I am the deadliest thing in this ocean. I will not let panic consume me. I have nothing to fear in death.
Except, Alosa gave me a job to do. I have not yet done it. I cannot die before I save those girls.
I try to bend my arms and legs. The ropes are too tight at my wrists. My legs have little sway from the weight of iron bound to them. Thinking to pick up the iron and take it with me, I reach for it, but it’s far too heavy to budge.
I search the seabed, looking for something sharp, but there is nothing in sight save a bit of seagrass.
I have to find a knife.
Bending myself in half, I try to feel for where one single weapon could be. Those men couldn’t have found them all. I own fifteen knives, damn it.
And then, at my side, I feel the pressure of steel digging into my skin. I twist my arms, trying to reach for it, fingers scratching against my clothing. Eventually, the tip of one finger presses against steel, the pommel of the dagger. I try to grasp the edge with my fingernail, but I always keep them short and can’t get a grip.
A fish half my size swims in front of me, and I nearly scream from the surprise of it. With the scant light, it looks brown with no remarkable features, save its sheer size. It circles me once curiously before moving on.
I try again for the knife, twisting until my muscles burn and my fingers cramp. But finally, my fingers pinch at the hilt, and I pull it free.
Another ten minutes and I have my hands free of the ropes. In just two more, I have my feet free of the iron weight. I push for the surface, swimming fast as I kick my legs.
When my head breaches, I gasp in a hard gulp of air, despite not needing the extra burst of oxygen. My stomach sinks as I look ahead, seeing nothing but endless ocean on the horizon.
When I turn, I feel sick because there is still nothing. I’m in the middle of nowhere. With nothing. Just emptiness above and beneath me.
This is a nightmare.
Except it’s not.
I know it’s not. Because I am fully alert, fully aware of myself. I may be different, but I am present. No dream is this real.
Across the horizon, the sun is close to setting. I’ve never been afraid of the dark before, but it’s never been combined with the void of an ocean beneath me. It is so very quiet except for the softly moving water breaking against my skin.
I want to scream. I want to look down, for fear of what else could be below me. I’d estimate that a good thirty feet of water waits between me and the ocean bottom.
I am not afraid.
I will not be afraid.
I am what people fear.
And then I see it. Far, far in the distance to my right. A stripe of green.
Land.
Those bastards sailed me out here, dumped my unconscious body overboard. What had they said? Something about putting me where he couldn’t find me? Well, I’m going to find him. I’m going to find them. They’re all going to pay.
For there is nothing I excel at more than vengeance.
I start to swim. One arm in front of the other, kicking my feet behind me. I push my limbs as fast as they will go, swimming as though something were chasing me.
After what feels like an hour but is surely no more than fifteen minutes, my limbs are too tired to move any farther. Too limp to even hold me up. I start to sink below the ocean’s surface. And somehow, I’m still breathing as though oxygen were flowing into my lungs normally.
It feels wrong. I’m wrong. Threydan did something to me, and he needs to fix it.
I focus on nothing but breathing as I hover in the space between air and seabed, waiting for my limbs to regain their strength.
Then I swim for the surface, find land once more, and start the process all over again.
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.