Fortissima

by Sara Kingsley

  I notice Leif staring at me, a huge grin on his face. “What?” I say, my voice teasing. I realize I’m wearing the same silly grin.

  He doesn’t look away. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Got your sea legs now, eh?”

  I can’t look away from him, either. The wind has pulled a bit of moonlit hair from his hair tie, and it ruffles across his face. His eyes are shining silver-green, piercing right into my own. I reach up and tuck the hair behind his ear. It’s very soft.

  I hesitate before I draw my hand away. He seizes it between his own. Then he slowly brings it to his lips, and plants a gentle kiss on the back of my hand. Pleasure shoots out of that spot like an electric shock, up my arm and into my spine. I have to grip the railing tighter with my other hand to steady myself. The toughest sea legs in the world couldn’t help me now.

  “They are still a little wobbly, actually,” I manage to say, still looking up at him.

  He laughs and turns to the moon. Still holding onto my hand, he tucks my arm beneath his. I lean into him, and not just to steady myself.

  “I’m glad you’re here, that you agreed to come along with me,” I say. “I’m not really sure what’s going to happen, or when you’ll be able to return … or see your father.”

  “Shhhhh,” he breathes into my hair. “I can’t imagine not being here. Whatever happens, happens. I still can’t believe you asked me, after what I did. I’m so sorry about that. I don’t know how I’m going to make it up to you. I shouldn’t have let them trick me like that. I had no idea you were—”

  “Leif. I know all about what they did.” I look up at his face again. The smile is gone. His brows are knitted with regret. “They didn’t give you any choice.”

  He turns toward me again, taking both my hands in his this time. His eyes are wide and burn into mine. “That’s not true. It was all a trick. There’s no way they would have punished Papa. The King wouldn’t give up his precious supply of liquor. I was a fool. Besides, I could have warned you. And I didn’t. You must never forgive me for that.”

  I suppose he’s right. He could have kept with the Queen’s plan, leading me toward their trap. But he also could have let something slip. At least given me a chance to get away. It was all a risk. It was a gamble—for all of us. The Queen lost. Everything. But I’m safely away and Tui is on his way home. Besides, I can’t blame Leif for wanting to keep his father safe. I would have done the same. And I truly believe he never intended to hurt me.

  “But I already have. I forgive you, Leif.”

  A corner of his mouth turns up again. He shakes his head, and pulls me into his arms. I close my eyes as he holds me tightly. The feeling is even more beautiful than this moonlit night.

  My life at sea develops a rhythm over the next week. As the ship rolls steadily with the waves, my routine revolves around breakfast, lunch, and dinner with the crew. I spend most of each day on deck, chatting with Leif and the other sailors. I offer to help change the sails as the wind rises and falls, but they shrug me off so I just watch. I also watch the sea and clouds change again and again, a never-ending work of art.

  I help with the fishing, which the sailors find amusing, but they won’t let me near the fish to clean them. It’s bad luck, they say, for a woman to clean a fish—apparently it’s good luck to cook it. But that’s fine by me. I enjoy the time I spend with Mrs. Wilkins in the galley. She teaches me how to make bread with salt water, along with her famous fish stew recipe. After dinner, with full bellies, the crew plays music and sings sea shanties. I can see how this life could grow on a person.

  At night, as we lay in our bunks, Leif tells me stories as I fall asleep. This is my favorite time. Tonight, he’s just finished telling me about when he and his father had to bribe an officer with one of their best bottles of whiskey. Then he turns the table on me: “Tell me a story, Raven.”

  “What do you mean?” I’m no storyteller. Not like him. I really hope that’s not what he’s asking me to do.

  “What I mean is, I want to hear about you. About where you grew up. Baldachin, yes? About your … adoptive parents. What you liked to do as a kid.”

  I lean over my bunk to peer down at him. Our candle lamp burned out long ago, but there’s a bit of moonlight coming through the porthole near the bunks. He’s laying on his back, hands behind his head. Grinning.

  “I was born in a cave.” I pause, waiting for his reaction.

