Page 34 of The Space Between Stars

“You need to—”

“I know what I need to do, brat! Help me block the wind.”

The flame stayed this time, and it hissed and sizzled as it moved from the match and approached the base of the cylinder. Mitek hid his face in the crook of his arm, lifting it into the air with his quavering free hand.

Fankalo rolled her eyes and, at her magic’s insistence, snatched it from him, rushing to the southern rail to point it out to sea.

A loud pop. A blinding flash.

Fankalo dropped the flare with a scream and scrambled backward. A red star consumed a spot in the sky. Her mouth hung open.

“Ay!” It was her father, screaming from below. “When I find the diddlehead who’s set off flares when we’re manned down I’ll—”

“They’re reversing masts!” Zeb barked from the crow’s nest.

The captain surfaced onto the topdeck, eyes darting from Fankalo to mouse-faced Mitek to the flare. Then he moved to the rail, watching the enemy ship retreat. He didn’t look angry. He looked like he was playing a difficult game of stackers.

The sounds of the sails and the sea spilling and slapping against the hull were all around them. Fankalo’s limbs grew heavy.

Gelhard’s lanky form ascended the ladder from the quarterdeck to join them. “What’s happened?”

“We’re fifty leagues from Gembolta,” her father said, voice as sturdy as the mast. “They must have thought we were calling on reserves.” His hands flipped through a quick series of signs to Zeb, which Zeb then relayed to the deck below.

Fankalo had seen many of the raiders use the signal language. Zeb had promised to teach it to her—her father usually assigned him to show her the ropes. The scraggly old sailor had been with Captain Keane almost as long as Gelhard. He had served many roles and learned many skills aboard the Rogue’s Respite, though he preferred the crow’s nest, where he didn’t have to use any of them.

“Hit report, Captain,” came a voice beside them—Timbor, the boatswain. “The bilge is flooding. A slow pull at ocean line, but we should be able to make it to port in Gembolta before the ship takes on critical water.”

Her father nodded. “Inform the helmsman to shift course. Inform the crew we’ll make landfall by morning.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Mitek squirmed beside her. Likewise, Gelhard paced in circles with long, agitated strides. Her father didn’t seem to notice them. His eyes were distant, his body contrastingly still. Fankalo longed to reach for his hand.

“We got lucky,” he murmured.

“Lucky?” Gelhard threw up his hands. “Lucky that I’m going to have to reforge all of the trade documentations to make declaration in Gembolta now!”

The captain’s face turned to stone as his quartermaster stalked away. Behind it, Fankalo understood his agony. They had been lucky, perhaps. But things were anything but good.

If she hadn’t led them to raid the Pazirians in the first place, it wouldn’t have happened.

He saw her looking at him, and flashed her a reassuring smile, fake as one of Gelhard’s apologies.

She would do anything in her power to fix this. Somehow.

NINE

FANKALO

Year: 734 Post Cataclysm: 14 Years Previously

Location: Gembolta

Fankalo leaned against the rail beside her father, awaiting a diagnosis from a ship repairman at Gembolta’s dock. Most of the crew had gone ashore an hour before to spend their recent plunderings.

Fankalo’s father had encouraged her to tag along with Mitek, but the boy’s scowl at the suggestion and a jab along the lines of her “being a good pet” had encouraged her to stay on board. Fine. She had enjoyed her month at sea far more than the years she’d spent on land. As clouds sailed the breeze overhead and tarpons circled the cerulean shallows, she felt no urge to leave the Rogue’s Respite, or the captain’s side.

He bumped elbows with her when she’d been quiet for a while. “It could be worse, lad. Before the foreign trade embargo, I was in Gembolta once a moon cycle. Back then, we wouldn’t have been able to just dock like this without notice. The pier was so full, we had to register weeks ahead for a space, else we’d have to wait in line—sometimes for days. Never thought I’d have considered Prime Taranil’s corporatist stance a blessing, but if it weren’t for lack of business we might be sitting on the seabed before getting to a ship repair.”