Tide | Tide Book One (Free Sample)

Four

I didn't know if I could outrun it, but I didn't have a choice. I pushed my feet to move faster, faster, flinging myself around corners at random and praying I would find somewhere to hide or come up with a better plan. Praying I would come across someone with a weapon. Anything. Praying the old gods were listening.

"Get down!" somebody shouted. I didn't know which direction they came from or who it was, but I obeyed. I ducked, sliding into the mud with my momentum, and I heard screeching behind me. I turned in time to see the gleam of a sword and see the dark shape of the tidesperson lunging around it. And then a hand was on my arm, pulling me to my feet, and I followed it without question.

I dared one glance back to see a watchman standing over the tidesperson as it writhed and clawed from the ground. He swung his sword down again, and the creature's scream cut off.

"We need to keep moving. Go," the man who had helped me up said. It took me a moment to place his gruff voice and recognize his stern, familiar face: Edrick's father.

A thousand questions sprang to life on my tongue, but I held them. I could ask them later. None of us spoke as we hurried on our way. A second tidesperson swept around a corner in front of us, but the watchman cut it down in a flash and ushered us past. Another turn and Mr. Catessar stopped and pushed me ahead of him through a doorway. I shoved my way through darkness and when I smelled fresh bread and firewood, I knew we were in the Catessars' bakery. I blinked the rain from my vision before I saw it, drenched in shadow like everything else but dry, clean. The dark form of the oven loomed behind the counters on the far wall. The fire and lanterns had been put out to keep the tidespeople from thinking anybody was inside, and a handful of people sat scattered about on the floor or in the few chairs of the storefront. They were soaking wet, near-identical expressions of terror and shock on their faces. In a corner, Isla knelt before Brielle, cleaning blood from the younger girl's face. I couldn't tell if it was tears or raindrops that dripped down her cheeks, but relief washed over me at the sight of them.

"Isla," I breathed. She looked up and, without warning, rushed across the room to hug me. I returned the embrace with my one good arm, clinging to her longer than I knew was necessary.

"Oh, Hania, I was so scared with you still out there." She pulled back and studied me. "Are you alright? Where's Edrick?"

Mr. Catessar was looking at me too, and it took me a long moment to find my voice again. "I...I don't know. We got separated and he...I don't know." Tears prickled in the corners of my eyes and I blinked them away. I didn't know what had happened to Edrick, or Papa, or Tobin—they could be dead already for all I knew. They could be out there fighting to live.

Isla put an arm around my shoulders and led me to the corner she and Brielle had claimed. "It's alright. We'll find him, and everybody else. What happened to your arm?"

I followed her gaze down to the bloody mess that was my wrist. Now that she mentioned it, the pain hit me with a vengeance, and I sucked in a sharp breath. Five gashes circled around my wrist, bleeding, and I could barely move the arm, my shoulder throbbing and searing. "One of...them caught me. I got away."

She nodded and sat down, dipping her hands into a bucket of bloody water and ringing out a washcloth. "Let's get it cleaned up." I took a seat across from her and let her work, gritting my teeth against the pain. It stung every time she touched the cloth to it, but I kept still the best I could, and let my head fall against the wall. The adrenaline was fading, and as much as I wanted it to stay, to help me, I couldn't stop it. There was nothing more I could do for now.

When she finished, I just watched as she dug through a box of supplies for bandages and wrapped my wrist. Nobody spoke. Isla sat between Brielle and I, and we looked anywhere but at each other. The others taking refuge in the bakery remained just as quiet, the lone sounds the occasional shuffling of somebody finding a more comfortable place to rest. Mr. Catessar and the watchman exchanged a few quiet words before leaving again. I didn't ask where they were going. I didn't need to.