Ten Ruby Trick

by Julia Knight

  He ran to the rail and stared out desperately, as though he could see farther than ten feet in the rain, as though she wouldn’t have been swept away to who knew where. As though she had a chance to survive.

  Van Gast peered out into the storm. Guld could calm the wind some, but there was nothing he could do about the increasing rain. It lashed across decks and men like well-aimed whips, stung face and hands and eyes until Van Gast was blind with it. He kept them headed right more by feel than sight and with the knowledge that, at the least, Guld could scry ahead for danger, for sudden rocks or coastlines that otherwise might catch them unaware in the storm. Yet all the scrying in the world couldn’t help him turn the ship against this wind if he needed to.

  Before they’d even properly left Sarigin behind them, Van Gast was soaked and shivering, even under the heavy cloak he’d tied around himself. The humid heat had fallen away as soon as the wind had started, but now every moment the temperature seemed to drop further until he wouldn’t have been surprised to see the rain turn to ice or a frost giant’s hand loom over them.

  Guld huddled close by the wheel, the light of his scrying spell guttering in the wind. They toiled through the storm for an indeterminable time, the crew tiring rapidly. Van Gast’s arms were heavy as lead from holding the wheel steady, his legs as unresponsive as tree trunks. Then, as suddenly as the storm had brewed, it was gone. One look at the sky though told Van Gast that this was only a temporary reprieve. They ran before the wind, but not so fast they’d outrun the storm. Rather, it was outrunning them, and this was the eye, the deadly still center of the shrieking winds that still whirled around them. They had minutes or less before the rest of the storm overtook them.

  “Captain!”

  Van Gast started at the sudden sound of Guld’s voice, at the urgency of it. “What?”

  “Someone in the water, just off the port bow. Look.”

  Van Gast peered into the swirling depths of the spell, as always slightly nauseated by the way it spun and swayed in his vision. True enough, someone floated out from the storm ahead of them, moving feebly. Only—only the fair hair looked familiar, and how many people did he know with fair hair? Not many. A brief, hopeless struggle in the water brought her face into view.

  Josie.

  With only a terse word to Dillet to take the wheel, Van Gast ran for the bow. How in the gods’ names did she end up in the water? That didn’t matter, his ship didn’t matter or the storm. All that mattered was that she’d never learned to swim. He leaped a coil of rope, shedding the cloak as he ran, placed one foot on a locker and, with a well-placed spring, dove into the water.

  Cold slammed into him like a wall of ice, robbed him of breath and made stars spin in his head. Sarigin might be tropical, but this current came from the farthest south, straight from the ice-fields that could eat a ship and spit out its bones. Van Gast dragged himself to the surface and clenched his teeth against the shivering that threatened to shake the skin from him. It wouldn’t take long in this to die from cold, and there was no telling how long Josie had been in the water.

  Treading water, Van Gast shook the sea from his face. There she was, only a few strokes away. His ship slowed and began to heel to, ready to come about and grab them. He started toward Josie with strong, swift strokes, came alongside and slid an arm around and under her, pulled her icy body to his chest. Not shivering, and that wasn’t a good sign, that meant she was well on her way to freezing to death, though she wasn’t dead yet because she spoke.

  “Van?” He could hardly hear her over the crash of waves. “Van, you idiot.”

  He didn’t spare the breath to answer her, but turned and began to pull for his ship. They had only heartbeats before the eye passed over and the storm caught them again, and if the wind should catch her broadside, they’d be sunk.

  Guld shouted something from the deck that Van Gast couldn’t make out past the water in his ears. Then the mage pointed behind him and he knew what was coming. The swell lifted him as high as the deck, and then the storm swallowed them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cold water hit Van Gast like a frozen cannonball as the swell overwhelmed him again. Josie was a limp weight on one arm, one hand clutching his shirt.

  Her frozen lips moved against his cheek. “Van, you can’t.”

  “Just you watch me.”

