by Rachel Caine
Before I could even think about protesting, all the light winked out, and I was drifting away into warm, dark, safe eternity.
When I woke up, it was because David could no longer afford even the small pulse of energy it was taking to keep me unconscious.
I swam up out of the thick darkness to the sound of alarms, screaming, and the gale-driven shriek of wind. The air smelled of metal and salt and fear.
Heavenly, that smell.
I opened my eyes on darkness, but in the next second a lightning bolt split the sky above me in half, miles across, like a hot purple zipper letting in the darkness.
It lit up low, thick, black clouds that fired rain down like arrows from the battlements.
I was on my back on the deck, reclining in a white padded chair that was made for lounging. It slid hard to starboard, and I jerked and rolled off and to my feet before it slammed into the promenade railing. My bare soles hit cold, wet wood, and I shivered. I was soaked to the skin. How had I gotten here? And why? And what the hell was going on?
Nothing good, obviously. The deck was thick with uniformed crew and a chaotic swirl of passengers. It was too dangerous out here, but that didn’t seem to be stopping anybody; I wondered why they hadn’t taken refuge inside, but some practical knowledge finally kicked in, and I knew.
Either the crew understood that there was an excellent chance that this ship was going down, or there was something below that was even more dangerous than the storm. Either way, not good news for me or anybody else.
“Jo!” Cherise. I barely recognized my best friend, because I’d rarely seen her look this—well, bedraggled. Drowned-rat wet, pale, and shivering with cold. “God, I thought you’d never wake up. Come on!”
She dragged me off in some random direction. No one had told her that I was prone to irrational bursts of killing fury, I supposed. Good. That would make it easier.
“We need to get to the lifeboat—”
My senses were coming back online, all of them, and in Oversight I saw the thick red streams sweeping around us, closing in.
The storm that Bad Bob had dispatched, the one powered by the Unmaking he’d pulled out of the spear, was almost on us, and it was devastating.
Cherise’s words were lost in a fresh blast of wind, a gust so flat and hard that it slammed her bodily against the metal wall. I suppose that in better times I might have tried to help her. Instead, I just clung to a metal stanchion and watched her struggle.
I saw one of the heavy lounge chairs topple right over the railing and disappear as the ship lurched to starboard again. We were heeling around, getting hammered by churning waves like a punch-drunk boxer.
The ship was still stuck in one spot, anchored by the suction coming from deep beneath the ocean. I could feel it, and it was growing stronger, not weaker.
The Djinn were losing the fight.
“Hang on!” Cherise screamed, and another gigantic wave crested and fell, pounding us with spray like nails. “We have to get off the ship, now!”
How exactly that was going to be accomplished I had no idea, but I nodded. In the brief lull between lashing waves, we staggered to the next handhold. Along the way we ran into more castaways. I barely recognized a sopping-wet Cynthia Clark, who surely hadn’t been this miserable since she’d made that epic disaster movie with Gene Hackman, back in the day. I also recognized Cho Chu Wing, one of our Weather Wardens. Cho was a tiny little thing, skinny as a restaurant greeter. She’d managed to keep herself mostly together; her black hair was pegged back in a tight ball, and only random strands of it clung to her damp face. She’d worn a storm slicker, neon orange, and beneath it she seemed to be drier than any of the rest of us. She waved us frantically toward the bow of the ship. As we slipped and fought our way through blinding spray and stinging, whipping rain, we gathered Weather Wardens in ones and twos, until there was a tight knot of them linking arms together, like a rugby team in a scrum.
I stood apart from them. Remote, even in the midst of my fellow Wardens.
“We need to get a bubble!” Cho screamed. “Focus on giving us clear water for a hundred feet in every direction!”
That wasn’t as hard as it might seem; it was basically wave cancellation, which is a fundamental principle of the physics of anything that moves as a unit—sound, water, a rippling flag. You need to find the specific frequency of the wave and cancel it out, and move the energy elsewhere. Normally that was the tricky part; bleed-off energy could destabilize everything, and whip up a whole mess of side problems you’d never anticipate.
