Page 11 of Quarter Labyrinth

Two days. We couldn’t even sail to half the islands in two days. Aksel knew that though, and he set out anyway. It must be close enough to reach.

Close enough for him to reach. We’d need a few hours beyond that.

“None of the Seaweeds know how to handle the Silver Wings, nor the Shallows. It’d be wasted upon them.”

“You’re a Seaweed,” Clark pointed out.

I shot him a look. “Do you plan to return to your family on Haven?” It took him a long time before shrugging. “Well, if you don’t, then you’re a Seaweed too.”

He quieted at that. I’d never been bothered by the term. Seaweed was a tenacious thing and provided most of the nutrients Mother and I survived on for years. None of the other Seaweeds I ran with were bothered by the term either. It’d more than defined us. It’d given us a community, one almost as strong as family. But Clark had been a Pearl. Borderline one, but a Pearl nonetheless.

To give it up and become a Seaweed would cost some of his pride.

He sucked in enough air to fill his chest, then let it out slowly. “I hear most Seaweeds don’t make it into the labyrinth. They battle each other on the outside, but few make it through the gates.”

I’d heard that too. The borders of the labyrinth were lined with Seaweeds who couldn’t figure out a way in, and who never made it back home. The Pearls always won.

“We’ll make it,” I said. “Aksel’s turning again.” I adjusted the rudder three knots, then checked the skies.

Interesting. I’d noted it before, but it became more evident during the day. Aksel used the stars to navigate, as any good sailor would. But a few stubborn stars refused to leave when night melted away, and they were shifting in a way that they shouldn’t. When they turned, Aksel followed.

The stars were dim. I had to squint to see the barest outline. But they were there, and they were guiding him.

A swell caught against the skiff, swaying us to the side. My box of letters slid across the ground.

At the same moment, Clark and I both reached for it.

The swell rose.

With our shifted weight and the toss of the sea, we were helpless to stop the turn of our boat. In one swift motion, we were upended into the sea.

Clark screamed, something cracked like wood against bone, then we both hit the water.

SEVEN

It’d been cold above water, but it was freezing below. The chill sank like ice beneath my skin, seeking purchase in the cracks of my ribs as it reached thin, icy fingers toward my lungs. I kicked, stretching for the surface.

A glint of gold sank to my right, and suddenly I couldn’t see anything else. Only the shape of my treasured wooden box as it carried Father’s notes to the bottom of the sea. Panic rose within me.

My muscles flexed, ready to dive after it, before a new sightcame from the left.

Clark, dazed and disoriented, drifted away in the current.The crack. The skiff must have connected with his body as they both tipped over. He’d never been much of a swimmer, but right now he looked ready to drown. His limbs flailed sluggishly, his eyes half-closed and dazed, like he didn’t know which way was up, while the current pulled him away.

My father’s notes sank further.

Without them, how could I prove who I was? Who would believe that I’m the rightful heir to the Shallows without those notes to say so? It wasn’t much, but without them, I had nothing.

Losing them felt like losing him.

We hadn’t the money for fine things like books growing up. Instead, Mother read me those notes as I fell asleep, filling my mind with tales of the deep and her life on the seas with Father, when they’d sneak her aboard so none could know they were courting and he’d whisk her off from adventure to adventure. Adventures that they promised one day would include me. Those notes had promised too.

Now, those notes were falling further away.

Shoving against the lump in my throat, I rose to gulp in air, then dove back down.

The box glinted once more, almost like saying goodbye.

Then it was gone, and I was swimming after Clark.

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