have to cover. How will we find them in this huge expanse of gray? Luck, fate, and mercy will all have to be on my side if we’re to spot Bran, Paul, or the sea wolves that are supposed to guide us to them. “Sea wolf” is the old name for a killer whale-orca. How, exactly, are they supposed to help, and why didn’t I think about any of this before I sent us off on this crazed mission?
The gulls mew as they wheel away and I wonder why they’ve chosen now to abandon us. What do they know that we don’t? The sight of them disappearing into the distance leaves me ill at ease.
The hours drift away. Dusk falls as we continue north. Helen rubs her eyes. “We need to find a place to camp,” she says. “It’s not safe out here after dark, not without proper night gear.”
Cedar leans into the dodger. “Over there looks pretty good,” he says, pointing toward a cove.
Helen nods and shifts gears, the whine of the engine dropping to a low thrum.
We are far from people now. If something happens to us, there’s no one to know. I should have been better prepared for this.
Helen shuts off the engine as she points the skiff toward the shore and lets it coast through the shallows, as close to the shore as the hull will allow. “Tide’s on its way out,” she says. “We’ll have to wait for it to come back in before we can leave.”
Cedar digs a fishing rod out from under a seat while I jump down into the water and wait for Helen to throw me the mooring line. “I’ll see if the salmon are biting,” he says as he straddles the rear gunwale. “You probably didn’t bring food for me.”
I hardly brought food for Helen and me, but I don’t say so. I just nod and wonder how much fresh water we’ve got as I make my way up to the shore and tie the line around a solid old stump. Helen seems to read my thoughts, and brings two empty water jugs with her. “There’ll be water here somewhere with all these maples,” she says as she points above us.
She heads off into the woods while I gather wood for the fire. Cedar has a little luck on the boat. He bludgeons something and then starts casting out again.
By the time Helen returns, the fire is going. Cedar joins us, bringing two small salmon with him. “I should have fished while we were out in open water,” he says with an apologetic shrug. “These guys are pretty small. Feel kind of bad taking them.”
“They’re great,” Helen says shyly. “Thanks.” She splits them and sets them to roast on cedar boughs, and soon we’re picking pieces off and sucking the juice from our fingers.
“How do you think you’ll find them?” Cedar asks after he sets the fish bones back to the ocean and we all give thanks.
I stare out to where the water is turning purple. “I don’t know. All I know is that we’re looking for killer whales. Where we find orcas, we find Paul and Bran.” I pull Madda’s spirit stone out from beneath my shirt. “But this seems to help too.”
Cedar whistles. “Where did you get that?”
“Long story.”
Helen’s staring at it with widened eyes, and I tuck the stone back under my shirt. She and Cedar exchange enigmatic looks. “The Elders won’t like that you’ve got it,” Helen murmurs.
“They don’t have much choice.” The spirit stone warms my skin. “And when we find what we’re looking for, I doubt they’ll object. Besides, let them try to take it from me. We’ll see what happens then.”
The tide goes out, leaving the sea bottom exposed, a graveyard of rocks and barnacles. We light firebrands and go exploring, looking for crab hidden under the kelp. Salt and seaweed scent the air, an intoxicating perfume. Soon we’re punch-drunk on it, stumbling into tidal pools, falling into one another, giggling. Cedar stubs his toe on a barnacle and swears as Helen and I wade in the shallows. Luminescence clusters around our ankles and we take to kicking water high in the air, creating our own falling stars.
“We should go skinny-dipping,” Cedar says.
We both stop and look at him. The moon casts his face in shadows, highlighting his eye-sockets so I can see what he’ll look like when, one day, his body is lifted into the canopy of the forest to be scourged by the wind.
“No,” Helen says as she starts kicking the water again. A heron fishing nearby grows tired of our antics and flies away, squawking at us.
“So? Cass? What do you think?” Cedar says.
“It’s pretty cold,” I say, though even if it weren’t, there’s no way I’d skinny-dip with Cedar.
He shrugs and peels off his shirt, but when he unbuttons his shorts, Helen and I run off, making our way back to the fire. Cedar is no more than a black shadow from there.
Helen holds her hands out to warm them. “He isn’t all bad,” she says. “He’s just… not good, either. I don’t know what he’ll do when he realizes he isn’t going to have you, Cass.”
I stare out into the night, listening to the waves. They’re a long way off. “I know.”
“I’ve known Cedar all my life. He’s my cousin, did you know that? We grew up together. He’s always been a bully, but he’s… different… when he’s around you. It’s almost like he wants to try.” She shrugs. “Like he’s hoping he could change. If you wanted him to.”
Helen nods. “I know. I think he does too, but it doesn’t mean he’s stopped hoping.” She stirs the fire. “Hope’s a pretty powerful thing.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I know.”
We sit in silence for several minutes, me thinking about what to do about Cedar, and Helen-who knows what she’s thinking about. Every time I’ve seen her near Cedar, she’s looked as terrified as a mouse before a cat, but which Cedar? Cedar now, or Cedar past, or some Cedar yet to come? Is it just him, or all men? I wish I knew.
Above us are the three stars of Orion’s Belt-Mintaka, Alnilam, Alnitak. The last time I saw them was the night Paul and I sat on the windowsill at our house, before we left for the Island. The stars look different now, bright and shiny, like someone spit-polished them, and I realize Helen’s right. Hope’s a pretty powerful thing, and taking hope away from a person is the surest way to destroy him.
We decide to sleep by the fire, but Helen gives up, abandoning the warmth of the flames for the silence of the skiff because of Cedar’s snoring. I consider the same thing, but I’m caught in an awkward place. If I leave, Cedar might think I’m snubbing him, but if I stay, I’m never going to fall asleep and right now, sleep is the thing I need most.
I sit up and add a little wood to the fire, but when I lie back down, I find Cedar watching me. “What’s up?” I say, unnerved by the intensity of his gaze.
He doesn’t reply, so I turn my back on him, gazing out to the ocean as he shuffles under his blanket. Somewhere out there is Bran. I can feel it. The spirit stone can feel it. Maybe tomorrow will be the day. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll find Paul. Maybe tomorrow, we’ll be together again. Maybe tomorrow, they’ll be safe.
The moon casts a spotlight on the ocean, a straight, brilliant beacon that leads right to me. How could they miss it? The heavens are conspiring with me for a change, and if they’re on my side, how can I fail?
I draw in a deep breath and realize that Cedar’s snoring hasn’t returned. The hair on the back of my neck lifts as I roll over and find him crouching right beside me.
“You okay?” he whispers.
“Oh. Yep. I’m fine.” I give him a quick smile. “Just watching the moon.” A cold sweat breaks on my brow. Something bad is about to happen.
He sits down so close to me that we’re almost touching, and then reaches under my blanket, putting his hand on my thigh. I reach down, pick up his hand, and put it on his own leg. He returns it to mine, and I return it to his. “I think it should stay there,” I say, giving his hand a light pat.
“Give me a break,” he murmurs. “We’re finally alone.”
I sit up and move away, trying to keep things light, friendly. “Not really-Helen’s just over there.”
“That’s not what I mean, Cassandra.” The way he says my name, my full name, makes me realize this is really serious. He’s not just making a pass at me. He’s got something in mind.
I’m suddenly aware of his physical presence. There’s a musky scent about him that I’ve never noticed before, and his bulk looms next to me. I stand.
“Where are you going?” he says. His voice is deep and throaty.