In this melting stew of uncontrolled energy, another few mega joules in the wrong place would hardly matter.
“Tornado!” someone screamed, and I looked up to see the approaching black arms of the hurricane sweeping in like scythes. There were bulbous eruptions forming in the trailing clouds, swelling and then narrowing into cones. Forming tornadoes have a lazy look, almost tentative; they bob and weave and seem impotent at first, until they get their strength consolidated.
I’d never taken time to admire their elegance before. So beautiful. So deadly.
Cho was shouting something at me. She wanted my help.
Well then.
I gave it. I gave it to the tornado, and laughed as it gobbled up power like a greedy shark.
Cho must have realized what I was doing. She stepped up and gave me a sharp elbow to the back of my neck, sending me reeling into another Warden, who put me down on the deck and pinned me, yelling for Djinn.
My pet tornado collapsed—no great surprise, they always were fragile constructs, by the very nature of the physics that drove them—and the waves that battered the Grand Paradise, heeling her violently from one side to the other, eased to merely heavy instead of psychotic. I felt the waves’ pounding rhythms begin to ease, like a racing heart slowing as adrenaline faded.
“You can’t stop it,” I told Cho, who was taking advantage of the breathing space to stare into the heart of the storm. “Everybody dances with the devil.”
I knew the storm was watching too, this monster of a thing that Bad Bob had imbued with life and cunning and cruelty, and a particular kind of insanity. I could feel it gathering itself, studying us. Planning.
It could feel that I was an ally, if only it could reach me. I could have done more, but I felt lazily content to wait.
No hurry. I was enjoying the panic too much to end it quickly.
The ship lurched—not side to side, but down, as if a giant hand had suddenly grabbed the hull from beneath and pulled it straight down. The ship sank like an express elevator, and I watched the ocean pour in over the railings on the decks below, then come for us in a foaming, deadly rush . . .
. . . and then the force let us go, and the ship’s buoyancy popped us violently straight up like a cork from a rubber band. I don’t think the Grand Paradise quite came out of the water, but there was a sickly sense of utter stillness as momentum fought gravity and gravity’s patient pull won.
The ship crashed back into the water and settled. We were sprawled like ninepins all over the deck—Wardens, crew, staff, hapless passengers. The screaming sounded thin and lost.
“We’re loose!” one of the Wardens shouted. “Get everybody on the lifeboats!”
“No!” Cho snapped. “We’re getting control! We’ll stand no chance at all in the smaller boats!”
“Are you?” I asked. “Getting control? I don’t think so!” It felt like the kind of adrenaline rush you get from hurtling down a mountain on skis, straight for a killing drop, knowing it may destroy you but there’s nothing so beautiful as that moment when death means nothing, nothing at all . . .
The Warden holding me down—I realized it was Kevin, as I focused on his face—gave me a solid right cross, trying to put me out.“You’ll have to beat me harder than that,” I told him, very seriously. “Come on, Kevin, dig deep. Hurt me like your stepmother taught you.”
He went pale, and I felt his grip on me loosen. Too easy. I threw him of
f, not particularly caring where he landed, and stalked to Cho.
Before I reached her, we all staggered as a massive subsonic boom rocked the decking.
Far beneath the Grand Paradise, the seafloor collapsed into a massive trench, sending a crush of seawater flooding downward to fill the sudden mile-deep gap. For a moment, a significant section of the sea dipped into a concave bowl—not by much, distributed over such a huge and adaptable area, but enough.
And a wave formed, rushing over the depression, gathering strength and speed and energy.
Rushing straight at our port side. It would take a minute to get to us, maybe more—not much more, though. We were in deep water, not shallows; that was the only thing that might save us. To survive, the ship had to turn into the wave.
I needed to stop it from turning.
“Jo.” That was Cherise, laying her hand on my shoulder. “Jo, stop.”
I turned to look at her, and I saw fear ignite in her eyes. “Oh God,” she breathed. “Oh my God—”
She was so fragile. So easy.
