It’s Tiam’s first day of manhood. I can’t believe I hadn’t realized it before. These things are never celebrated here, but it’s so sad to see him like this on his first day as an adult that I immediately begin to cry.
“They want to tear down the castle and use it to make the platform higher.” He sighs. “I thought... I knew some people were... But...” His body begins to convulse as he is racked with a fit of coughs. I look for a glass of water, but there is nothing in the room besides the small bed. He catches his breath. “And if they do that, if they destroy the castle, all hope of us surviving will be gone. I tried to tell them. I need time. I need to figure out what it all means. And when I do, I can...”
I swallow. “It wasn’t an accident, was it? You fought with them? With Finn?” When he doesn’t answer, I say, “Tiam, why? Why are you so desperate to be king? If you had just let them—”
“I can’t let them,” he says, his eyes blazing. “Coe, that’s why you need to do it now. Don’t make the mistake I made. Don’t trust them. If I’m not here, you need to talk to Star.”
“Stop, Tiam. You’re going to be fine.”
He shushes me with a finger. “I can’t trust anyone. Even the medics.” He coughs again. “You need to go with Star. And don’t let them know. They’ll kill you for it.”
“For what?” I whisper in horror. He’s out of his mind, talking crazy. Does he really think I’d go with Star, that she’d get us out? Out where? There’s nowhere for us to go! Seeing Tiam reduced to a blithering lunatic, like Xilia or Mutter, it might as well be the end of the world.
Suddenly, it dawns on me, something my father had told me. This is the end. Before civilization, before people made tribes and tribes evolved into larger communities, it was every man against each other. We built and built and became more sophisticated, using the resources we had. And then when we began to lose those resources, we started to slide down the slope we’d climbed. Now we’re almost at rock bottom, exactly where we were when we began. Every man for himself. My dad taught me that. It was the reason he cared, the reason he tried to help people. Because when that’s the case, when everyone is fighting for that last bit of space in the formation... That’s it. It’s over.
“Look,” he whispers, “don’t let the medics near me.”
“No, of course I won’t,” I say. There is a shuffling in the hallway, then more footfalls. Far down the darkened hallway, Burbur is shouting for Gathering. Formation is soon. Formation! “Can you move? Can I help you to formation?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t.”
A sickly feeling falls over me. Tiam is the last person I ever thought would give up. I always imagined him fighting long after every other person on the island succumbed. He can’t be giving up this easily. “Listen to me. You are going to live through this. The Tiam I know wouldn’t let a little pain stop him.”
He swallows again. “Pain’s not that bad. It’s...just...” He lifts his other arm. For the first time I notice a thick, rusting shackle around his wrist.
“Someone chained you to the bed?” I whisper in disbelief, every part of my body tightening.
He grins a little nervously. “Yeah, so, I could use a little help. Do you think you could find something to...”
The grin warms me, but at the same time it’s a weight pressing against my chest. He’s still the old Tiam, still willing to fight. But he can’t do this without me.
Without another word, I walk out into the hallway, unsure as to what I’m looking for. More people shuffle by, making their way to the formation, but I scan the walls, then hurry into my room. The piece of jagged coral scrapes my palm as I hastily grab it, but I toss it down. It’s no match for a metal chain. Nothing on the dresser is right for the job.
I rush into the hallway and check the tubs that have been filled for Gathering. Nothing but shell trinkets and towels. Burbur is coming through, emptying them. She says, “You’d better get up to formation.”
“I can’t leave Tiam. He’s chained to the bed. Do you have a key? Or something I can use to break it?”
She quickly finishes loading items to her cart and mutters, “If he’s chained there, someone must have wanted him to stay there.”
“But he’ll die.”
She doesn’t answer. Instead she continues to wheel the cart down the corridor, and I hear it squeaking long after she is out of view. Glancing at the wall, I notice that several of the stones are crumbling. Using my finger, I pry at the edges of one, trying to loosen it from the wall. I spend what seems like forever digging at the mortar, until my fingernails are bleeding and sore, and still the stone stays put. It doesn’t even wiggle.
