Epic: The Last Light

Chapter Seven

Mariana

The Leaf felt like just that, a leaf. A small insignificant piece of a whole cut off from home, from safety, from life. At port the Leaf was glorious and unstoppable, with sails like the wings of a white dragon and a hull made of the finest Elvish wood that shined gold and pearl white. In the safety of the harbor the merchant vessel had floated like a cloud over calm waters, but here, far from shore, among the massive waves that blocked out the horizon, the Leaf was nothing more than an insignificant leaf from the trees it was carved from. A leaf where it didn't belong, at the mercy of the ocean.

Mariana felt every wave—every rise, and crest, and dip. They had been at sea just over a day, and she spent every moment bracing herself on the floor and bowing before a bucket as if it were the Allfather.

Kai hadn't left her side. She expected him to visit with the crew, or at least escape the scent of bile and blood that lingered in the air. Instead, he lounged on the bed poring over old journals he'd kept in his satchel as if nothing were amiss.

"I should have never left," Mariana groaned. She pealed a few strands of hair from her wet face and tried to weave them back into the braids piled on her head. "How long . . . until we come to port?"

"About a week," Kai replied. His voice was distant, as if his mind were far away.

She nodded, wiping her mouth on a rag.

Leaning against the wall she tried to focus on anything but the sway of the small room and the roll of her stomach. The copper lantern hanging from the roof gently rocked, the stars shining through a small window on the right wall bobbed with each wave. Only the small bed built into the wall and Kai on it remained constant. She eyed the book in his hands, a small journal with worn leather bindings and symbols she'd never seen before etched into the cover. His dim red gaze scanned over the pages. He read so fast . . . no, he wasn't reading, he knew the words. Kai was searching for something. The leaves were old, crisp and dry, making soft scraping sounds against his fingers as he turned page after page after page.

"What are you—" Mariana began, paused, and then quickly swerved back to her bucket in time.

Heavy footsteps settled on the wooden floor and then crossed the room. Kai pulled open their cabin window—a small square as wide as his shoulders—letting the sea wind howl into the room.

Mariana breathed in the cool, crisp air. It chilled the sweat on her brow, and she shivered.

Kai took the bucket from her and scrunched his nose. He emptied it out of the window then offered it back. She took it, cradling it like a child would a blanket.

He moved to close the window, but Mariana grabbed the hem of his trousers. His ominous eyes lowered to her. Mariana worked her throat, unsure if shaking her head or talking would be worse.

"Some fresh air would be nice," Kai said.

The corner of her mouth pulled up into a weak smile, and her hand slipped from the worn fabric covering his leg. Of course, Kai had that strange way of knowing what she thought. She suspected that would get annoying one day, but now she was grateful.

"Kai." A hushed voice came from the door. "Open up."

"One moment," Kai called.

Kai removed Mariana's cloak from the trunk attached to the end of the bed and draped it over her shoulders. She curled up in its folds, feeling the soft wolf fur on her bare arms, but its warmth wouldn't chase the chill away from her skin.