Vengeance of the Pirate Queen(49)

IT IS VERY, VERY late when I finally drag myself onto frozen, snow-covered ground.

I flip onto my back and stare up at the sky. Only a few stars poke between the cloud cover, but their presence is a welcome sight. Little pinpricks of light after I just spent hours hovering in the gloom of the open ocean.

I must fall asleep like that, for when I wake, my limbs feel sore and stiff from the hours of swimming. The sun is well overhead, not that it’s done much good for the landscape here.

When I try to stand, I find that I cannot move. Cannot so much as sit up.

I yank on my right arm, hear some sort of crack, and then finally feel the tension release. When I look to my arm, I note that it is covered in ice.

I’m frozen to the ground.

I should be dead three times over by now. From the water, from the cold, from the night exposed to the elements.

Yet here I am. Breathing, heart pounding, muscles sore.

Numb to everything except that sting on my cheek.

My left arm comes free next, then my legs. I have to wiggle in place for a couple of minutes before my back finally breaks free from the ground. I pat at myself as I stand, ensuring all my clothing is where it should be. The dagger I used to cut myself free is frozen into my clothing. Useless at the moment.

I try to get my bearings. There are snow-covered peaks in the distance. Evergreen trees dot the expanse in front of me. Purple flowers break through the frozen ground, flourishing where they shouldn’t, just like me now.

I’ve no idea where my camp and crew are. Dimella must be frantic with worry, but I trust her to keep everyone safe until I can find my way back to them.

I start walking.

My stomach grumbles for the want of food, but there is nothing I can do about that. My thirst is remedied by scooping up snow and letting it melt in my mouth before swallowing. I can’t feel the cold of it, so it’s very satisfying, if slow.

My eyes sting from all the salt water they’ve been exposed to. Burns and scrapes cover my fingers and wrists from tugging and clawing at the ropes as well as misplaced slices from the dagger as I sawed my way free.

My hair and skin are covered in frost. My clothing is frozen to my body. I wish I could remove the outer layers, since I don’t need them, but I don’t know how to get free of them without tearing my skin off.

My gait is more of a waddle than a walk with the way my limbs are stuck to my clothing. It makes my pace slower than it should be.

But I am not dead.

That is the important thing.

Even if it’s impossible.

As the sun traces the sky, I make my way farther inland. Finally, when night falls, I can see pinpricks of light through the trees. It’s not my crew, that’s for sure. They know better. But neither is it the camp of men who guard the tomb entrance. For there must be dozens of fires spread throughout the woods to what I think is northeast.

I pick up my pace, finally having a heading.

I make noises as I move, no matter how much I try not to. The ice crunches and my clothing rustles with every step. Though my stomach kills me, I force myself to take it slow. Observe the area thoroughly as I approach. The natives on watch make themselves known to me slowly with their small movements. One scratches his nose. Another shakes himself awake. A third rubs his hands together for warmth.

For hours, I watch, until I’m certain I see all the lookouts. Only then can I plan my path into the camp.

I can smell the cooking meat on those fires, and it presses me on when my limbs feel ready to drop. My stomach encourages me when my head feels too heavy to lift.

I crawl through the trees, passing the watch one by one until I can see into the camp. Here, I pause, taking the measure of the space. Log cabins spread before me in an endless line. It is the first I’ve seen of any permanent residences from these people. Smoke billows out of the chimneys, and I spot covered areas housing chopped wood. Toward the center of the settlement, I see what appears to be the outside of a smithy and a tannery, though it’s hard to be sure with only firelight to see by.

Not far off, two men stand guard outside of a hastily erected tent, and I wonder instantly if that is where they are holding Kearan.

There is only one way to be certain, but I’d never make it over there without being seen, or more importantly, heard. Not in my current state.

There are a series of firepits, where spits roast meats, likely food for those on watch to help them stay awake. There is one person tending to the food, stopping at each fire to turn the meat. I watch her carefully, waiting to see if she will leave a fire untended long enough for me to approach it.

She does, for after she makes her rounds, she disappears inside one of the cabins, likely to prepare more food, and I take my chance, helping myself to the mostly cooked meat. Because the heat doesn’t hurt me, I don’t have to wait for it to cool before I let it slide down my throat and fill my aching belly. When done, I check for anyone coming this way.

Most of the people are sleeping, and those in the camp are unconcerned about intruders when those on watch haven’t raised an alarm.

They’ve clearly never had a run-in with someone like me before.

I hold my hands out toward the fire, and my frozen clothing crunches as I try to get myself closer. The ice melts from my sleeves at an agonizing pace, so I decide to hell with it all.

I thrust my hand into the flames, waiting for the pain of the burn to surface, but it doesn’t happen. My skin doesn’t catch fire, though the fabric does.