  “No. Are you serious? And you say you’re no storyteller.”

  I return his grin and continue. I tell him about Miss Lilith, who brought me to Baldachin after I was born. I talk about Mum and Papa, who raised me as their own. I describe our treevillage, how I grew up running though the treetops with Tui. I tell him that Greenhollow was the farthest I’d ever been from Baldachin, until this journey.

  “And now, here I am, almost seventeen years later, sailing on a ship to Nuimana. I never would have guessed I’d find myself here.”

  He’s still smiling up at me. Rapt.

  “When’s your birthday then?”

  “At the latter half moon, November.”

  “Wait—are you telling me it’s your birthday now?” His eyebrows shoot up. Incredulous.

  I glance at the moonlit porthole. “Yes, I suppose it is. A year older.”

  Leif sits up in his bunk, whacking his head on the bottom of mine. He rubs his forehead for a second. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me before! This calls for a celebration. Seventeen!”

  “Oh no, no. Don’t you go making a big deal of this.” Though, truth be told, my heart starts fluttering with this sudden attention. Mum and Papa always threw a fantastic party for me every year. We’d make a big bonfire on the forest floor, and all our friends and neighbors would come. They’d bring food and music, and we were warm late into the near-winter’s night. It was always a special day. This year, I want to just let the day pass quietly.

  “Please don’t worry about it, Leif Phineas,” I plead again.

  He gives me a half smile. “Okay, I won’t.”

  I don’t believe a word.

  Sure enough, I awaken to Leif leaning on my bunk. He’s holding a small plate with something delicious-looking. Chocolate, I think. On top of it, a small candle burns. It almost outshines his silly grin.

  “Make a wish,” he says, clinging onto the edge of my bed with his elbows. The ship rolls, and I let my body roll closer to Leif and his gift.

  I make a wish and blow the candle out.

  “Happy birthday, Raven. May all your wishes come true.”

  “Thank you,” I say, returning his smile. He pulls out a couple of spoons from his pocket and hands one to me. I take a scoop of the dessert, a rich, salty chocolate cake.

  I hope he’s not planning on anything else today. But this was a nice way to wake up.

  “Where on earth did you get this?” I say with a moan.

  “Well. I wish I could say I was up at the crack of dawn baking. But it was Mrs. Wilkins. I cornered her early this morning and she helped me make this. There’s lots more.”

  “Good,” I say, mouth still full. “I’ll be having this for lunch, too.” The cake is gone in minutes. “Thank you. For thinking of me.”

  He sets the empty plate down and takes my hands in his. “I can’t believe I nearly missed your birthday. And your seventeenth too. I know it’s not going to be like at home, but I want this day to be special for you.”

  He’s looking at me so earnestly I have to will the tears not to come. He’s right. What wouldn’t I give to be back home in Baldachin right now?

  “I won’t forget this one. That’s for sure.”

  He kisses my hand. “No, I don’t think you will.” He winks at me as he says this. “Breakfast?”

  I raise my brows at him, but he just flashes me a smile. “Better hang on tight. Waves are up. The fellas say some weather’s coming.”

  When Leif and I arrive in the dining room, Mrs. Wilkins is setting out platters of bacon, eggs, buttery biscuits. The
crew greets me with a rousing cheer and happy birthday wishes. Someone calls out, “Sure glad we’ve got a birthday onboard! ’Tis good luck for all and the ship!”

  I hang onto my coffee cup with one hand while I eat with the other. The ship rolls in the waves, and I have to grip onto everything to keep them—and myself—from falling onto the floor.

  Mrs. Wilkins waves me away when I offer to help with the clean up, telling me to go outside and get some fresh air while I can. She speaks airily, but the words are ominous.

  I go out on deck and watch the sailors roll the sails in. The sky has clouded over with darker skies on the horizon. They tell me the storm is just about here, that I’d better go below.

