the shadow and bone

chapter 2

THE MORNING PASSED in a blur: breakfast, a brief trip to the

Documents Tent to pack additional inks and paper, then the chaos of the

drydock. I stood with the rest of the surveyors, waiting our turn to board

one of a small fleet of sandskiffs. Behind us, Kribirsk was waking up and

going about its business. Ahead lay the strange, shifting darkness of the

Fold.

Animals were too noisy and scared too easily for travel on the Unsea, so

crossings were made on sandskiffs, shallow sleds rigged with enormous

sails that let them skate almost soundlessly over the dead gray sands. The

skiffs were loaded with grain, timber, and raw cotton, but on the trip back

they would be stocked with sugar, rifles, and all manner of finished goods

that passed through the seaports of West Ravka. Looking out at the skiff's

deck, equipped with little more than a sail and a rickety railing, all I could

think was that it offered no place to hide.

At the mast of each sled, flanked by heavily armed soldiers, stood two

Grisha Etherealki, the Order of Summoners, in dark blue kefta. The silver

embroidery at their cuffs and the hems of their robes indicated that they

were Squallers, Grisha who could raise or lower the pressure of the air and

fill the skiffs' sails with wind that would carry us across the long miles of

the Fold.

Soldiers armed with rifles and overseen by a grim officer lined the

railings. Between them stood more Etherealki, but their blue robes bore the

red cuffs that indicated they could raise fire.

At a signal from the skiff's captain, the Senior Cartographer herded me,

Alexei, and the rest of the assistants onto the skiff to join the other

passengers. Then he took his place beside the Squallers at the mast, where

he would help them navigate through the dark. He had a compass in his

hand, but it would be of little use once we were on the Fold. As we crowded

on deck, I caught a glimpse of Mal standing with the trackers on the other

side of the skiff. They were also armed with rifles. A row of archers stood

behind them, the quivers on their backs bristling with arrows tipped in

Grisha steel. I fingered the hilt of the army-issue knife tucked into my belt.

It didn't give me much confidence.

A shout rang out from the foreman on the docks, and crews of burly men

on the ground began pushing the skiffs into the colorless sand that marked

the farthest reaches of the Fold. They stepped back hurriedly, as if that pale,

dead sand would burn their feet.

Then it was our turn, and with a sudden jolt our skiff lurched forward,