The Fire Sermon (37 page)

Before the splash had even subsided, the pack on my back was lugging me down with the weight of the soaked blanket and the water flask, and when I kicked out to try to regain the surface, the rocks answered with their teeth. Kelp insinuated itself around my bleeding legs, and all I could think of was the Confessor’s interrogations, the tentacles of her mind wrapping themselves around my thoughts and dragging me down. It was that memory, as much as the water closing above me, that sent me into panic.

Kip’s hand found me, hauling me upward by one of the rucksack’s shoulder straps and holding me up until I’d calmed myself enough to peel off the bag and pass it to him. The boat was so tiny that he had to lean against the far side to counterbalance my wet weight as I hauled myself over the side.

Kip slid the oars into the oarlocks and shoved the rucksack under the seat. For a minute I stood, balancing, the salt water making my wounds stream pink, and looked up at the island. From here it looked huge and empty. But smoke was still rising from the caldera, the island’s cupped hands full of blood and fire.

Kip reached over and steadied me as I stepped back to join him on the central seat.

We moved out quickly, in the opposite direction to the Council’s massed fleet, and into the sharp embrace of the reef.

chapter 24

I didn’t bother to hide my crying from Kip. He’d witnessed me crying from nightmare visions; grimacing as I ate raw marsh shrimps; shouting with fury on the island. But this, the sobs convulsing me as I rowed, was new. At least he didn’t say anything, or try to comfort me. He just rowed, following my directions even when my crying rendered them barely intelligible. We made our way north through the lacework of half-submerged rocks, putting as much distance as possible between us and the fleet at anchor at the reef’s eastern edge. The intricacies of the reef were easier to negotiate in the relatively calm sea, but finding our way still required all my focus, and put an end to the crying. Once we’d emerged into open sea we put up the small sail, with less fumbling than on the first journey. The wind was mild but steady enough to snap the sail taut. I retreated to the front of the boat and let the wind take us.

It wasn’t for several hours that I felt able to speak.

“You know what the worst thing is?” I said. “It’s not even the people left on the island that I’m upset about. I mean, of course I’m thinking about them, and terrified for them. For Piper, too. But that wasn’t why I was crying. It was for me—for us. Because we thought we’d found a place where we’d be safe. Where we could stop running.”

“And here we are again,” he said, nodding at the surrounding sea. “I know.”

“And I’m not much of a seer, as things turn out. I should have seen it.”

“You did see it. If it weren’t for you, those people wouldn’t have had any warning at all. They’d all have been wiped out.”

“Not that. I meant from the start, when we were heading for the island: I should have seen that it wasn’t the refuge I thought it would be. That I’d bring trouble to the island. That it wasn’t going to be some kind of happy ending for us.”

“There isn’t going to be a happy ending. Not for you, while Zach’s still out there, making the rules. When are you going to realize that it’s him who’s the problem?”

I was staring down over the boat’s front, into the gray-black water. “And you? What about a happy ending for you?”

He shrugged. “Not for me, either. Not while Zach’s pulling the strings.”

“Because you won’t leave me? Or because Zach and his people must be looking for you, too?”

Another shrug. “Does it make any difference? Neither of those things is going to change.”

For a long time we were silent. The day swayed onward with the monotony of the swell. Although it was autumn now, the sun was still hot enough to drive us under the blanket’s shade for the midday hours. The wind at least was with us, bearing us, unresisting, northeast. When the dark settled, I moved back to the rear of the boat with Kip, and we spent the night huddled there, slipping between sleep and wakefulness.

The next day, watching the blank expanse of water, Kip and I hardly spoke. The sea ignored our silence, and the smack of the wooden base as it dropped into each trough was unrelenting. The boat was too small for swell this size, and even with the calm weather, the larger waves splashed over the sides and we took turns to bail. By the afternoon we were sunburned and thirsty, the water flask empty. We couldn’t complain, though, knowing what was facing those we had left on the island.

