It's too far down. We all know it is. But there's no time, and it's our only chance. I shove Puka, bleating and protesting, into my shirt. His head pops up out of the collar. The others tell me through the Link what they'd do if they were in control, and I direct them through the actions.

Thrall Picks Saffryn up from her chair and they wrap their arms tight around eachother. Rhetrien grabs her chair and tosses it into the water—that one's my idea, not theirs—but I also let them cast a final look back through the balcony door. Back to where we'd last seen Oz. Pash can't communicate through the Link, but I make her ditch the pieces of armor that are quickest to get off. Howla secures her sword as best she can through her belt and takes a deep breath, her energy beginning to gather and crackle around her again.

Thank the Firstborn for the Surge. That mysterious blessing of desperation that allows even the most ordinary of people to gather unknown reserves of energy in times of absolute need. It's probably the only thing that's gotten me this far. We all circle around her, holding on to whatever part of her we can get a decent grip on.

We jump as one. Howla's energy builds around us as we hurtle through the air, fizzling across my skin, making all my hair stand on-end. There's a sound that I think is a shout—but my hearing's still muffled from earlier damage. Then there's movement from the other side of our cluster.

We're an instant from hitting the water when there's that thundercrack again—and I'm almost grateful my hearing's mostly shot. This time none of us can protect ourselves from it. My ears ring again, Puka's ears ring, and all other sound is lost. But in the next heartbeat, we've reappeared eight paces or so above the water, dropping into it now with hardly any force at all.

The cold of the water goes straight to my bones. My sphere of influence is tiny at this point, and I have to fight hard to keep everyone within it. I thank the Firstborn yet again when I feel something slimy and huge brushing against Rhetrien's leg, focusing on its Ember and into its awareness to find myself possessing the body of something completely limbless. I bring it up beneath us just as I feel Howla's Ember flicker and dim into unconsciousness.

Nothing I do wakes Howla or makes her move, and she's sinking—but I manage to catch hold of her using Rhetrien just before she slips beyond the reach of my control. Every time I focus on Rhetrien's senses, I'm almost distracted, because they don't actually see as I or anyone else does. Rather than sight, their eyes possess a sense I have no name for. A sense that makes life forms stand out in vivid contrast to all else in a way that's hard to describe. A sense that makes it easy to snatch Howla quickly, even with just one hand. And hauling her up to drape over the eel's back is surprisingly easy too—Rhetrien's even stronger than they look.

But Pash is lost to me. As I sense her Ember sinking deep into the fathomless lake—also still with unconsciousness—I begin to put together what happened. Her grip had faltered immediately before Howla bolted us upward, and she must have hit the water at full speed.

There's nothing I can do to help her now.

Tears warm my eyes, and I can feel my own Surge wearing off by the heartbeat while I fight to keep us all clinging to the eel's back as it courses through the water. Getting us as far away from Grailhold as I possibly can, as fast I can. Getting us to the locks. Trying not to think about how thoroughly we've already failed. Because as long as they have Oz, they have control of the Sentinal. And as long as they have some medicine and their supply train intact...they have the others' guards to track us with.

It doesn't matter. We still have to try.

But I'm tired. So tired. And so cold I can barely feel my own fingers. Every few heartbeats, I almost slip somewhere. Almost lose one of my Khajra's grip on the eel. Almost lose control of the eel itself. At one point, I do—and immediately it begins to dive. I feel the others' panic even before they start shouting into the Link, righting the massive creature just before our heads dip beneath the surface.

Past the spray of water, through the haze of exhaustion, I see the orange glow of the lockhouse light in the distance. The many-colored illumination of ship's lanterns and the dark silhouettes of the ships themselves slip across the water in the space between.

Let us be far enough away from the Puppeteer, I pray. I can't hold on much longer.

Two heartbeats later, the lights blur, tilt, and then vanish.

~*~

Someone's singing drunkenly. There are the sounds of creaking wood and sloshing water. I'm damp, but no longer freezing. Wrapped in a blanket, I think. I pry open my eyes.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

There's a greenish emberstone lantern swaying overhead, casting a shifting, sickly light over everything around me. What I have left of my Khajra—Howla, Rhetrien, Saffryn, and Thrall—are huddled around me in the low, cramped space, similarly bundled. I'm up on the cot beside Howla. The others are on the floor. The lantern light slides and refracts off the silvery-gray wood of the ship's cabin in an oddly shimmery sort of way.

Everywhere there are fascinating details—miniature portraits set into the wood, charms hanging from hooks near the porthole, a tiny shrine to the Secondborn Laruna over the foot of the bed. Footsteps thump overhead and someone barks muffled orders. The herbal, slightly sweet scent of the emberstone vapor intermingles with those of old wood and lake water.

I reach out to the Web...but all I can sense there are my Khajra and Puka, who's tucked between me and Howla. It's as if we exist in a tiny bubble, cut off from all else.

