“I feel like I’m in a cell again,” she said, her chest tightening.
“Just breathe,” said Donnan. “This is the opposite of a cell. It’s a step towards freedom.”
“Thank you, Donnan. For coming with me.”
“You’re glad of it?”
“Aye, I’m glad of it.”
Kaetha didn’t know when she had last let herself fall into a deep sleep. When she woke up, she did not feel as though she had slept long. She was lying beside Donnan with her arm over his chest. She blinked a few times, then sprang to her feet.
“Good morning,” he said, getting up too.
The boat lurched, sending Kaetha into Donnan’s arms.
“Careful,” she said as they managed to steady one another. Then she realised what this meant. “We’re at sea.” She grinned and hugged him. “We’re at sea!”
He laughed.
“I hope Tam got on board alright.”
Abel came to get them and, as he led them up onto the deck and into daylight, she told him what name she had decided to travel under.
The crew were busy manouvering the vessel. Kaetha gazed up at the huge sails which bulged in the wind. Turning, she saw Ciadrath shrinking away, the last sanctuary she had shared with her family along with the place that had left her scarred.
“And so we go,” she said, “away from those we love and those we hate.”
“We’ll come back some day,” said Donnan. “With Rhona.”
“Aye,” she agreed, holding his hand. “We’ll return.” She smiled as Tam, in mouse form, scuttled into a crate of grain sacks. Watch out for rats, she thought.
The sails rippled, then a blast of air smoothed them out, speeding the ship along. The air was cold, crisp and salty. To Kaetha, it smelt like freedom. She looked up, a tingling tracing her neck. Thank you, friend, she thought, sensing Gaoth flying unseen, the fair wind to their sails.
I hope we meet again, he thought back to her.
She nodded.
Wobbling a little with the motion of the waves, she and Donnan made their way to the bow of the ship.
“Mairi Trylenn?” said a short, muscular member of the crew who approached them.
“Aye?” she said.
“Compliments of the captain,” he croaked, handing each of them a cup. “We all have a dram to start the journey, for good luck.”
Donnan raised his cup. “Good luck.”
She tapped his cup with hers. “What’s for us won’t go by us,” she said, just as her father had on their first drink together on their journey to Braddon what seemed like a lifetime ago. The whisky was like fire going down her throat, warming her against the chill air. The ship veered in an easterly direction. Ahead of them, the sea gleamed in the pale morning sun, like the hot steel of a weapon being forged.