  The sea sent them where she wanted them, rocked them this way and that, and by now it was all he could do to keep both their heads above water. The current dragged at his numb legs, his arms screamed with holding her, with the desperate struggle to keep both their heads above water. Rain pounded on them, drove into his scalp like freezing needles, lashed about by the wind to blind him. They could be a thousand fathoms from shore—or it could be just beyond the next swell. He had no way of knowing.

  Every muscle twitched and shuddered, beyond his control. Josie didn’t say any more. She could be dead for all he knew, but he couldn’t let her go, not even to save himself. He doubted that either of them could be saved. Shivering with the deadly cold, with the effort, with bone-deep tiredness, he shut his eyes. It would be all too easy to just lie back, to let the water wash over them both and pull them down to the Deeps. He just needed to let go, sink back and—what was that noise?

  There it came again, just on the edge of hearing. The hissing splash of waves breaking. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t feel his legs, yet somehow they were warm. He pulled Josie closer to him, sure she was dead. Dead together then. Good. Waves breaking. His shivers lessened, too cold now even for that. His face felt detached, as though someone else were wearing it. He hoped they were warm.

  Waves breaking. He wished his mind would shut up about waves and let him sleep. It would be warm there, and he had Josie with him. Waves—he snapped his eyes open. Waves breaking. His frozen brain was trying to tell him something. If he could hear waves breaking—and he could, louder now—then they must be close to something for them to break on.

  Josie had slipped from his numb arm and he dragged her back to him. He waited till they crested the next swell and struggled to raise his head. Nothing. He couldn’t see a damn thing in the rain-swept darkness, but it had to be close for him to hear it over the storm. Another swell and he hauled himself upright in the water and strained his eyes.

  There. The faintest luminescence of breaking waves. A big, long beautiful line of them. A shore, only the swell was taking them along it, not into it. He had to get them out of this current. It wouldn’t take much and then the sea would do the rest, spew them up on the shore like so much driftwood.

  It wouldn’t take much, but he wasn’t sure he had anything left, no strength, barely even the will. The swell tugged at Josie, tried to yank her from his arm. He held on tight to her, as though that could save him. He might not have the will for himself, but he had her to think of. He gritted his teeth and tried to force his legs to move, his free arm to stretch out and scoop them through the water to safety.

  It seemed an age before his muscles obeyed. His legs kicked feebly and he only knew from the way he moved through the water—he couldn’t feel them moving. His arm reached out with a jerk, round and back, pulled him inches closer. Another reach, another pull, another kick. Another inch. His breath burned in his open mouth as he fought to drag in air and brought in seawater with it, making him gag weakly. He barely had the strength even for that.

  Finally, just as he thought he couldn’t do it, that they’d be swept on past the headland that loomed closer in the darkness, past into the open ocean, one last kick moved him into a different current. No longer swept along the shore, but swept to the shore. Each swell now took them closer before it pulled them back, yet each time just a little nearer.

  “Not far now, Josie, love. Going to get you warmed up, don’t you worry.” He didn’t know why he spoke—he wasn’t even sure she was alive. She’d been in the water longer than he had, and he was near enough dead from cold. Maybe it was just that talking made him feel better. “See, almos
t there.”

  When the sea spat them out onto a shingle beach, Van Gast didn’t have the energy to move. He barely had the energy to breathe. He lay there, gasping like a landed fish, relishing the rain that speared him. If he could feel the sting of it on his face, feel the wind whipping his hair, then he must be alive. There didn’t seem any other way to tell, because he couldn’t feel his arms or legs, and his brain kept wandering off into little foggy dreams.

  The sea forced him to move. It crashed over him, up and down, up and down, each time higher. Tide coming in. Get washed back out to sea if you don’t move.

  He tried to get up but his legs were wobbly as jellyfish. Finally he rolled onto his stomach and elbowed his way up the beach, stopping every few inches to pull Josie along with him. He reached the high tide line and stopped to rest. Can’t get me here, you bitch. The rain had lessened, dulled down to a quiet roar around him. The wind tugged at him, tried to turn him over, but it didn’t have quite the deadly force of before. Maybe the storm was blowing out.

