-Ripped Sails-

He knew something was wrong when Jordan didn’t respond to his latest quip. Finishing up with the food, he divided it evenly between two large wooden bowls before scaling the ladder to get back on deck. He left the meal behind. If they were in danger, it would only get in the way.

“Jordan?”

She didn’t respond, but as he reached the deck he saw her, sword still covered but held at her side defensively. She was close to the side of The Heightened, peering over the edge without leaning out toward the water. When their eyes met, she gestured him forward with her hand, although she maintained perfect silence.

Suspicious, he crossed the space like a shadow. In the dark Jordan’s hair stood out like a halo, as bright as the sea of stars hovering overhead.

When he was close enough to reach out and touch her, she reached up and put her free hand on his shoulder. A few moments passed before she shifted his shoulder to direct his attention to movement in the Glacian Sea.

All he could see was a silver blur, but that was enough.

Sulfins. We just had to talk about sulfins earlier today.

Dropping into the same stance as Jordan, he reached deep into his very bones with his mind and summoned his Orenda. It reared its head like an intrigued rowder. Encouraging the power forward, he felt the tips of his fingers grow hot and gleam a bright emerald.

He was too far behind in swordplay to run for a sword, and his daggers were too small to discourage full-grown sulfins.

Maybe they would stray, leave the ship behind. Sailors hadn’t seen sulfins for over a hundred years. His comments earlier had been made in jest; the odds of actually encountering the water monsters were slim to none. But that didn’t stop him from gently pulling Jordan to the center of the ship, away from the dark edges and the things that swirled below.

And a mere hour or two before we’ll arrive at Hyasin.

He fought back the urge to rue their bad luck. If he expended his unique relationship with storms and the elements in a fight with sulfins, he wouldn’t have the strength to get them to Hyasin. And there would be no loitering beneath the lighthouse, waiting for Callan’s gift to return. Flage was not a docile person—if they didn’t reach his domain and introduce themselves, they might be swallowed by the sea.

After all, Callan’s first visit had been by accident, a freak incident that could have resulted in his death.

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But Flage had demanded that if Callan found the sun he would return, and bring her with him. Flage’s gift over the storms and seas had made it possible, but the promise was unbreakable.

Callan had easily made the deal.

His thoughts were jerked back to the present as another silvery form broke through the black surface a couple feet from them. Jordan was facing the opposite direction, and from the look on her face she’d seen at least one other sulfin erupting through the sea on that side as well.

The Heightened had stumbled into a nest. A nest of creatures that hadn’t shown themselves for decades. Callan had spent enough time on the water in the past few weeks to know what was common, things to avoid and places to skirt. Flage’s gift made sea travel almost as simple as strolling through a field or forest, but even with the gift, facing a pack of sulfins caused the hair on the back of Callan’s neck to stand on end.

Even now, as more and more silver shapes broke through the sea like flesh-and-blood waves, Jordan’s sword remained sheathed, its shine masked. How would she respond if and when the creatures attacked? Would she remain firm? Or would she unsheathe the weapon in self-defense?

***

At some point, she and Cal had positioned themselves so they were back to back. She could feel the heat coming off his fingers even from a distance as he summoned his Orenda. Emerald—the color of strength, power. A rare form of Orenda.

Jordan feared the bright slash of color in the blackness would summon the creatures, but she knew deep down that wasn’t the case. She hadn’t been entirely honest with Cal—there was another reason she had chosen a place as isolated as the Landing. Ever since she became a full-fledged Forlorn and discovered the sunsword, trouble had stalked her like her shadow, always right on her heels. The Landing had been isolated enough that she’d been mostly undisturbed.

Without warning, something massive struck the bottom of the ship, knocking Jordan off her feet and her sword out of her hand. The entirety of The Heightened rippled like a rockslide. Callan had been knocked to the deck as well, his emerald-clad fingers illuminating his large form in the darkness.

As unexpected as the crash had been, the following silence scared her more. Until she reached for her sword and saw the familiar glint of the blade, shrugged partially free from its sheath during her fall. Lunging forward, she shoved the sword back into its sleeve right as the air rent with a dozen cries that screeched like metal on metal, crackling the air. Flashes lit up the sky, brighter and hotter than typical lightning strikes.

She was back on her feet—Cal had pulled her up. The sea had become a boiling pot, the sky shooting down spears of rain that stung when it hit her exposed skin. Lightning flashed every couple seconds, disorienting her and blazing even through her half-closed eyelids.

That same cry again, like two rocks grinding each other to powder, two swords breaking against each other, a sound that dug into her teeth and pierced her head.

And among the jagged fangs of light, massive silver bodies, converging on the ship in unison.

Then wood was falling, splinters and beams crashing like hail. She dropped to the deck, covering her head with her arms, pulling her body into a tight ball. Nicks and cuts from the broken wood, then a whipping sound.

Casting her head up, she saw the ripped sails, waving mournfully like a white rag of surrender.