“It’s not even the fighting that sickens me most. It’s the thought that she’s there—the Confessor.”

“Worse than what we saw from the window?” Kip was grimacing at the memory. “Hard to imagine.”

I knew what he meant. But if I had a choice, I would take my chances against fire and swords rather than the Confessor’s calm disassembling of my mind.

“That’s what Piper was on about,” said Kip, when I tried to explain.

“The Confessor?”

“No,” replied Kip, tightening the sail, holding the rope with his teeth between pulls. “You. About what you could do.”

I took the rope that he passed me and began wrapping it around the cleat. “It’s not like you to be echoing Piper.”

“It’s not just him. It’s this.” He looked around at the ocean surrounding us. “Us being on the run again. And feeling like we’ll always be on the run. But you could change the game. Not just react to Zach, but take the fight to him—do something to change the rules. You’ve got all this power—”

My snorted laughter interrupted him, as I gestured around us at the flaking boat, at the two of us, red-eyed and sunburned. “Oh yeah; look at me. I’m just brimming with power.”

“You’re wrong. You’re terrified of the Confessor, but that’s what you could be for the Omegas, if you weren’t so scared of fighting back against Zach. You think you’re being self-effacing, or modest, but you’re not. You’re protecting him.”

“Don’t ever say I could be like her.” I dropped the rope end into the bottom of the boat.

“Of course not. You’d never do what she does. But you could do something. Why do you think she’s coming after you? It’s not just Zach securing his own safety. He probably couldn’t justify all this manpower, just for that. It’s you. They know what a risk you could be to them—a seer like you, on the loose.”

Kip leaned on the tiller, and the canvas caught the wind.

“That doesn’t make me feel much better. The idea that they’re all after me, rather than just Zach.”

He had to squint into the lowering sun to meet my gaze, but he did. “I’m not trying to make you feel better. I’m trying to show you what you’re capable of being.”

“There you go again, sounding like Piper.”

“Good. At least you’ve always taken him seriously.”

“What do you expect me to do?” I hated the sound of my own voice, shouting against the wind at Kip, but I couldn’t stop myself. “I thought I
was
being useful, doing something to stop Zach. It was me who dragged us to the island, because I thought I could help. And instead, I drew the Alphas to the island. I did that.”

I turned away, let the wind blow my hair over my face so he couldn’t see me crying again.

“You still don’t get it,” Kip said. “The reason you’re a threat to them. The real reason you could change everything. The Council, even Piper—they’ve got it wrong. They think you’re dangerous because you’re a seer and because of your link to Zach. But they’re all wrong. There are other seers, other Omegas with powerful twins. That’s not it.”

He was shouting, his voice ragged in the gusting wind.

“It’s because of how you see the world. How you don’t see Alphas and Omegas as opposed. I tried to tell you back on the island—in the tower. That’s what makes you different. They’ve been chasing you for all the wrong reasons, and Piper’s been protecting you for the wrong reasons, too. And they all think it’s a weakness that you care about Zach—that you don’t see it as us against them. But that’s your strength—that’s what makes you different.”

I didn’t even look at him. “I don’t need another reason to feel different.”

The second night on the boat was worse than the first. Even this far from the island, the thought of the Confessor, and Kip’s words, contaminated the salt-tinted air. I stayed awake, afraid that if I succumbed to sleep I’d have to revisit my dreams of the attack. When the light began flirting with the eastern edge of the night sky, I could hear from Kip’s breathing that he was awake, too, but we still didn’t speak. For all of that day we were silent, except for my occasional muttered directions:
More that way. Straight on.
By noon we’d passed a few isolated outcrops, occupied only by the odd gull. The first glimpse of shore came a few hours later—not the high cliff country we’d embarked from weeks ago, but a more gradual, cove-molded coast, slipping down to meet the sea.