Cherise’s fear was like incense rising on the air, and I wanted more of it. All of it.
Every last, red drop.
She raised her chin, and the fear faded.
“This isn’t you,” she said. “And I think you can stop it, Jo. You’re the hero.”
She was wrong. I wasn’t the hero now—if I ever had been. What I’d done to Lewis was proof of that. What I’d tried to do with the tornado.
Part of me still liked Cherise, but it was a small part, and it was getting smaller all the time, like a tiny island of color in an inky flood.
I didn’t hurt her. I’m not really sure why.
I felt the shudder beneath my feet, as the Grand Paradise’s enormous bulk began to make its ponderous, city-blocks-wide turn toward the wave that was sweeping closer.
I looked up, drawn by a pulse of power, and saw Lewis and David standing on a balcony above us. Arguing.
David tried to turn away.
Lewis grabbed David by the fabric of his shirt. His lips moved.
David disappeared. No misting, no sense of transition, just . . . gone.
And Lewis didn’t look surprised. I was—not just by David’s sudden vanishing act but by the sensation that rippled through me, liquid and hot and wrong.
What just happened?
Lewis shoved something in his pocket as he vaulted the balcony railing. He landed flat-footed, keeping his balance on the still-lurching deck with one hand on the railing. “Get everybody inside!” he yelled. “Everybody!”
Cherise turned and began pushing people to the nearest entrances. People seemed more than motivated to follow instructions, for once—in fact, there was a traffic jam until officers began funneling people to other doors.
I didn’t follow. I stood at the railing, hands folded, calm and content. It was all unraveling around me.
All I had to do was enjoy the ride down.
The ship had managed to slew around at an impressive rate, but the waves kicked up as the Wardens’ fears eroded their concentration. It significantly slowed our progress.
Lewis joined me at the railing, far enough away that it indicated he knew what a risk it was to be near me.
“Where’s David?” I asked. I looked over at him, noting the healing burns on his hands. I wondered if it hurt. I certainly hoped so.
“Where you can’t hurt him,” Lewis said. “I know what’s happening to you.”
I shrugged. “So you know,” I said. “Can you stop it?”
“Do you want me to stop it?”
I laughed. That was probably enough of an answer.
On the horizon, there was a mountain. One big rising mass, heading for us. At this rate, we didn’t have another minute. Maybe thirty seconds, I was guessing.
Maybe less.
“The ship will capsize,” I said. “You can’t turn fast enough. Where are the Djinn?”
“Gone,” Lewis said. “For their own protection. We’re all alone now.”
David wouldn’t have run, not to save himself. He was foolish that way. “You’ve done something.” He didn’t deny it. It was big, whatever it was; it was more than likely an unforgivable sin. But Lewis was the sort to make that choice, if he had to. Or thought he had to. “Something to David?”
He didn’t answer me directly. “We’re going to capsize, even if that wave doesn’t hit us broadside.” And it probably would. We just didn’t have enough time to hit it bow-first.
“You could turn it,” I remarked. He locked stares with me, and his eyes were bleak, tired, and frightened.
“No, I can’t,” he said. “You can.”
I smiled. “I won’t.”
I felt the front of the ship dipping down, and then rising, more like a speedboat than a giant of the seas.
Lewis seemed very calm. Very tall and still, hair ruffling in the wind. There was a glow about him, a power that I couldn’t remember seeing before.
As the mountain of water roared down at us, I turned and walked calmly toward the nearest door.
Cherise and one of the white-coated officers waved me urgently on. Cher grabbed my arm and pulled me over the high threshold, and the officer slammed the door shut and turned the locking mechanism.
“Hatch twenty-three sealed!” he shouted into his radio, in the high-pitched voice of utter panic. I took a moment to look around. It was a bar, large and casual, but all the bottles and glasses had been stowed away, and the place had an unfinished look to it. The room was packed with refugees, some of whom were gazing longingly at the bar as if they wondered where all the rum had gone. I spotted Cho Wing and three other Wardens, all seeming tense and expectant. They knew what was coming. The civilian passengers seemed confused and a little bored.