  I don’t listen to them. I can’t stop watching the clouds rolling closer. The wind gradually builds until the masts and rigging are shrieking in the gusts. It’s mesmerizing. And terrifying. The waves build and build until the ship is crashing through frothy white tops, down into the bottom of the troughs. Spray is hurled over the ship, which feels smaller and smaller with every passing minute. I cling to one of the two masts watching the waves crash on board. The salty spray soaks me right through.

  Eventually Captain Wilkins orders everyone below, except for the essential deckhands on duty. I find Leif in our cabin, stoking the fire in our little wood stove. He laughs when he sees me. “You look like a fresh-caught fish! Here, you can dry your clothes before dinner.”

  “Turn around.”

  His face turns bright pink. “Oh … uh … of course.” He walks over to look out the porthole while I strip down to my underthings, lay my clothes over a chair, and hop up onto my bunk. I tuck myself under my wool blanket, shivering now.

  Leif turns back to me, recovered from his embarrassment. “This ocean is sure throwing you a shindig, isn’t it?”

  “That it is. The crew says it will be over by tomorrow, most likely.” A particularly large wave slams into the side of the ship. She shudders, and hesitates, before righting herself and continuing her lazy roll through the swells. I tuck myself against the wall to steady my own body.

  Leif turns back to look out the salt-stained porthole, but I catch the nervousness in his face before he does.

  That night Mrs. Wilkins manages to make her most delicious meal yet, despite the ship’s tossing and slamming. We cling onto our bowls to keep them from crashing to the floor. After dinner she brings out another huge cake and everyone sings. They act as if there’s nothing going on outside, so I close my ears to the howling wind too, and enjoy the evening.

  After we eat, the table is pushed to one side of the room and the benches against the walls. Fiddles appear and the room fills with music. The ship is tossing too violently to dance, so we sit on the benches, stomping our feet, clapping our hands, until the room throbs with cheer. The lanterns hanging from the ceiling rock back and forth, throwing shadows and light. Some of the men are fine singers, but those of us who are completely off-key belt the shanties along with them too. It’s not a Baldachin party, but I’ll certainly not forget this one.

  When the music winds down, I lean over to Leif, who’s been sitting next to me all night. I whisper, “Thank you for an amazing birthday.”

  He smiles over at me, takes my hand, and plants a kiss on it. He doesn’t let it go, but lets our hands drift down into his lap. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he whispers back.

  The winds rage on for two more days.

  By the third, the storm’s novelty is gone. The wind is howling and waves slam, sending shudders through the ship and right into my spine. Belowdecks, it’s damp and smells terrible. Mrs. Wilkins is doing her best to feed us, but we’ve been eating a lot of porridge.

  As darkness falls, I lie in my bunk shivering. All of it is magnified at night: the wind’s fierceness, the crashing, the creaking of old wooden boards. It’s not the cold making me shiver, though the air outside is icy. It’s the realization that after all I’ve gone through, I might not make it after all.

  I don’t know how much this ship can take. I imagine the wrong wave hitting a slightly rotten board, and whoosh, in comes the sea. The Albatross fills with water and down we go. Straight to the bottom. These images do not help the shivering.

  “Leif? Are you awake?”

  “Yeah. I can’t sleep.”

  All of a sudden, I don’t want to be alone.

  “Can I come down? To your bunk?”

  “Really? I mean, of course. I’d love that. I mean …” While he’s fumbling for words I hop down from my bed and climb onto his. He holds the woolen blanket up, and I crawl underneath. The bunks are narrow and we lie facing each other, our noses just inches apart. The ship is rolling violently, and there’s no point in fighting the motion that’s pressing our bodies more tightly together.

  “You’re trembling,” he says.

  “I know. I think we’re going to die.”

  He laughs, but I can tell he’s trying not to.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing’s funny. Nothing at all. But if we’re going to die, I can say with certainty that I can’t think of a better way to go.”

  As if to emphasize his point, an enormous wave crashes into the side of the ship, nearly sending me tumbling out of the bunk. Leif throws his arm around me just in time. I begin to hyperventilate, waiting for the ship to right herself again. A few eternal seconds pass. Finally, she regains her footing, and resumes her steady, familiar rolling.