I directed him along the coast for a while, until a wide cove mouth opened, dunes dense with reeds on each side. We dropped the sail and rowed for the final few hundred yards, and then right up into the cove itself, into which a broad river opened. Rather than row upstream, we pulled toward the bank, wading in to drag the boat clear of the river’s current and up onto the sand. I knelt down and splashed water onto my face. It still had a salty tang, but was half-fresh and felt unspeakably soft after days of salt wind and sun.

“Do you think they’re still holding the fort?” he asked.

Still kneeling at the water’s edge, I shook my head. “I think so,” I said. “But they can’t last much longer.”

“Will you know, when it falls?”

“I don’t know,” I said, but we found out that night. We’d dragged the boat into the dune where the long pampas grass covered it from view. Then we headed upstream, beside the river, just far enough for the dunes to give way to forest and for the river water to be drinkable. As soon as there was enough cover we retreated into the trees to sleep. It was still light, but we’d barely slept during the days on the boat and both of us were stumbling. We had no way to light a fire, so we just ate some of the ever-drier bread, drank the river water, and lay down in the cover of a scrubby bush.

After midnight I woke with one short, strangled scream. Kip held me until my shaking had stopped.

“The island?” he asked.

I couldn’t answer, but he knew. When he tried to kiss me I pushed him away. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. More than anything I would have liked to bury myself in his embrace and let the comfort of our bodies distract me from my visions. But I couldn’t bring myself to touch him. I didn’t want to contaminate him, tainted as I was by what I’d seen. By what I’d done, leading the Confessor to the island.

Through each moment of that broken night I saw what was happening on the island. I saw the fort’s huge gate succumb to flames. I saw the kicking in of doors, and the flaring of fires in the courtyard itself. I heard the metallic rasp of swords being drawn and then striking. I saw the market square, where Kip and I had sat and eaten plums. I saw the cobbles slick with blood.

chapter 25

The next morning I could still hardly speak. We sat on the riverbank chewing on the stub of the bread that we’d taken from the island. Its crust was now so hard it cut my gum. I kept watching downstream, where the river broadened out to the sea. The only remaining food was a few pieces of jerky we’d grabbed when we left our quarters, but Kip remembered the length of fishing line in the boat, so before continuing upstream we headed back down to the dunes to collect it. It wasn’t far, and soon Kip was kneeling in the sharp grass beside the boat, groping under the seat to unsnag the line where it had caught on something, while I turned again to watch the river mouth and the widening sea beyond. That huge, calm expanse, the island not even a hint on the horizon, betrayed nothing of what I’d witnessed in my vision last night. I couldn’t stop scanning the sea.

Perhaps that’s why I never saw the man coming, though I sensed him just before I heard the sand slipping beneath his feet. I turned in time to see him racing at Kip from above, charging down the dune so fast that Kip had no chance to heed my warning shout. The man not so much tackled Kip as crashed into him, knocking them both to the ground. By the time I’d got within a few feet of them, the man had the fishing line tight around Kip’s neck from behind. From where I stood I could see how sharply the line cut into his flesh, the skin whitening around it. I stopped, raised my arms, but the man shouted at me anyway.

“I’ll have his head off. You know I will.”

Kip didn’t cry out. I didn’t know if he could; already his neck above the fishing line was bulging, his blood straining at the skin. On the left of his neck a swelling vein pulsed, fluttering madly, a moth against a window.

“Stop. We’ll do whatever you want. Just stop.” I heard my own voice before I knew I was speaking.

“Damn right you’ll do what I want.” The man stood behind Kip, who was still on his knees. He was bearded, a heavily built Alpha, with thick blond hair, and more hair tufting from the neck of his shirt. When he loosened the cord, Kip gave an animal gasp. The line was still around his neck but loose enough that I could see the indentation it had left on his skin. Hand at his throat, Kip stood slowly. He was still facing me, so he couldn’t see the knife the man had drawn and was raising behind Kip’s neck. I tried to keep my face calm so Kip wouldn’t see what was coming. But the knife stayed raised, and the man spoke.