The bridge officers assuredly knew that their worst fears were coming true; they could see it from their windows.
Cherise was chattering at me, trying to get me to take cover. I shook myself free. She gave me one last, despairing look, then wedged herself in a corner and tipped an armchair over herself.
I heard the wave coming, even through the steel plates. I felt the rumble of it.
The bow of the Grand Paradise lifted sharply, and kept rising, rising. Tables and chairs started sliding, and people screamed and clung to whatever was within reach, stable or not. I heard glass crashing; that was probably unsecured stock somewhere under the counters.
A huge wooden cabinet, designed to look primitive and rough-hewn, began to topple down from one wall. There were six people beneath it. I watched with placid interest.
Cho yelled a warning. One of the Earth Wardens flung out a hand and stopped the falling cabinet.
Disappointing.
A racing bite of energy spread over me like a hot blanket of fire, concentrating on my back and then flowing down my arms and into the core of my body. I went down to one knee, bracing myself as the horizon continued to rise toward the sky. People slid past me, screaming, flailing. I didn’t pay much attention.
“We’re going over!” someone shouted amid the chaos and crashing furniture. We were still climbing. The floor passed a forty-five-degree upward angle, heading for vertical, and I felt the whole ship slip sideways, twist, and start to tumble out of control.
We were falling.
Then we stopped falling, and the ship’s torturous descent changed, smoothed, and entered an eerie kind of calm. The ship slowly drifted back to a stable, horizontal line, but it didn’t feel like we were in flat seas. It didn’t feel like we were in the water at all.
I rose and walked to the large picture window that commanded a view of the promenade.
Lewis was standing just where I’d left him, at the railing, and his glow was Djinn-bright, the color of soft morning sunshine against the blackness of the storms. Yes, the storms were still there, whipping around us in a frenzy, but we were floating in a bubble of force that stretched all around the ship in a perfect sphere. Ship in a bottle, I thought, and for jus
t an instant I was too angry to think properly. No Warden could do this, not alone.
Not even Lewis.
We were floating on the storm in our own little self-contained pocket universe of calm sea and air.
I tried to unlock the watertight door, but it seemed stuck. I sent a snap of Earth power from my fingertips out through the metal, realigning the surfaces, and when I turned the handle again, the door slid smoothly open.
“Jo!” Cher was right behind me. Her eyes were huge and frightened. “What’s happening?”
“I’ll find out,” I said, with utter calm. I felt alive inside, manic with glee, but I didn’t want her to see that. “Wait inside.”
“But—”
I slammed the door between us and hit it with the heel of my hand, hard enough to make a hollow boom. “Lock it!”
I heard the heavy clash of metal engaging, and then I turned toward Lewis, standing like a misplaced figure-head at the rail.
He opened his eyes. I could see the energy spilling out of him, a raw wound that split him open to the core.
He was bleeding on the aetheric. Bleeding himself to death.
“How?” I asked, and leaned on the railing. He didn’t answer me. Couldn’t, perhaps. His nose was bleeding, and his eyes were flushed red under the stress of what he was doing. Fifteen Djinn and four times as many Wardens hadn’t been able to stop the storm, but Lewis was somehow fighting it, toe to toe.
Not winning, though.
Not hardly.
“You’ll kill yourself,” I commented. “For God’s sake, Lewis, what does it matter? What does any of it matter? Just let go. The ship will get torn apart. People will drown. Life will go on, for a while, until it doesn’t.” I shrugged. “Just let go. It’s that easy.”
Lewis let out a gasping sob. His knees buckled, but he held fast to the railing.
He held the bubble of force against the storm.
“You aren’t doing this alone,” I said. “But you didn’t have time to get the other Wardens to help. And even if you did, they’re not capable of this kind of power. Not alone—” I paused, because I finally worked it out. “But you’re not alone, are you?”