  Leif doesn’t bother removing his arm. I don’t mind. I snuggle into his chest. His shirt smells musky and damp. I realize I haven’t bathed since that day in the dungeon, and must smell horrendous. “I’m sorry about my smell. It’s been a while since I’ve had a bath. It must be—”

  “Lovely,” he interrupts. “You smell like roses.” He audibly inhales the scent of my hair. “And a little like fish stew, too.” He keeps his cheek pressed against my head where I can feel his grin.

  My heart is still pounding, and now it’s not only because of the storm. The anxious trembling is gone. Instead, I feel a deep sense of peace. Leif is right: this wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

  I wake up the next morning to quiet; near stillness. Sunlight streams through our porthole, and the ship is barely moving. The storm is over.

  Leif is still asleep. The corners of his mouth are upturned in a tiny smile and I wonder what he’s dreaming about. His hair has come loose, and curls tumble over his cheek. I swear they’ve grown lighter here at sea. Sun-kissed. I brush the golden strands back so I can study his face. I follow his long lashes down to where they rest on his lightly freckled cheeks. There’s a small scar above his left eye. I’m sure he’s got a story about that one.

  The lashes flutter and his eyes open. The green brilliance startles me. When they focus on me, his whole face erupts in happiness.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  “‘Morning, m’lady.”

  “You were dreaming. A good one?”

  “That it was. But it was surely not as good as this one.”

  And then I can’t help it. I close the inches between us and kiss him, right on the mouth. I draw back, hesitating. Hoping I haven’t crossed a line. Especially since it was possibly the most delicious thing I’ve ever experienced.

  “Mmmmm … can we do that again?” Leif’s eyes are closed and he has a delirious-looking grin on his face. I lean in again and he’s prepared this time. He kisses me back, again and again.

  I wonder if perhaps we did die at sea last night.

  Chapter 20

  On our fifteenth day at sea, we spot land. Leif and I are standing together on the bow of the ship, just after sunrise. At first I think it’s only another cloud on the horizon, but there’s something different about this dark smudge. As the sky lightens we can clearly make out the green hue of the island. Today’s the day.

  Since the storm, Leif and I have hardly been apart. We spend hours walking around the deck, holding hands and talking, then talking some more. And kissing.


  I thought I was looking forward to landfall, but now I find myself a little wistful at the thought of leaving these easy days behind us. Falling asleep in Leif’s arms last night, I thought: I’m perfectly happy right here. Maybe I’ll just stay on this ship and keep sailing forever.

  I have no idea what’s going to happen on Nuimana. I can only hope our arrival is a non-event. That Leif and I can simply blend in. Ease into life in my new home.

  It’s afternoon when the Albatross pulls alongside the dock. It quickly becomes clear I’ve been deluding myself. We’re expected.

  The shoreline is thronging with people. Every resident of Nuimana must be here to greet us. As we depart the ship, they clear a path, and we walk through a colorful sea of bright fabrics and elaborate headdresses made from feathers and shells. It’s so unlike the drabness of Nadir. Everyone is smiling and whispering to each other; they’re all bright eyes and eagerness.

  I wipe a bead of sweat from my brow, wishing I had something else to wear besides my wool pants and leather jacket. We’re much farther south now. Winter is far behind us. Even this late in the afternoon, the sun is scorching as we walk up a grassy hillside toward a collection of low buildings. There are only a few spindly trees, offering no shade.

  The land sways beneath my feet; it’s like we haven’t left the ship at all. It’s quite disorienting.

  “Do you think they know who we are?” I say to Leif, my voice low.

  He shrugs. “They must know something. But I don’t know how they could. Or what, exactly—”

  “Greetings!” a voice booms out. A man with the most elaborate headwear of all appears before us. His face is pure smile. “Welcome to Nuimana! Raven! Leif! Follow me!”

  He doesn’t introduce himself, but clearly he’s some sort of elder or leader. Leif and I look at each other. Our arrival was indeed anticipated.

  The crowd follows us up the hill. The path before us remains clear. It feels like the people have enveloped us in a sort of protective cocoon.