Aborting that plan, I look up and down the corridor, finding nothing else of use. What I need is something heavy and metal, like a hammer. There is only one hammer I know of, but the builders kept a close eye on it, and I’d heard it had been lost several seasons ago. I’d used it only once, to repair the door to the craphouse.
That’s when it occurs to me. My shovel!
I hurry back to my room, looking for my sack, and when I reach it, I remember that I surrendered the shovel when I gave up my job as Craphouse Keeper.
“I’m going out to formation for something,” I call to Tiam. “I promise I will be back.”
He mumbles something, and though I can’t hear, I know what he is saying. I’ll handle it. Don’t worry about me. As if that’s even possible. I propel myself down the now-deserted hallway and toward the grand staircase, then plunge down the stairs two at a time, only taking notice of the bloodstain—mine? Tiam’s?—on the marble floor by the entrance when I see what is creeping toward it.
Black water, swirling with foam. A wave crashes, somewhere very near, almost as if it’s on the other side of the wall. The tide is coming in. Soon, very soon, much of the castle will be underwater.
I push open the door, and a wave trickles up to meet me. Out of the castle’s torchlight, I can barely see anything. In the dark skies above, seagulls circle overhead, squawking in warning. Once my eyes adjust to the moonlight, I slosh through the wet sand and ankle-deep water, willing myself to go faster as I cross to the area where the water has not yet come. I race up the shore, toward the craphouse, but the second I throw the door open, I curse myself for my stupidity.
The shovel needs to be taken into formation during every high tide. Otherwise, it would have been lost ages ago.
Slamming the door behind me, I race across the dry sand, my lungs burning in the heat. As I scale the platform, the scavengers begin to whisper when they take notice of me. Soon the fishermen are talking as I push my way through the mass of bodies. Then the palace servants. Eventually the entire formation is abuzz. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t we?” someone, I think Ana, says to me.
Ignoring her, I stalk over to Fern, scanning the space around her feet. “Oh, Coe! I was so worried!” she exclaims.
“Fern. I need the shovel, quick!” I demand, wrenching the bag from her hands.
She begins to chew on her fingernail. “Oh. The shovel?”
“Yes, where is it?” I ask, pulling open the tie on her sack. But I can already feel from the outside that there is nothing in there that even remotely resembles a shovel. “No time for games, Fern. Where is it?”
She is wringing her hands. “I—” She leans forward and whispers, “Please don’t tell Ana.”
“What?” I demand.
“I accidentally dropped it into the hole. In the craphouse,” she admits, a small sheepish look on her face. “Please, don’t tell!”
I don’t have time to answer. I shove through rows of people, the way I came, fielding all sorts of curious looks. The sun is beginning to lighten the horizon as I come to the edge of the platform. Mutter gives me an oily smile and says, “Looks like we’ll have another free space in the formation. They’re dropp
ing like flies, fellas!”
A few of the other fishermen laugh. Finn grabs my hand. “What are you doing?” he whispers to me when he notices where I’m headed. “You can’t leave!”
“I have to,” I say, snatching my hand away.
He makes a move to grab for me, but I’m already scrambling down the ladder as quickly as I can. I skip the last five rungs, springing toward the craphouse faster than I’ve ever moved. I hear some of the people of the formation cackle as I rush away, louder than the waves crashing only inches from the castle doors. They’d all be happy to see me die, to be one of the many who succumbs for stupid reasons. I pull open the rusted latch of the craphouse door and focus on the task at hand.
