here I can see the tips of the rocks breaking the water’s surface and cannot fathom how we’ll make it through, but if ever there was a sailor mad enough to attempt it, then it’s Bronn. Without hesitation he takes us in, spinning the wheel with apparent ease to weave round the hull-tearing masses as though they were nothing more than foam. I glance behind to see three other ships in our wake. Despite the fact that none of the other sailors are anywhere near as accomplished as Bronn, they’re keeping pace with us by mimicking exactly what Bronn does.
No one asks the obvious question: how did my father find us? There’ll be time for that later if we manage to escape.
Because if we somehow make it through the skerries, we’ll pass into the fiord – a twisting narrow channel of water flanked on either side by steep cliffs. Scores of islets are scattered through the deep fiord, as well as further skerries that catch you unaware if you’re brave enough to attempt its undulating passage. Or foolish enough.
But if we can lose my father and his Snakes in these almost labyrinthine waters, then we can break clear into the Eastern Sea and make our journey towards the Sixth unhindered. At least that is what I assume Bronn intends to do.
Grace and I start emptying chests, searching for weapons. I find a pistol, which I toss over to Grace.
While she checks the powder charge I turn to Bronn. ‘What can I do?’
‘Take the wheel.’
‘What?’ He may be crazy enough to attempt this, but I’m not.
‘There’s too much tension in the sails,’ he says. ‘Just keep us in one piece while I loosen them.’
There’s no time to argue. I grasp the wheel and swerve left and right round skerries, impressed with how quickly the boat responds to my requests. There are rocks everywhere, and I’m concentrating so hard on my steering that it’s only when Bronn appears back beside me that I realise I’ve been holding my breath.
‘They’re gaining on us,’ he says, taking over the wheel again. ‘We’re buffering the wind for them. We’re going to have to get closer.’
‘Closer to the rocks?’
‘It’s that or get caught.’
The boat creaks in objection as Bronn careens through the gaps between skerries, doing it so skilfully the wood itself seems to curve. For a moment I think my father’s boat is going to get caught on one of the rocks, but Cleeve manages to scrape out of trouble just in time. One of the other boats isn’t so lucky. The vessel furthest from us, helmed by Lynx, crunches hard on her port bow and they immediately start to sink. All four on board abandon their pursuit as they focus on survival.
The closer we get to the fiord, the denser the skerries become, and we bump and scuff a few corners, but the boat holds. For now. As soon as we reach the fiord there’ll be nothing to stop my father catching up with us.
‘They’re coming alongside,’ Grace says, leaping to stand next to me.
She’s right. My father has taken over steering his skerry-cutter and has pulled to our starboard side, taking a parallel route that intermittently brings us closer together. We’re going to have to do this the hard way.
Grace raises a pistol in each hand, while I pull the dagger from my belt. I’m happier with knives.
There are four other Snakes in addition to my father on his cutter – Cleeve, Nestor, Ruby and Agnes – and our main priority is to stop them crossing over to board us, and so we stand with weapons raised. As the two parallel paths our cutters are on swing together, so does our steel. Nestor, Ruby and Agnes target Grace, presumably deeming her the greater threat, leaving Cleeve for me. I can tell he’s still seething from our last encounter on the Maiden, that he feels this is his opportunity for revenge. He’s hated me all my life, resented my presence, my claim to the ship. I’ve always known of his desire to crush me like a troublesome roach, and now he senses it’s time. Not to mention the glory he’ll receive for being the one to capture me for Father.
But his hatred is nothing compared to mine, and just the memory of him beating Toby – for no reason other than sport – fans the flames of my pain. I launch a vicious attack, thrusting and slicing with menacing accuracy so that Cleeve struggles to parry my blows.
And then in my mind I see him beating Toby, only then it’s not Toby, it’s Tomas, and then it’s not him doing the beating, it’s me, and it’s not Tomas, it’s Briggs.
The flashback to Briggs’s death is so unexpected that I can’t breathe, traumatised by the memory of how flesh and bone felt breaking beneath my fists.
Cleeve takes full advantage of my lapse, and now his every blow is more savage, more violent, and soon I’m struggling to hold him back. When Bronn tilts us unexpectedly to port I momentarily lose my balance.
‘Get her!’ I hear my father shout as he pulls their ship about, and Cleeve obeys, lunging for me. He grabs my arm and tries to drag me across. I have to drop my blade so my hand can clutch at the side of our boat, but I can feel I’m going to topple soon, so I do the only thing I can – sink my teeth into his hand.
He cries in pain and releases me, but instinctively he lashes out and a sudden heat streaks up my cheek, followed by wet warmth. ‘Consider that a taste of what’s to come!’ he shouts at me with a cruel laugh as I fall hard on to deck.
Bronn’s managed to steer us further from them, and so Grace takes the chance to drop to my side.
There’s blood everywhere, and I try not to panic. I know faces bleed badly, so it probably looks worse than it is.
Grace rips a strip off her shirt and presses it hard against my cut. ‘Bronn, get us out of here!’
‘I’m working on it.’
‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘I’ll live.’
She nods. There simply isn’t time to fuss. The second ship full of Snakes is catching up and its occupants are openly firing at us.
‘Are your pistols loaded?’ I ask her. I realise I’ve no idea whom she’s dispatched and how.
‘Yes, what do you have in mind?’
‘Just cover me as best you can.’
And I take Bronn’s pistol from her and stand up, targeting the rigging of the offending skerry-cutter. It’s an almost impossible shot and even if I make it there’s no guarantee it’ll work, but I have faith in my aim. My finger squeezes hard on the trigger and I hit my mark. The rope securing the boom is split by the bullet and begins to unravel, making the boom swing loose, knocking two men who are standing in its way immediately overboard. The other Snakes struggle to regain control, and in a desperate attempt to avoid hitting the rocks their helmsman misjudges his steering and the small boat flips over as they spin in the wrong direction. They are no longer a problem.