by F M Andrews
In no time Pritt returned with two cloaks, complete with hoods, and together they made their way back to the Cloud clan’s flag ship. No one was around, all were down by the lake at the races. It was almost too easy. The storage hold of this ship was very similar to their own and all knew that the least used items were kept in the bow, which was where Pritt led them. He created a space by moving one or two things and then left to go and get them some food, a bucket and some blankets. He seemed to be enjoying this sneaking about. Who would have thought!
“Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I have a race to win,” he announced before leaving them alone once more in the dark. The twins were deflated. What had they really achieved? They had a temporary hiding place and the shard but that was all. Once they had their packs and their arrival coordinates they knew that they would have to steal a yacht and run for their lives.
“He’s such an arse!” Ema thought in disgust, staring at the shard in her hands.
“Yep, never met a bigger one,” Ela replied, giggling.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Pritt ran.
Those freaking girls had made him late for his race. He had spent all circle modifying his yacht until he was satisfied that it would be unbeatable, and he was not going to miss his chance for victory. He was panting by the time he reached his pride and joy, uncovered her, raised her sail and leapt aboard. In one swift movement, he levitated and turned towards the lake. Oddly, she felt sluggish but the sight of all his competitors, sitting on the starting line immediately changed his focus and quickly, he piloted his yacht into her appointed slot, jumped overboard and raced back behind the starting line.
Glancing at the others gathered there, he could see a mixture of expressions, ranging from disappointed to annoyed. He was used to that and paid them no heed, instead he concentrated on the race ahead. It was only a single circuit of the lake; however, there was a strong wind blowing directly down the lake, meaning that half the race would involve tactical tacking into it and the other half would be running, fast before it. His modifications had created a yacht that was superbly fast in both of these conditions although, in giving her speed, he had sacrificed stability. He was going to have to be very vigilant in these strong winds.
Silence fell as the starter climbed the makeshift platform and raised the pennant. Pritt held his breath, every muscle in his body taunt. The pennant fell and he exploded off the line to be one of the first to reach their craft. With well-rehearsed moves, he made ready and spun her off the mark and away into her first tack, noticing excitedly that he was in the lead. As he prepared for his second tack, that feeling of wrongness returned. His yacht wasn’t responding in her usual way. She felt slow and cumbersome to his touch. Usually he only had to think of an action and almost inevitably she acted. Now he was struggling to make her react to his coxing. Actions that would not even have made him breathe heavier were now causing him to pant and sweat. A change had occurred. He was not sure when or how but he was convinced that it had something to do with those blasted girls. Had they sabotaged his yacht?
He had no time to contemplate this further as the most important thing, right now, was to win this race. A quick scan of the other contestants proved that he was still in the lead, if only by half a boat length. Some of the others were on a different tack yet he could tell that they were losing ground.
By the time he reached the end of the lake and turned to run with the wind, he was exhausted. He had not had to work this hard at anything for a long time. He had been anticipating that the downward leg would give him a rest as, normally, his yacht quivered with delight in such conditions, but today it was different. Today she bucked and tossed as if she was fighting the wind not being swept along with it. It took all his control to prevent her from capsizing and throwing him to the ground. The sweat was pouring off him, making his hands slippery on the ropes. His breath was coming in short, sharp, gasps, his muscles were quivering under the strain, and to make matters worse, the others were gaining on him.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled the sail in one more notch, bracing with his legs. He was not going to lose this time. Winning here today meant too much to him. It was more than pride at stake here. Winning this race would be his way of proving to himself, and the clan, that he was worthy, that he was important. It was a way of erasing all his self-doubt and self-loathing. He desperately hoped that it would be his redemption as well.
A slight shift in the wind gave him the opportunity to change tack and extend his lead, enabling him to cut off two of his closest rivals, causing them to have to take evasive action, making them to fall further behind. He permitted himself a small smile as he watched them scramble.
It was a long run up the lake, and by the time the yachts had reached the top he had been passed by his arch rival, Srell, a girl from the Falcon clan. Turning back into the wind towards the finish line, Pritt was one whole boat length behind, the sight of Srell’s sail up ahead taunting him. Once more the tacking took its toll and Pritt was gasping with each new set but agonisingly slowly he was gaining on her. They were now on opposite tacks and with each cross they came closer and closer to colliding.
The finish line was looming and Pritt knew that the next cross would decide the winner and loser of the race. It was imperative that he pass in front of Srell, to make her have to slow or back track to avoid a collision. Willing his yacht forward he lay low to the deck, scanning the land below for any tell-tale puff of wind to give him an advantage. Spying a patch of flattened grass, he veered towards it and with a serge his beauty leapt forward, giving him a boost. Would it be enough? Seeing Srell’s craft changed tack he followed suit. The two of them were now racing straight towards each other. It was impossible to tell who would cross first, it looked very much like they were on exactly the same trajectory.