"Wha—where..."

"We're on a Skoli ship," says Howla, her voice ragged with exhaustion. The river people. Howla's people.

"Why can't I sense anything outside of here?"

"Istha stallawood," slurs the Ariskolese rhaj, her head slumping against a beam of it. "Old Skoli secret. Sssshhh," she puts a finger to her lips, her eyes unfocused as she grins at me. "But I can tell you, as you are my sw-sweet Khaj-Khaj." Then she slumps the opposite direction, onto me.

"Uuuuh," I throw a panicked glance sideways at the others.

"Today was only the second time she ever used her abilities, and she pushed herself hard," says Rhetrien. "She'll probably be off for a while. Honestly, I'm surprised she's even concious."

"And...stallawood?"

"It's not as secret as she thinks," Rhetrien says. "We Kolikai've have always known about it. A type of wood that grew down in Ariskol, where once there were deposits of stalstone. Used up a long time ago, though. The wood and the stone. It absorbed small amounts of the mineral. It's Mire-resistant, and nothing grows or lives on it to be changed and cause chaos. So they could safely sail them through contaminated water and transport Mire-affected artifacts in them. The last ones were made...what...eighty years after the last Mirefall? A hundred?"

"Ssseventy-five ," says Howla.

"Hopefully they've taken decent care of them," says Saffryn, propped against a chest across from Rhetrien.

"The best!" exclaims Howla. "Skoli do the best caring for our babies."

"Of course they do, dear," says Saffryn sardonically, catching my gaze and rolling her eyes.

"Saffryn, I'm sorry. Your chair—I threw it in because I thought I could use a creature to retrieve it. But I don't have the strength to—"

She puts her hand up, silencing me. "You did what you could. What you had to."

I can tell talking about it is painful for her, so I turn to Rhetrien.

"And, about Oz...I'm so—"

'Let's not talk about it," they say, tone razor sharp. Cutting off everything else I had to say on the matter. I swallow. On to the next thing.

"So, if my abilities are blocked from extending past this space, does that mean the Puppeteer can't get to us too? Or...or track us?"

"Probably yes to the first," says Rhetrien. "As to the second...I don't know. Even I don't fully understand how the beast-eater blood bond works. It was a taboo practice among our people, pre-exodus."

"How far have we gotten? Who exactly picked us up?" I look back to Howla. "Someone you know?"

"I know the family and I trust them. I know all the great Skoli. Only great Skoli have stallaships."

"We're to the third lock, I think," says Saffryn.

"Only ten more to go," adds Rhetrien grimly. "And we can certainly expect to be stopped and searched when we reach the last."

"We have a little over an hour and a half to figure out how to get through that," says Saffryn. "No problem, right?"

She sounds almost plucky.

With all the important apologies and questions out of the way, space opens up in my mind. Enough to let in thoughts of Pash. And just like that I'm sobbing. Thrall's face twists with some unreadable expression.

"What is it, Dha—" he stops signing partway through the title, correcting himself. "Nikessa?"

"Pash. I can't believe we l-lost her."

"Don't dismiss her so fast," says Thrall, a sudden spark in his eye. "One of the beasts she ate was aquatic."

I smile weakly. I can tell he's just trying to cheer me up, but that knowledge alone is nice enough to make me feel a tiny bit better. A very, very tiny bit better.

"So," says Saffryn, clapping her hands together. "Who's got ideas for getting through a search undiscovered? They're bound to use beast-eaters."

"Uuuuh..." I say again. I may not be as out of it as Pash, but my brain feels like its full of fog. Fog and regret.

"We should also start thinking about next moves, if and when we get past inspection," adds Rhetrien. "Coming down on this side of the mountain was never part of the plan—but if I'd known there was a stallawood ship anchored here, it'd have been the first back-up I'd have suggested planning after failing to get the Sentinal. I'm a little surprised our resident Skoli didn't bother to mention it herself."

"I'd have said when it came to it," says the Skoli in question defensively.

"One thing at a time," Saffryn cautions.

There's a heavy thumping outside the door, and a moment later it creaks open. A large man with black skin and masses of coiled, silver-beaded hair peaks in.

"You are...well enough, my Rhajia?" he asks, eyes on Howla. "Is there a thing you need? Any thing?"

"No, my good friend," calls Howla. "W-we are well. Don't worry yourself with us."

"He will do anything that I ask," says the Ariskolese Rhaj after the man I assume to be the captain leaves. "We are lucky to be with my people."

"Howla, maybe try to rest a bit," advises Saffryn, brows knitting together as the other Rhaj sways and hits her head on a beam.

"Hmm, you are clever, my Khaj," she says, wagging a finger at Saffryn before letting her head fall against the stallawood. Her eyes close, and moments later her head lolls to the side.

Saffryn rubs her hands together, eyes bright.

"Alright. Brainstorming time."