Ostap, Ives, and Fiona lined up, awaiting instruction, while Rohan and Berold sauntered up from the lower decks. Fiona glanced up at the mainmast, which had to be a hundred feet tall. In a storm, with the ship violently lurching, a sailor would be at risk of plunging into the waters. Lucky for them, the skies were clear and blue.
Nod paced before them in a gold doublet while Marlowe stood behind him, shading his eyes with a hand. Captain Nod pointed up to the crow’s-nest. “Your job today is to impress us by racing to the top.” He pointed to one of the shrouds—thick rope ladders attached to the ship’s sides, meeting near the top of the mast. “Ostap and Ives, you’ll climb portside. Fiona, Berold, and Rohan: starboard.” He raised his hands to the sky. “Dagon gives us life! We will not disappoint him.”
The other Guardians chanted after him in unison.
Fiona shot a nervous look to Rohan before approaching the shroud. But as she crossed the deck, someone gripped her arm. Lir leaned in, whispering in her ear. “Watch out for Berold and Rohan. They could throw you off. Nod is going to call up a storm. Last time we did this, two recruits were thrown into the sea. Even a strong swimmer might not make it.”
She swallowed hard and thanked him before trudging to the ship’s edge. Her knees suddenly felt weak, and she nervously eyed Rohan, who climbed over the edge of the ship, clinging to the shroud. He gave Fiona an encouraging smile.
At a few feet across, the shroud was just large enough for three people, but it narrowed toward the top. As they got closer to the crow’s-nest, they’d have to fight for a position. And with three people on one shroud, Fiona faced tougher competition on the starboard.
She hoped the shaking in her limbs wasn’t visible to the others as she climbed over the ship’s edge, taking her spot next to Rohan. Any of them could be thrown into the waters, but she was the only one who didn’t know how to swim. And did she really need to worry about Rohan? Sure, Berold was a creep, but Rohan she trusted.
Long-limbed like a spider, Berold climbed beside her on the shroud. An obscene tongue flicked out of his mouth as he looked Fiona up and down. “If I win this I’m going to take Fiona for a celebratory ride!”
Nod strode across the deck, blowing a ring of pipe smoke into the air. “You shut your mouth. I told you our rules.”
Marlowe pointed a long finger at Berold. “No meddling. Not without consent.”
Nod’s eyes scanned the skies. “Wait until I give the signal. A tempest approaches.”
The skies were still a clear and cloudless blue, and the hot sun beat down on Fiona’s skin. Sweat dampened her upper lip.
Nod closed his eyes, as though basking in the sun, and then he started muttering under his breath. She could feel the magical aura thickening the air, crackling over her skin, raising goose bumps. A cold, metallic smell blew in on a strong gust.
Fiona glanced to the east, where the sky had begun to darken. As Nod spoke, his hands raised, a thick wall of roiling, black clouds crept closer. Her stomach dropped as they surged toward the ship.
She felt the air leave her lungs. Nod can do this? Suddenly dizzy, she tightened her grip on the ropes.
As the inky clouds rolled closer, the sea began to heave and froth. Fiona shot Rohan a panicked look as a monstrous wave sucked the boat into its trough. The storm hit them like an oncoming train.
Winds slammed the ship, and Fiona fought to hold on. We haven’t even started yet. Caught in the wave’s grasp, the ship rose steeply, and the horrified look on Rohan’s face only fed her own terror. The Proserpine paused for a moment at the wave’s peak, and when it crashed down again, Fiona’s stomach lurched. Seawater soaked her clothes, and she gripped the rope so hard it bit into her hands.
Cold rain lashed her skin, and she waited for Nod’s signal, shuddering while another enormous wave reared up behind her. Lir stood mid-deck, his arms folded and feet planted steadily on the boards.
“Recruits!” Nod bellowed over the howling wind. The ship plunged down again, and icy seawater rushed over her skin. “On the count of three. One… two…” He paused, and as the Proserpine crested another wave, he shouted, “Three!”
To her left, Berold was off immediately, ascending on spindly limbs. All of Fiona’s survival instincts told her to hold fast to the ropes, to stay in one place and hope for the best. But she couldn’t afford to lose again. She glanced at Lir, who strolled across the pitching ship with inhuman grace. Her stomach swooped as she forced herself upward, even as the ship plummeted down again.
Up. She would look up, and not at the monstrous, oncoming waves.
In order to compete, she’d have to rely on the strength in her legs. Pushing herself up from one rung to the next, she was able to keep pace with Rohan, but lagged behind Berold.