“They’re gaining on us.”
As the boat drifted, they picked their way through the craggy shoals until the sea deepened again, and Fiona’s panic eased a little. Rohan steered the boat west, into the wind.
Out of the island’s lee, the wind blew stronger. The bow cleaved the waves, and a fine spray misted the air. She’d never understood before that the ocean could actually be beautiful in its own way. Maybe she would actually like being a Guardian. Assuming she didn’t get kicked out and that she made it out alive, which were two big assumptions.
As they rounded the northern side, Rohan tacked toward the island and the Kraken tacked in the opposite direction.
Shit. The two boats were on a collision course.
“We’re going to hit them,” Fiona shouted over the sound of rushing water. She eyed the oar. She could use it to shove the other boat away if she needed to, and she wouldn’t hesitate to knock a few of them into the water. She was Danny Shea’s daughter; an assault with a wooden oar should be the least of their concerns.
Ostap cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting, “Thanks for showing us the way through the shoal!”
She gritted her teeth. Why is it the worst people always get the upper hand?
The Kraken inched past them.
Rohan tacked the Old Roger, but each time the others pulled a little further ahead. “Bollocks!” he shouted.
With a racing heart, she adjusted the mainsheet, letting wind swell the sails. She wasn’t going to let herself be exiled again. She was in control here.
The waves grew large, capped by white peaks. The boat heeled, and Fiona climbed the gunnel’s side as a counterbalance. Any screw-ups with the tiller would hurl them into Dagon’s arms. Just ahead of them, Ostap and Ives skimmed over the water like jesus bugs.
Her mouth went dry. Estelle would rip her throat out if they lost, and she’d be too weak to fight back. If Nod kicked her out, she’d be adrift—a cursed wanderer. Or worse, she’d be left to the mercy of the Purgators who wanted to burn her to death. A wave of panic slammed into her. She couldn’t let her life end this way, hunted and alone.
Her heart hammered in her chest as they reached the island’s last stretch. She couldn’t let the sail jibe. If she kept it in too tight, it could swing across the boat, threatening to capsize them. She loosened the mainsheet.
A shout pierced the air and Fiona’s eyes darted to the Kraken, now rocking wildly. Ostap grasped at the sail, trying to hold it in place, while Ives struggled with the tiller. Wind caught their sail, pulling Ostap to the edge of the boat. In a rare moment of gracelessness, he lost his balance, nearly tipping into the water. She caught the look of panic on his face and nearly smiled. The Kraken had lost its momentum.
With the wind filling their sail, Fiona’s boat inched closer, but the Kraken remained out of reach. On the rocky beach, the Guardians watched, arms folded. Not cheering, or having fun, but judging, eyes darkened. A pit grew in her stomach. They were watching her fail. Ostap turned, flashing a feral grin at Fiona.
There had to be a way to stop them, to wipe that smile from Ostap’s face.
“Gods damn it,” Rohan cursed. “We need some way to anchor the bastards.”
An anchor. Fiona closed her eyes, racking her brain. Surely all the sailing knowledge Lir had forced her to memorize would be good for something. She heard his voice in her head, calm but insistent, and saw his murky green eyes as he rattled off each part of the boat—the points of sail, the beam reach and the broad reach—the cleats used to secure the lines.
With her eyes closed, she could almost smell his damp-wood-and-rosemary scent, could see the drops of seawater on his golden skin. But what had he told her about anchors? Fluke anchors were for the sand, plow anchors for seagrass, but neither of those would help her now.
It struck her like a bullet to the brain. A drogue. A sea-anchor.
“I’ve got it!” She leapt to the front of the boat and rummaged around a suitcase-sized compartment. Her pulse racing, she grabbed an old piece of sail, a ten-inch steel anchor, and some rope as Rohan looked on.
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t distract me.” Rushing over the deck, she secured one end of the rope to the corner of the sail. Then she looped it through the holes in the sail where the lines would normally attach it to the boat, then tied the free end of the rope to the anchor. Sunlight glinted off its smooth edges as she swung it in a circle before letting go of the line. The anchor soared through the air, taking the rope along with it, and landed in the center of the Kraken’s deck. As Ostap stared at her in confusion, Fiona heaved the old piece of sail over the side. It caught in the water. While the Kraken moved forward, the sail began to fill with seawater, pulling in the opposite direction of the anchor. The weight yanked the steel anchor along the Kraken’s gunnel, snapping a shroud.