Page 12 of Quarter Labyrinth

His red hair stuck up all around him, his eyes nothing more than slits that he lifelessly peered through. A small sliver of blood streamed from a cut on his forehead. I wrapped my arms around his narrow frame, pulling hard.

Come on,I begged him.Fight.

He made no response to my touch.

I turned, slinging his body onto my back and holding his arms around my neck, then I kicked hard enough for both of us to rise. The process wasn’t graceful, and it wasn’t quick, but eventually we reached the shadow of our skiff, and our heads came above water.

I swallowed precious air, then jabbed my elbow against Clark.

“Breathe,” I ordered. Then jabbed him again. “Wake up and breathe.”

After my third jab to his chest, he sputtered out water, and all his limbs flailed.

“Stop that right now or we’ll sink!” I spun, grabbing a fistful of his shirt to help keep him up. His wild copper eyes took in everything quickly, while his feet kicked hard enough to crash into me a few times.

“You need to help me flip this back over,” I said, placing a hand against the skiff. It sat sideways, its sail rippling on the sea. Many ships around us could witness our defeat, but none ventured closer to aid. No doubt, they all rejoiced at one less competitor.

We weren’t out yet.

“Grab and flip.”

At the roughness of my tone, Clark obeyed, clawing his fingers against the wooden edge. On my count, we flipped, and the skiff righted itself.

“I’ll hold while you climb in,” I said, bracing my hands beneath the hull.

“You go first.” Clark’s teeth chattered as he spoke, his lips already a pale shade of blue.

“Someone needs to swim after the oars, and that someone should be me. Get in.”

His gaze flickered to our oars as they drifted away, then he obeyed.

Once he’d made it in, I dove after our oars, collecting them one at a time to bring to Clark. He accepted them without a word. Next, I swam after the papayas. When the fifth was collected, I pulled myself back into the boat.

No warmth greeted me. Only dampened spirits, a soaked skiff, and the feeling as if we’d already lost the labyrinth.

“The sail is loosened. I’ll tighten the rigging.” Clark moved as if he had something to prove, prying at every halyard and checking every line. Meanwhile, I checked Aksel’s location.

“Without food or water, we will survive for two days. We can travel one day just fine, then we need to dock somewhere to find fresh water.” Clark wore the expression he always did when he was thinking hard—in this case, determining our odds of survival.

“I’ll dive for seaweed tonight. That’ll help.” I brushed droplets from my eyes. “Worst case, we land at any one of the islands around us and pay for a jug of water and dried meat. I still have my coins, and you have yours.” I patted the bag of coins at my side while gesturing to the larger bag of coins he carried on a string around his neck. I still carried one dagger at my hip, but other than that, we were defenseless.

At the reminder of the coins we still possessed, Clark eased. “Good. We didn’t lose much then.”

He went back to checking the lines. Wind snapped into our sail, graciously carrying us in the right direction, and allowing me a moment’s rest before taking up the oars. We had a day and a half left, and hadn’t the slightest clue of how long we needed to go. Gulls squawked overhead, the sound almost like laughter.

I wouldn’t be one of those who returned home without having found the labyrinth. We would find it.

My hands tightened on the oars, and I started rowing.

Things quieted for a bit. The sun finally rose enough to suck some of the water from our bodies. The ice in my bones melted. My dark hair matted against my neck, thick with sweat and humidity, while Clark’s shriveled into little waves. He’d taken his shirt off to soak up water from the skiff then wring it out, repeating the process for hours until the water no longer soaked our feet. He didn’t put the shirt back on, instead hanging it beside the sail to dry.

Clark’s gasp punctured our silence. “Your father’s notes.”

I faltered in my rowing. Then picked it up again. What was done, was done.

“Ren.” Clark’s hand came to my shoulder, but I shook it off.

“Those notes can’t feed us when we are hungry, and they can’t get us into the labyrinth,” I reasoned. “So they don’t have much value right now. I’m fine.”

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