I quickly reach behind the seat and pull out the line and hook I’ve tucked there. I’ve been Craphouse Keeper for over a thousand tides, and as adept as I was at the job, having only one hand meant that I’d often lose my grip on the shovel. After the fifth or so time, I’d snagged a fishing line and hook from my father and made my own device to retrieve it. I’m a horrible fisherman, but I am pretty good at retrieving shovels from crap. This time, though, it’s so dark, with not enough morning sunlight streaming through the cracks in the shed to be useful to me. Squinting, I throw down the line and bob it up and down in the dark, gooey surface, until the hook plunks against something hard and metal. The sweat leaks into my eyes as I try to loop the hook around the handle...once...twice...three times. Usually the third time is a charm, but the pressure is dizzying. Don’t panic, Coe. Don’t... Yes!
With a yank I catch the handle of the shovel and pull it up into my hand. It’s coated in scum and slides through my fingers, but I fasten my hand tight around it and turn toward the door. Then I step backward, surprised.
Finn is standing in the doorway, his form taking up every inch of the free space there. “What are you trying to do?” he asks.
“Go back to formation,” I tell him firmly, moving forward, hoping he’ll clear a space for me to pass through.
He doesn’t. “Look at you,” he says, studying my blood-spattered tunic. “Are you hurt? Let me help you.”
I shake my head. “Please,” I whisper, trying to push past him.
His eyes narrow. “This is for Tiam, isn’t it? What did I tell you about siding with him? The others won’t like it.”
“I’m not on anyone’s side,” I snap, unable to meet his eyes as a wave crashes through the doorway, pouring into the hole in the ground. “It’s like you said, Finn. The end of civilization has come, and we’re at each other’s throats. But at least I haven’t lost the ability to care about my fellow man.”
“He’s just like Wallow, Coe. He’s been in Wallow’s pocket for too many tides. He came to the beach last night trying to convince everyone that if he was king, he’d save us all. But we can’t afford to believe him or Wallow anymore. They’d let us all die. We have to say ‘no more.’ Think of what your father would say.”
I shake my head. “My father would not let a person die like that.”
“Coe, listen. You can’t help him.” He puts his hands solidly on my shoulders. “He’s as good as dead.”
I look over his shoulder and realize that curiously, his scribbler-nose spear isn’t fastened to his back. He must notice my suspicion because he immediately drops his gaze from mine. “It was you who did it?”
He doesn’t answer. “Don’t be stupid, Coe. I want to...just...” He moves forward suddenly, closing the space between us, and his breath is hot and urgent on my face when he says, “Please, Coe, understand. It needed to happen. To preserve the peace.”
“My father never would have let you do that!” I shout, and this time I’m more sure of it than ever. I’ve never been this close to a man before, even when we’re in formation, and his hot skin pressing against mine burns like a torch. He tightens his grip on me, pushing me to the ground, and when we tumble to the wet sand, his full weight bears on me, crushing my chest. Another wave comes through and suddenly we’re both choking and gasping underwater. “Stop!” I shout with my last bit of breath, suddenly feeling the handle of the shovel in my hand. I raise it and smash it down over him, striking him in the ear and shoulder. His eyes immediately flash wide, and fear rips through me.
“You stupid Bait!” he whimpers, falling to his knees as his hands reach up to the side of his head. In the darkness I see the black blood coursing over his bare shoulder. I scream as he reaches for me, then squeeze around him and stumble into the bright sunlight. “I tried to help you!” he rages, and by now several people in the formation are jumping and craning their necks, staring at the crazy girl with a death wish with morbid fascination. I’m outside, in the cool air, and yet I can’t breathe. As I race down toward the ocean, where the door to the castle once stood, my heart rattles in my chest. From here I can see it is almost completely submerged; a wave pummels against the facade, covering the WI OW letters above the door.
I gulp air as if these are my last breaths. Maybe they are. I can’t swim more than a few strokes. But I can’t think about that. I will learn. Trial by fire. Though I have no plan of attack, I don’t slow until I reach the edge of the water, and only then it’s just a second’s hesitation. There is no choice. I have to do it, even if I drown, even if the scribblers get me. I already know that if I don’t, for the rest of my life I’ll wish I was dead. I dive in, headfirst, and paddle against the fierce current toward the door.
