Page 75 of Fate of Echoes and Embers
Yet as we got closer, the Crystal’s magic hummed in my chest. It was the opposite of the feeling I had when Lyra whispered to Mev, and later again when I’d been alone with Marek. That had felt… off. As if it were wrong. Unnatural. But this?
I had to be here with him. Somehow, I knew, without me, Marek would not be able to find the Crystal. Or maybe he could find it, but not retrieve it. Or not get out alive. I wasn’t sure how I knew this, but telling Marek I was staying had been a surprisingly easy decision.
The only decision.
“The water feels wrong. This isn’t just a storm. It’s the sea itself rejecting us,” Marek yelled to me.
I understood what he was saying. Though not an experienced sailor like him, or a Thalassari whose lifeblood was tied to the water, I understood.
Why was the magic so welcoming but the sea, just the opposite?
The magic was the Wind Crystal. Powerful, all-encompassing, welcoming.
The sea was just as powerful but it was angry and very much unwelcoming.
And then it hit me.
“The Crystal doesn’t belong there. It’s a curse,” I called to Marek. “A wound that won’t heal until it’s removed. Itwantsto be removed. The sea is rejecting it.”
I struggled to keep the wheel steady. Struggled to listen to Marek’s advice. But the waves, the wind… everything was fighting against me. Against him.
“We’ll never survive the Depths if we don’t retrieve it. But if we stay too long…”
“I cannot hear you,” he yelled.
I turned to watch.
Marek’s eyes were closed, his hands were raised, palms facing the water. For a moment, the storm seemed to pause, the waves shifting as if responding to him. But they didn’t calm. The waves writhed beneath us, defiant and alive with the magic of the Depths.
“It’s rejecting us,” I whispered to myself, feeling the truth of it in my bones. “The sea knows the Crystal doesn’t belong here,” I yelled to him.
The winds howled, and the ship groaned beneath us as if the wood was being torn apart by the storm’s fury. We were going to die here. Draven would take Hawthorne. My people would suffer. The Gate would remain closed.
No.
I shook my head.
No. This cannot be happening.
I struggled to remain standing, the force of the waves wanting to rip the wheel from my fingers. I thought of Marek’s early instructions to me.
“Don’t fight it, Marek,” I called over the roar. “We need to listen. Let it guide us.”
Marek’s gaze shifted to me, his jaw clenched, the strain of holding back the water visible in his face. “I won’t let it take you,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.
The ship shuddered.
“If we fight it, we lose.”
He was silent for a long moment, the only sound the deafening crash of waves against the hull. Then, with a harsh exhale, Marek stepped forward. “Hold fast,” he said, his voice steady.
I twisted the wheel, steering us in the direction of the Crystal.
“That way,” I called, pointing.
The water buckled beneath us. Marek was at the railing beside me now. His hand shot out, manipulating the waves around us, parting them like a curtain. The space between us and the Crystal grew smaller, but the closer we got, the stronger the pull became.
And then, through the blackness of the storm, I saw it. The Wind Crystal. A bright blue-and-white beacon, bouncing up and down with each wave, but never sinking or even moving positions, as if it were anchored from below.
