Moth

CHAPTER NINE: A FESTIVAL OF FIRE

CHAPTER NINE

A FESTIVAL OF FIRE

After only a few miles, Torin decided that he fully, completely loathed sailing.

Ferius had vanished far in the distance, and Torin felt like his progress was hardly faster than walking. The current kept trying to drag him back toward Fairwool-by-Night, and the wind filled the wrong side of his sail, just as determined to take him back home.

"Tack left, damn it!" Bailey said, standing beside him with her hands on her hips. "Don't sail into the wind, let it hit your starboard side."

Torin grumbled and tugged on the sail, struggling to adjust it. "I am tacking left. The current keeps pulling us the wrong way."

Bailey rolled her eyes and shoved him aside. "Let me do it. Useless gardener boys with their clumsy hands. You're only good at plucking weeds, you are."

He glared at her but let her take the sail. Grumbling, he returned to the rudder and adjusted it. With a few tugs, creaks, and curses, they managed to position their starboard side forward. Amazingly, the boat began to move against both current and wind, sailing toward the southern riverbank.

"See?" Bailey said. "It's not that hard."

"It's amazingly hard," he replied.

She groaned. "It's what these boats do every year. Boats can't just float wherever wind or water take them or they wouldn't be very useful, would they?"

Torin longingly gazed at the riverbank. "I wish we could walk. It would be easier."

"And slower." Bailey moved forward to take the rudder. "Even like this, we're sailing faster than walking. And look at those riverbanks, all thick with rushes and grass and trees. I bet there are snakes in there too."

Torin wouldn't mind trudging through the vegetation; it still seemed preferable to sailing. His hands were raw from tugging the sail ropes, and his stomach churned as the boat swayed. Along the northern riverbanks, he saw rushes, alder trees, and beyond them grassy hills strewn with boulders. Far in the distance, he could make out the green haze of forests. The wilderness of Arden lay there, the ancient kingdom of the raven, the land his father had fought for.

When Torin turned toward the southern riverbank, he saw a different land. The grasslands here flowed into a distant, green and yellow haze. On the horizon, he saw hints of lush forests. Here was a land forbidden to him. The kingdom of Naya lay south of the Sern River, a realm of jungles, warriors clad in fur and leaf, and leashed tigers that fought alongside men.

"Torin, stop sightseeing and help!" Bailey said. "Idar's beard, do you want to hit the Nayan riverbank?"

Muttering under his breath, Torin helped her adjust the sail, bringing the wind against their port side. They began to sail northward, heading back toward the Ardish side of the river, a full mile away from the southern bank.

"Are we going to zigzag the whole way?" he asked. "This will take forever."

"Only until the wind turns in our direction," Bailey replied. "If both current and wind are against us, they're against Ferius too. We're moving just as fast as he is."

Torin wasn't so sure. He gazed ahead along the river, squinted, and shaded his eyes with his palm. He could see no sign of the Sailith monk. He sighed.

"If Ferius reaches Kingswall before us, he'll stir up trouble," he said. "He'll get the king to send armies downriver, and--"

Bailey shushed him and punched his arm. "We'll beat him there."