WHEN I’VE RESTED LONG enough to catch my breath, I climb the nearest snow-covered tree. It’s an evergreen with long daggerlike needles. Some sort of vermin scurries out of my path when I’m halfway up, my hands near frozen through from the cold bark. I had to remove my gloves so they wouldn’t get covered in sap.
From above, I can see the galleon in the distance, circling the shore, looking for stragglers. Rowboats meander to the remains of our ship, likely looking to see what they can scavenge.
Our new friends on land are not too far off. They’re just about to enter our section of woods to search for us.
I return to the ground and order everyone to keep moving.
Dimella monitors a compass regularly to keep track of where we’re going and how we can return to the water if need be. We don’t head in one direction but continue to make turns to confuse our pursuers. We hug the thicker trees, where the snow isn’t as soft, to hide our tracks.
“Is it safe yet?” Little Roslyn asks after another hour of movement.
“Not yet,” I tell her, “but don’t you worry. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“I’m not scared.”
I believe her.
It isn’t until dusk is threatening the skies that we finally stop for the night. Radita was smart enough to bring waterproof canvas intended for the sails, and we lay it down below our tents and let the trees cover us from above. Dimella stations lookouts around the camp, and I order Jadine to under no circumstances build a fire. For I can see smoke far in the distance, where the enemy must be camping. We’ll not let them know our location so easily.
We’ve only a few tents between us, so we’ll have to pack the girls and lads tightly, but at least no one will be freezing at night.
We dust the snow off a few fallen logs and use them as makeshift chairs. Jadine passes out a rationed meal of hardtack and jerky to all. I eat mine quietly while the crew converses among themselves.
“Well, shit,” Kearan says.
“Could have been a lot worse,” Dimella says. “We made it to land without losing another soul. That’s no small miracle.”
“Yeah, but we walked into the same trap that all the ships before us did.”
“No one could have seen that coming.”
Alosa would have, I think to myself. She would have the moment she saw the sunken ships. Not when she was practically to shore and unable to save her vessel.
Enwen’s off in a corner, shoveling at the snow.
“You digging a latrine?” Dimella asks him.
Enwen looks between her and the hole. “… Yes.”
Kearan shakes his head. “He’s looking for gold.”
The two laugh. Laugh! How can they laugh when I’ve sunk our ship and stranded us on this frozen wasteland? I may keep a strong face and act capable, but I’ve never felt more confused and out of my depth.
I want to kill something.
Taydyn approaches our group. “I’d like to set some traps outside of camp. See if we can catch some food to add to what we salvaged from the ship. If we cook during the daytime, the fire will be less visible.”
I nod. “Enwen, go help him.”
Enwen hands his shovel to one of the girls before scurrying off with Taydyn through the brush.
Roslyn scoots closer to me for warmth, and I throw my arm over her.
“You haven’t said much, Captain,” she says. “Are you all right?”
Everyone within hearing range of her comment looks at me.
“I’m fine.”
This time, it might not be true, though.
“We’ll have an early start tomorrow,” I say to the group. “You best all turn in.”
I may be a captain without a ship, but the crew heeds my orders, piling themselves into the tents. Roslyn follows the remaining gunwomen into one, eager for the promise of warmth.
Only one person stays behind outside. One man. The one I knew would wait.
Kearan.
How’s that for learning his new patterns?
He always sees through me. I may have said I’m fine, but he knows that’s not true. He means to talk, hopes to get me to open up yet again. I brace myself for what he’ll say to me. It’s not your fault. There’s nothing you could have done. No one blames you. You’re a good captain. He’ll try to make me feel better but only infuriate me instead. I begin to ready my argument.
He says, “Get over it.”
I expel a small breath of surprise. “What?”
“Get over it. You messed up. Now move on. Think about your next move.”
I can’t say anything for a full five seconds. “You blame me?”
“Didn’t say that.”
“You said I messed up.”
“Isn’t that what you’re thinking?”
“I asked what you were thinking.”
“You don’t care what I think. You respond better to tough love. So there it is. The advice you would give yourself if you could think past your guilt. Get over it.”
He didn’t tell me what I expected to hear, yet I’m somehow angrier than if he had.
Alosa said I would make mistakes. She was right. I just didn’t expect to fail so miserably. Or to feel the way I do when it happened. The pain of my shortcomings is a constant pressure against my skin. Something trying to beat its way out of me. I want to be alone. I want to hunt. I want to do something so I don’t have to think.
But none of those are options right now.
I stand from the log I’d been perched on and begin to pace. Sitting still is driving me mad, despite the hours of running we all had to do today.
“I failed them all,” I say after a moment, because talking is the only thing I have left, and he’s the only one who stuck around to listen.
“You saved them,” he says. “We’re here. We’re alive. We have food. Alosa will come for us if we can survive long enough.”
“Alosa isn’t supposed to save us. I’m supposed to save those girls. Instead, I’ve gotten more of us stuck here.”
Kearan picks a stick from the ground, dusts the snow off it, and begins breaking off the smaller branches. “Plans change.”
“That’s your advice? Plans change.”
“Captain, you don’t want advice. You want someone to yell at and fight with so you can take your own attention off yourself.”
I am so sick of him telling me exactly what I’m thinking.
I pull a knife from my waist and throw it. It lodges into the trunk Kearan’s sitting on, barely an inch away from his leg.
He looks down at it, grins, and says, “Do that again.”
I reach for another knife and fling it. It lands just a bit above the first.
“Throw until you miss,” he challenges.
I grab a knife with my left hand, toss it to my right, then hurl it with all my strength. It strikes near Kearan’s thigh. But he doesn’t have to encourage me anymore. I grab and throw, grab and throw. Five knives. Ten knives. All making a neat outline surrounding where Kearan sits.
The fifteenth and final knife lands near his left calf, tearing through the thick pants he wears. When he dislodges it, a small line of red appears on the blade.
“Missed,” he says, not showing an ounce of pain or shock. He throws the knife back at me, and I catch it out of the air by the blade without slicing my skin.