  Josie lolled beside him and he leaned over to check whether she was breathing. If her chest moved he couldn’t feel it. He inched upward and laid his cheek on her frozen one, tried to feel a breath. He couldn’t tell, so he chose to believe she was still alive. Otherwise all this was for naught. Had to get her warm, get both of them out of the rain. Have to get up for that. Shit.

  It took every bit of willpower he had to push himself to his knees and he swayed there a moment, dizzy and sick. The rain was definitely less now, and the wind was dying. He thought he could see something through the grey curtain, up ahead where the shore petered out and trees thrashed in the wind. Have to get out of the rain.

  Van Gast forced himself to his feet on the second attempt and almost fell when he bent to pick up Josie. She was heavier than she looked. The muscles in his back and arm protested loudly at her dead weight draped against him, and his hand didn’t seem to work properly as he tried to hold her.

  “Not far,” he said, and though he spoke to her, it was he who took the encouragement. “Not far. Few steps and we’ll be in the trees. Out of the rain.”

  Her voice, weak and wavering but there, surprised him enough he almost dropped her. “Good.”

  He staggered up the slope, Josie’s feet stumbling and dragging a furrow behind them, but she was moving. When he cleared the shingle, he stopped to rest against a tree, but he dared not sit or he’d never get up. He peered around. There, behind that big tree, what he thought he’d seen from the beach. One of the fisherman’s huts that dotted the coastline for miles either side of Sarigin. It wasn’t much—the typhoon had taken half the roof. At least it’d be empty this time of year—all the fishermen would be celebrating in the local village—and it was mostly out of the rain, out of the wind. If luck was with him, and he said a quick prayer to Kyr to show him mercy for once, there’d be some way to start a fire, maybe even some dry clothes.

  “Not far.”

  Josie didn’t answer except with a faint nod.

  They got to the hut, supporting each other over the rough grass and shingle. Josie slid to the floor, spent from the effort to reach this little protection, and shut her eyes. Van Gast wasn’t much better and resisted the urge to lie down with her, pretend that just holding close would give them enough heat to survive. They were both too far gone for that. They needed heat, and they needed it now.

  The doorway let in no light, the rent in the roof was a blank against the darkness outside, and Van Gast stumbled around blindly until his eyes got used to the dimness. Just a one-room shack, and his cold-clumsy hands lurched over a table, a wall, an empty grate, two chairs sodden under the break in the roof, and then he was back at the door. Maybe there was something on the table, there had to be.

  His numb fingers closed over something and he raised it to his face, unable to tell what it was from the feel because he had no feel. A candle. That would do for a start, let him find out what else was there, but it needed lighting. He leaned against the table and forced his hands inside his shirt to one of the pouches he kept there, where they were least likely to get wet. Not that there was a hope they weren’t soaked now. The tinder was, as expected, good for damn all, but the wet didn’t hurt flint.

  He half looked, half felt around but he found nothing to use for tinder. No scraps of paper or dry cloth. Maybe something was left in the grate, some scrap of wood that might take a spark. He meant to lower himself to his knees but it turned into a fall when his legs gave way and he ended up sprawled across the floor. Too much effort to get up. Getting out of the crushing cold of the sea and onto dry land had revived him, for a time, but now that small surge of energy was gone. Cold was seeping everything from him, the use of his legs, the feeling in his hands and arms. The ability to think clearly. Flint, he had the flint in his hand. Needed a spark. Knife.

  His hand groped across his chest, missing the gap in his shirt and snagging against linen instead. On the fourth try, when he’d nearly forgotten what he was trying to do, his hand slid in and grabbed the haft of his knife. He shuffled, caterpillar-like, across the floor till his head was in the grate and managed to get the flint and the knife in front of him, over whatever ash and cinders might be left. Not much hope, but that was better than none.

  The flash of the first spark blinded him after the long dark and he dropped the flint. Fuck. He scrabbled for it desperately, his only hope. There. Again and again, but nothing caught. Nothing there to burn. Tears stung his frozen eyelids. He’d got so far; he only needed this one last thing. Please, Kyr, you haven’t shown me much mercy of late. Show me some now.