It was now a game of nerves. Who would break first? He could see Srell’s face set in determination, eyes glued to his yacht’s bow, judging the distance. Pritt was willing to sacrifice his craft and his life for this win and it must have shown on his face. Srell nervously flicked him a glance. Her eyes narrowed, uncertainty fleetingly reflected there, only to be replaced by a look of pure panic as the two yachts continued to hurtle towards each other. In the last possible moment, self-preservation took control and Srell dipped out of Pritt’s way. The two craft passed within a hair's breadth of one another, so close that Pritt could hear Srell’s sharp intake of breath. Quickly tacking on top of her, Pritt raced towards the finish line. Srell was close behind and gaining.
As they drew closer to the finish, he could hear the crowd cheering, see the flags waving and his anxiety grew as Srell grew closer and closer. Pritt’s hands were raw and his legs were like jelly, buckling under the strain, but still he kept his sail taught, promising himself that he only had to endure it for a few more moments. A huge cheer erupted from the crowd as Srell surged forward; however, her run had come too late and Pritt slipped across the line a mere bow length before her. He collapsed, exhausted. Slowly, he brought his yacht round and lowered it to the ground, parking her off to one side. A large group, full of excited faces, immediately surrounded him. The realisation that he had actually won, crept through his being and with it, came the all its accompanying implications.
From the moment he had learned of his elder brother’s death, he had never felt worthy. He was everyone's second choice. His older brother, Habol had been everything he was not. A leader, generous, brave and kind, and his death had had such a devastating impact on the clan that it was still making waves today. Pritt’s pain had been amplified by the fact that he blamed himself entirely for his brother’s death. He was meant to have collected the water that morning, not Habol. Instead he had been too lazy and too selfish. He had made up some stupid excuse and his brother had gone to the lake, taken a drink of the toxic water and died a painful death.
From that moment on, Pritt had felt unworthy and the more praise his bereaved mother bestowed on her remaining son’s shoulders, the
more unworthy he felt. The only way he had found to deal with this debilitating emotion was to shut it down, bury it and pretend that he was everything his mother wanted him to be: bold, brave and a winner. He would rather be perceived as an obnoxious blowhard than the pathetic no-hoper he really was. Today he had proven to the world that he could be a winner, yet more importantly, he had proven it to himself. Maybe he could now start to believe his own gullshit, and put the past behind him.
The crowd surged forward, grinning and chatting excitedly, patting him on the back, and for a brief moment he felt whole, alive and proud. No one could ever take this away from him. He had achieved this himself although, strangely, it had been a much harder battle than he had expected. The next race was lining up. It was the last race of the day, the seniors, and he did not want to miss it. Laughing and joking, he and his friends wandered up to a good vantage point and sat passing around refreshments. A dark eyed girl from the Wayland clan he had noticed earlier came and sat down close, throwing him shy glances full of promise from beneath her long lashes. He grinned at her in anticipation of the night to come.
The chatter quieted, indicating the imminent start and all eyes turned towards the line-up. The pennant dropped and the race was on. They were fast, and before long the gaggle of yachts were reduced to small specks, buzzing about at the far end of the lake. Pritt’s attention drifted, and he scoured the crowd, searching for his mother. It was odd that she had not come to congratulate him; however, she was a busy woman and this problem with the stolen branches would be taking up her time. He could not see her amongst those gathered, although he did spy Ralta and on an impulse decided to do something worthy. He would fulfil his promise to the twins.
What a crazy thing that all was! He still was not sure if that whole experience with them had been an amazing dream or strange reality. He had been excited about other worlds but when they had asked for his help, all his old anxieties and inadequacies had bubbled up to the surface. There was no way he was going to set himself up for more failure. Better not to try than to build up people’s hopes and expectations only to, inevitably, let them down again. He examined this now in light of his win and wondered if he should at least try. An awful lot seemed to be at stake. It was such a huge commitment for him to have to make and he was just not ready for it yet. At least he could help the girls out and get the coordinates and backpacks for them.
Explaining that he would be back soon, he wandered in Ralta and Bhan’s direction. Slipping between the milling bodies, he lost sight of them for a moment but when he located them again they were not alone. A tall, vaguely familiar man had their full attention. There was something about the man that made Pritt’s skin crawl, something that made him stop in his tracks, and in that moment of hesitation the man looked up, scanning the crowd and Pritt’s memory finally provided a name: Zail.
He had only seen this man in the twins’ minds, but there was no mistaking him. Pritt bowed his head to hide his face, as the gaze passed over him. His knees felt week and a sickening feeling of dread settled in his stomach with the understanding that he could have jeopardised everything. If Zail had seen him talking to the twins’ adopted parents, Pritt would have become the new target of his interest and he was pretty sure that there would have been no way to prevent this man from gaining any information that he might want.
He needed to be clever about this. Surreptitiously he watched as Zail held Ralta and Bhan entranced, scouring their minds for any information about the girls. What would he find? Pritt asked himself. Surely Ralta and Bhan did not know the true story. To them the girls were just unfortunate children who had found themselves lost in the vastness. The only thing they could provide would be the location of the twins’ arrival point on this world. It was a vital piece of information, but standing alone, it might not be that useful. It was clear now that he should not underestimate this man. Pritt had nearly stumbled into his grasp, and it was only a stroke of luck that had saved them all.