Immediately the reason why nobody goes in the ocean anymore hits me full force. It’s like being in a dream where the one thing you want is just out of reach. Every stroke I take toward the door seems to pull me in the opposite direction. The door is there, its gilded hardware glowing eerily in the murky blackness. Fingers of seaweed caress it, but no matter how hard I push myself, it’s impossible. Stupid, stupid lame hand. Finally, I rise toward the surface, take one breath, and as a wave smashes me against the side of the palace, I hear it, very near. Hissing.
My heart stops, even though my body keeps moving. Diving underwater, I use the shovel to edge open the door and slip inside. I swim up ten or fifteen steps before I reach the surface. Thank goodness. Thank goodness he’s not already underwater, I think as I rush down the hall to his room. When I get there, he’s now sitting straight in bed, intently watching rivulets of water trickling along the floor. A surprised relief dawns on his face when I hold out the shovel, as if he never expected to see me again.
He clears the sheet from his wrist. I lift the shovel over my head with my good hand, but the salt is still stinging my eyes, so that I see double, and I’m so exhausted from the fight with Finn and the swim I can’t stand straight. “I’ll just—”
He gives me a nervous smile and holds out a hand. “Please. Allow me.” I hand him the shovel. With a grunt he brings the shovel down twice, and a link breaks loose. Massaging his wrist, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and I help stand him up.
In the hallway, his face fills with the same dread I’m feeling. The water is inching up over the top stair, readying to meet us down the hallway. “There were scribblers,” I say.
“We can’t go that way,” he says. We turn toward the other end of the hallway. “We have to go to the tower.”
As we limp together toward the winding entrance, I think about how fragile the tower is. “But what about our weight? We’ll make the tower too heavy.”
“It’s our only chance. Besides, the water level doesn’t reach the top of the tower. We won’t go all the way up. We’ll stay outside the door. They’ll never know we’re there,” he huffs as we climb.
Maybe it’s just my imagination, maybe I’m so dizzy from all the excitement, but I could swear the tower begins to shift as we take the stairs two at a time. I try to tread gently, but it doesn’t help. I look at Tiam, but his eyes are intent on the steps and his face is twisted in pain; he’s hunched over slightly, grasping his side. The
swaying seems to stop a bit once we’ve made our way about three-quarters up the tower, where the waterline is etched on the wall. Tiam sinks down on the step above it, his breath raspy and uneven.
“We’ll be safe here,” I say, shivering in the damp sea air, trying to convince myself.
I hear the wind whistle outside. It’s a windy day. And standing here, still, it’s very obvious. The tower is moving. Swallowing the bile gurgling in the back of my throat, I push against the side of the wall to stop myself from being sick.
“That’s...interesting,” he says, studying the walls as if he’s looking for ghosts as the tower sways again.
“Let’s just hope no one up there notices,” I say, pointing at the ceiling.
He tries to adjust himself on the step but grimaces. What he needs is rest and not to be moved for days and weeks. This must be excruciating for him. “I can’t believe you did that, Coe. I thought I was done for.”
I shrug. “Why wouldn’t I? You know you would have done it for me.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. The moment he opens his mouth to speak, a door above us swings open. I bite my tongue as the shadow of the princess appears on the step. She will understand, I think. Tiam is soon to be her husband. She will let us stay.
But all those hopes disappear when I see the terror in her eyes. “What are you two doing here?” she shrieks. “Get!”
I say, “The water’s too high. Tiam is hurt. We can’t....”
She bites her lip, contemplating for a moment until a loud gust of wind slams against the outside of the tower, echoing through the narrow staircase. The tower lurches with it. “But the tower is swaying!” She shoos us vigorously with her hands. Bewildered, we just stand and stare at her. Surely she’s not serious. “You’ll kill us all! Please, go! Find somewhere else!”
“But—” I start.
“Guard!” she shouts into her room. She disappears, and a few moments later, one of the guards approaches us with his spear.
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