Annihilation - Book Three

Chapter 1

The boat rolls and sways in the angry sea; I quietly write, for it is the only thing I have to do to entertain myself on this godforsaken ship. After disowning my friends and forbidding them from disturbing me, I lay on my stomach, staring out the tiny window as I tapped my pencil in frustration on the paper. 

I'd counted slats in the creeky and aged roof, pondered the fire that flickered in my lantern, and attempted to allow the ocean to rock me to sleep; it had done little to bring me any rest.

When I think about how hard he clutched me, dragging my fingers over the smooth texture of my lips as I envision the way he watched me. "Asshole." I seeth, throwing the journal against the wall and tangling my fingers in my hair.

I expected to feel sad, hurt, and perhaps even betrayed that he would do something so selfish. Yet, the longer I allow myself to wallow in the ache, the closer I get to the surface; my ability to rally has improved dramatically over the last year. Selfishness was not what drove him, and he desired to put me on this boat and get me as far away from the front lines as he could. 

Verando was selfless for his people; whenever I think of his arms around me, I think of how desperately he wanted to stay. I had to follow suit; I needed to get back to Dezna as fast as possible; I couldn't squander this headstart. 

I play the scenarios over and over in my head. Each one ends in one of us dying; the cloud of despair hovers over me like a heavy, wet blanket. I would sacrifice myself if I could be assured of his survival; I would save him, only for him to throw himself back into the flames. This isn't something that a single act would solve; we have to find out who is behind this, and that answer is in my castle. 

When my room's nothingness didn't otherwise occupy me, I watched the map and tried to decipher how many days it would take to reach the second port and, from there, how long it would take to get home. It had been a three-day ride to Novadari, and we were going further down the coast. Each time I attempted to plot the course, I became frustrated by my lack of ability to judge distance. 

"Just stay alive," I tell him, sighing as one of the crewmen reports that dinner is ready. My desire to eat has dwindled to almost nothing. Concern racked my brain, questioning if the man who'd leaped to his practical death was taking the time to feed himself. If I knew him, I'd say he'd reverted to every other day. 

 My mind trails to the maimed bodies, the brute force of Marcus destroying the party, and the vision of Verando being killed if I had not knocked Marcus out. At this point, I don't think I can allow his age to make excuses for him. He's not old as I like to pretend, he's injured.

 I dissect his gait, seeing the various abnormalities from the copious beatings he's endured over his life. His scarred body is explicit in my mind, the stiffness in his cracked shoulder and the lack of flexibility through his damaged leg. 

I swallow and push it out of my mind. Pacing, I'm left thinking over my options. This is a three-week voyage; who knows where the water sickness disease will be when we return? Who knows where he will be? The world is massive, and finding him was pure luck last time. 

How does this virus even spread? Is there any hope? 

The book pulses like a heartbeat, begging for my attention. I glance at it, and my legs move on their own as my vision blurs. Rubbing my eyes, I see visions of my dragon and how I pulled the blood from Taryek's body flash in my mind. My blood-spattered hands appear before my eyes, and it's as if I'm watching someone else fight.

 Before I know it, I'm in front of the book, the blessed cloth clutched in my hand. I can think of nothing else; it calls me. Nicolas. I can hear it clear as day. The fingers of magic reach for me, so innocently caressing my aura and asking for that contact.