Making his way back to his friends, he watched as the race came to the end. No drama this time. The Gull clan led from start to finish. It was time to go home and clean up for tonight.
“Ha! Here he is! The champion,” his mother exclaimed, walking towards him through the thinning crowd. “I knew you would do it. I kept telling everyone that Pritt will win this circle, make my words. And look, you have proven me right yet again,” she finished, embracing him in one of her overpowering motherly hugs. He cringed. The euphoria of the win was beginning to wear off. Was it that he felt that he was letting the twins down? Blast them, he thought; it was so unfair. He finally had a chance to feel good about himself, and along they come to undermine it, asking the impossible. There was no way anyone would give up their clan to go into the vastness and the unknown, so why do I feel so guilty? His mother smiled at him fondly. “See you at the prize giving tonight,” she called, before she left to go and talk to someone else who had grabbed her attention.
He was covered in sweat, physically drained and badly in need of a wash and a nap; however, before doing that, he wanted to square things away with the girls. It took him a while to find them as they had moved to a new location in the hold. Once located, it didn’t take long to fill them in about Zail. It was hard to be the bearer of bad news, and he felt sorry for them as their faces reflected the hopelessness of their situation. They should have known Zail would be one step ahead of them. Of course he would find out where they had arrived.
“The one thing he doesn’t know,” Ela began, “is when Errin will pick us up. We are going to have to ensure we arrive at the rendezvous at the very last moment so that he will not have a chance to catch us before we vanish,” she reasoned. Ema agreed.
Pritt felt sorry for them. “I will go and get the coordinate information and your back packs tonight when everyone is celebrating,” he offered, not knowing what else to say.
The girls just nodded. All three sat silently for a moment, each deep in their own thoughts until Ela sat up straight, sighed and looked at Pritt. “There is one thing that is bothering me,” she admitted. “It is all very well finding out where we arrived, but how do we find our way back there?”
Pritt was totally confused by this question. Surely they knew how to use a compass. He began to review the images they had shared with him that morning and, to his surprise, he could find nothing about using a compass at all. It looked as if they might never even have seen one before. This was unbelievable to him as every clan child knew how to operate one almost before they could sail.
“Wait!” he ordered. “I can show you.” For a moment he ferreted in a large box nearby that held toys and tools for young ones. “There has to be one in here somewhere,” he muttered to himself, dislodging various objects. “Ahaaa! Here we go,” he exclaimed triumphantly, holding up his treasure, looking at it with fresh eyes. It was a sphere with three, independent, rotating layers. The solid coloured inner one represented the ground and the outer two were clear with a single golden line circumnavigating them. One line encompassed the equator and the other the poles. Numbers were etched along the entire length, standing out at right angles to the lines, and you simply held the ball in your hand and the lines would rotate until they crossed, showing you exactly where you were. It was a marvel of his world that he had never stopped to appreciate before.
The girls were fascinated, examining the new object with curiosity.
“So, how do you use it to find the place you want to go?” Ela asked, a slight frown of concentration creasing her brow.
“Every location has two coordinates, one across and one along. The place you arrived at will be noted as two numbers. The lines on the compass will rotate as you move.” Pritt explained. “You can tell if you are moving in the right direction or not by the numbers either increasing or decreasing.” The twin’s eyes lit up and they began walking about the hold, staring at the compass.
“It won’t change for a few steps.” Pritt laughed. “You have to travel some distance for it
to register,” he explained.
“Oh,” Ema sounded disappointed.
“Look, I have to go now. I will be back as soon as I have your things.” The thought of a wash and some sleep were enticing him on, but strangely, he did not feel as exhausted as he had before coming down to see the girls. Saying goodbye, he headed back up top, noticing the bone-weary tiredness and aching limbs returning with each step he took away from the twins. On a whim he turned and retraced his steps. There was no mistaking it, the closer he came to the now curious girls, the better he felt. He could not understand it. What was it about them that took away his aches and pains? They would definitely not be using their talent so close to Zail.
Ela raised an enquiring eyebrow as he returned.
“The weirdest thing,” he began, not quite sure how to phrase the question. “Somehow I feel less tired when I am near you guys.” It was a statement and a question all in one.
Ela laughed. “It is not because you are near us, you idiot, it is because you are near your shard. It acts as a sort of talent amplifier.”
He blinked, processing this vital information, understanding, now, why he had had such a struggle during the race. The blood drained from his face as the full force of all the implications of living without his shard sank in. Once the shard left, his life would never be the same again. Was he prepared for that? He had no idea. “Oh,” was all he could manage and it was a very small ‘Oh’ at that. As he made his way up top once more, he could feel his energy drain away with every step. This situation was becoming more and more disturbing, he thought, as he returned to his comfortable life to examine his new uncomfortable reality.