  Another strike, a second, and for just a heartbeat something glowed before the heat died. Van Gast didn’t dare to breathe as he struck again. The spark flew off the knife, fat and yellow, and landed on a scrap of charcoal. It spat a little, quivered as though deciding whether to live or die. Live, please live. If you do, so do me and Josie.

  The spark settled down into a red glow and then a tiny tongue of flame leaped up and Van Gast could breathe. He held out a shaking hand and put the wick of the candle to it, as fast as he dared. The wick caught and flared and Van Gast sank back, staring at the flame. Light and a flame. Now he just needed something to burn.

  He found it harder and harder to move, think. His muscles popped and shrieked at every small movement, but he rolled onto his side and used his new-found friend to light the hut. Kyr, thank you. A stack of firewood, tucked under a washstand, that his blind hands had missed. On top, a heap of kindling, and above all it was dry.

  Even with his hands fumbling everything, dropping kindling and firewood all over the floor as he tried to lay the grate, it wasn’t long before a fire grew. The warmth kissed his skin and he leaned forward to it, holding his hands close enough that any nearer and they’d burn.

  When he was sure the fire wouldn’t go out, Van Gast used the table to lever himself to his feet. The heat of the fire at the back of his legs was bliss. He could stand here and warm up. No, Josie, he had to get her warm too.

  As he began to thaw, just a little, his thoughts became clearer, more lucid, but his muscles spasmed violently until he couldn’t hold the table. He sank to the floor and lay there for an unknown time, his limbs knotting and shuddering and sending wave after wave of pain. He almost wished to be colder again, so that he’d not feel it. The fire burned along his back, sent its blessed warmth that loosened his body, let him unclench himself. Shivering, still cold to his core, but able to move.

  The fire was half burned down. How long had he lain there like that? He got to his feet, steadier now though still shaky, added some more wood and turned for Josie.

  He dragged her closer into the circle of warmth by the fire. If she was breathing, he couldn’t see it. No perceptible rise and fall of her chest. After all this, she couldn’t be dead—he wouldn’t let her.

  “Josie?” It croaked out of a cracked throat. Her lips were a blue-tinged purple, but not because she was dead. Just cold. Yes, just
cold. “Josie, come on, love. Show me you’re still here.”

  “Take more than that to get rid of me.” She didn’t open her eyes and her words were hardly more than a breath. But she was alive, if only just. He had to get her warm.

  Her clothes—they were soaked and freezing. A blanket lay scrunched up in the corner. He pulled it toward him and set about getting her out of her wet clothes, getting something warm and dry on her skin. His numb fingers couldn’t manage the buttons on her shirt, so he ripped it instead. Buttons popped and pinged along the wooden floor. He yanked again at the linen and got the overshirt off her limp arms, the undershirt soon following. Then his own shirt, dragged it off, the knife sheath and pouches too.

  He lay down behind her, his chest to her back, laid the blessedly dry blanket over them both and wrapped himself around her frozen body. That in itself was bliss. He shut his eyes and thought of the many times they’d slept like this, only not in such dire circumstances. The heat of the fire was making him drowsy. He laid his head on his arm, snuggled in closer to her and drifted.

  A shudder started him to wakefulness. Josie lay curled into a ball, his arm entangled with hers, her fingers gripping his painfully. She shook and jerked every few seconds with a moan. He sat up and bit back a groan of his own as his muscles protested. Josie’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t think she saw anything. He slid her onto his lap and laid her head on his shoulder, whispered into her hair as the shudders abated into violent shivering.

  “It’s all right, Josie, love. Just got to get you warmed up. Better already, see?”

  She nodded faintly against his shoulder, turned into him and raised a shaking, cold hand to his neck. He took it in his own, kissed the top of her head and looked at the beads and braids in her hair. That strip of ribbon from the time they’d conned a whole shipload of silks. A tiny shell dangling from a braid, and that was a different memory entirely. Two days marooned, and neither of them too keen to be found.