She saw him. Tor wondered how he felt about that. He teetered between being angry at having been watched and grateful that even when he thought he was the only person on Emblem Island who knew what it was like to love the sea, he hadn’t been alone.
“It’s how I knew where to go when they attacked.” She didn’t drop his gaze. “It’s how I knew I could trust you.”
Later that night, after dinner, Tor fell asleep hoping he could trust her, too.
* * *
Tor awoke refreshed. He had slept peacefully, without a visit from the Night Witch. He had even slept through Engle’s nightmares.
He knocked on his friend’s door, planning to speak to him in private before going upstairs. But there was no reply. He waited for a few moments before heading up to the deck, where he found Engle at the helm, scouting.
“Nothing yet,” Engle said as he approached, grinning at him like he didn’t have a care in the world. “But Vesper says we’re close.”
The waterbreather sat a few yards away, a miniature version of her colorful map spilled onto the deck before her.
No sign of Melda. Tor asked the ship for some quick breakfast of banana hazelnut muffins and canela tea with cream. He was at the hatch that led below, about to bring some down for Melda, when she surfaced.
“Thanks,” she said curtly, taking the pastry from him, but not taking a bite.
“Melda, do you want to—” Before he could ask if she wanted to speak to Engle further, there was a yell from the upper deck.
“You better get up here, Captain Luna!” Engle yelled, mouth clearly full.
A distant field of mountainous spikes laid out before them, like a sea monster barring its teeth from beneath the sea. Tor stared silently at the jutting rocks. They seemed to grow taller the closer they got.
And they were getting closer quickly.
The ship rushed at the Devil’s Mouth at full speed, tugged toward it like the pull of a waterfall. Too fast, it would be nearly impossible to navigate through the labyrinth so quickly. Tor closed his eyes and pulled on his connection with the ship, trying to slow it down. His back teeth ground together painfully with the effort. But a current had quickly swept the ship into its hands, whisking it right toward the deadly maze.
That’s what made it so dangerous, Tor thought—not only how close the sharp rocks were together, but the speed at which they would have to face them.
Steps clattered behind him, then Melda was at his side. Her expression turned grim. “Right, then. Let’s prove this fortuneteller wrong.” She turned to him. “Tor, you control the ship, which means you can’t hesitate. Move around the rocks as quickly and accurately as you can. Consider the current, the wind, the speed, everything.” She turned again. “Engle, while Tor focuses on what’s right in front of him, you look ahead. Make sure there aren’t any surprises he needs to know about.” She winced. “Since you’ve only been sailing a couple days, it’s very possible we’ll have a collision. I’ll see about finding anything to treat leaks.”
She disappeared below, and Tor focused ahead.
They had officially entered the Devil’s Mouth. Rocks like giant swords jutted out of the water, high into the sky, mountains cut into slices and used to form a labyrinth. Crashing into just one would undoubtedly sink their ship.
And there were dozens.
An ancient shipwreck laid tangled to Tor’s right, a mighty vessel now just a skeleton wedged between two rocks, its sails tattered. White birds were perched on what was left of its mast, cooing sharply.
“Tor,” Engle said.
He steadied himself, both feet planted heavily against the deck, head tilted high. He hummed, fishing for the connection of the boat, and, right on cue, the ropes that had once trapped him flew through the air, then wrapped around his limbs, one by one. This time, instead of being a puppet, he felt like the puppet master.
“Ready?” Engle said.
Tor nodded.
Before he could blink, the ship lurched in the unforgiving current and all he saw was rock—thick as the helm and tall as their mast. He pulled his left arm down, the rope going taut, and the ship moved at the last moment, the rock scrapping loudly against its side.
Engle made a face. “That’ll leave a mark,” he said.
The vessel swayed in the path of another rock, this one thin and tall as a tower, and Tor dodged it more easily, missing it completely. Ahead, two more jutted from the sea just yards away from each other, both a hundred feet high. It was too late to go around them both, the current knocking the ship around like they had been sucked into the center of a storm. Tor gripped the ropes hard and charged forward—toward the narrow space between them.
Engle gulped. “You think we’ll fit?”
Tor gritted his teeth. “We have to.”
He focused, sweat dripping down his temples as the rocks neared. Closer. And closer. He steadied the ship, maneuvered it carefully, tipping it this way and that, testing the current and grip, making sure it would clear the rocks and—
A wave came out of nowhere, knocking them violently to the side, right toward one of the rocks.
Before the starboard side of the ship could shatter, the rock simply disappeared. Except no, it was still there—just made so small, the ship went right over it with a slight bump.
Tor whirled around to see Vesper, hand outstretched, panting. “I can’t do that again, not for a while.” She slumped down to the deck. “You’re on your own now.”
Engle grabbed Tor’s shoulder. “Watch out!” He yanked Tor’s arm like it was a wheel, and they barely missed another rock, just a few feet tall, but solid and sharp enough to shred the bottom of the ship like scissors across fabric.
Tor nodded thanks to his wide-eyed friend. Then, he swallowed.
Ahead stood a wall of rocks like a row of daggers, too close together to navigate around.
And the current pulled
