Soren waited until he couldn't hear people on the Wanderlust anymore. Once he was sure Toliver wasn't going to come back and check, he slid off the bed and knelt beside it, so that his bound and cuffed wrists could reach his neck.
He hooked the cord with one finger and tugged it out from under his tunic. Even though he had known it was there, seeing the key tumble into his hand shot relief through him. Soren unlocked the cuff then sprung to his feet and darted across the captain's quarters to Tanden's desk.
There was a knife in the top drawer. Soren held it awkwardly in his right hand and sawed at the ropes around his wrists. There was a new noise outside, one he couldn't quite place, but he focused on the task at hand. As soon as the ropes fell loose, he grabbed his cutlass from the top of the desk and rushed to the door.
He opened it.
And immediately slammed it closed.
Fire had spread across most of the deck. The wooden door wasn't much of a barricade, but it was something. Soren backed away from it, mind racing.
It was too much fire to put out. The Wanderlust was going to go down.
Soren's gaze darted around the room, at all of their memories and treasures. At everything that was going to be lost. Then his eyes caught on the Crelan sea chest, from the Ziannan wreck. It was watertight. Maybe it was a slim hope, a stupid waste of time, but Soren slid the cutlass through his belt and ran to the chest. Opening it up, he paused for a heartbeat to consider the contents already tucked away inside. All the letters deserved to be saved, but the ship records would have to go. He tossed them aside, then got to work ripping down the maps and drawings that decorated the wall.
Soren shoved them into the chest, wasting no time with neatness. He eyed their other treasures—Morcean masks, the Tallenese painting, a jar of coins, the box that held Tanden's letters to his family.
Soren pulled the box open so quickly its clasp broke. He grabbed a handful of the letters, unsure of which ones he was taking, and pushed them into the sea chest. Some of those letters were from Tandar, and even if they weren't exciting letters themselves, Tanden would cherish his brother's handwriting. With that the chest was full, and Soren latched it closed.
Smoke was pouring in under the door. He started to cross the room again when there was a creaking groan above him, and suddenly he was thrown to the floor as the Wanderlust's mizzenmast smashed through the ceiling. He scrambled to his feet, away from the flames, hugging the sea chest.
Another crash tipped the Wanderlust. The mainmast, probably. Soren slammed into the desk, which was bolted to the floor and couldn't move. As he tried to push himself up, a small wooden object thumped against his foot. A little wooden bear.
Soren tucked it into his pocket. A little boy in Tallen Tiya had once said the bear would protect him, and he certainly needed protection.
Water was starting to lap at the huge hole in the wall. The bed was on fire. Soren saw movement in a pile of clothing. He blinked at it, puzzled for a moment despite everything going on around him. Then he saw ears.
"Journey!" Soren tucked the chest under his arm and went to scoop up the cat. She protested furiously, but Soren squeezed her tightly, ignoring the claws digging into his arm.
The ship tipped again. Soren managed to keep his balance, braced on the desk. Smoke caught in his throat and he coughed.
The door to the captain's quarters broke open and water rushed in.
"Please, Roe," Soren muttered, starting to climb towards the back of the room, now the highest point. Journey screamed as only a cat could, but Soren kept his hold on both her and the sea chest. He climbed ahead of the water, and when he reached the opening smashed by the mizzenmast, he threw the cat out into the ocean. Then, he jumped after her.
***
He was pleased, when he crawled and stumbled onto the sand, to see Journey bolting into the jungle. Wet and bedraggled, but alive. There was a small victory there, and it was easier to think about saving the cat's life than to turn around and face the Wanderlust's death.
But he couldn't let her sink without watching. Soren was exhausted, his throat rough from inhaling smoke. He forced those discomforts aside and sat up to witness the Wanderlust go down. It was both excruciating and numbing to watch. Their home, their one constant place, their treasures. Those that didn't go up in smoke being swallowed by the ocean.
When she snapped along the middle, Soren felt it like a broken bone. When her stern and the captain's quarters sank, Soren struggled to catch his breath. It wasn't until her bow settled that he realized he should have been more cautious about sitting on the beach in plain view.
He forced himself to his feet and picked up the sea chest. The moonlight and the Wanderlust's remaining flames lit the beach. Soren couldn't see any pirates, but there were bodies, left where they had fallen. Soren needed to inspect them, but the pirate ships were still too close and he would certainly be seen wandering around the beach.
If Toliver wanted him dead, the last thing Soren wanted was to reveal the truth.
Ignoring the bodies for the time being, Soren crossed to the jungle. A few steps in, he found a tree stump and sat down, cradling the sea chest on his lap. He had a good view of the beach, but was hidden from sight. He felt about as safe as possible, given everything that was happening.
But what was he supposed to do next?
Soren watched as the three pirate ships turned and started to sail away. He understood that they were moving, and that Tanden was disappearing, but he didn't know what to do about it. And not knowing what to do, not being able to do anything at all, made it hard to move. He sat on the stump, hugging the sea chest, as sunrise lit up the sky orange—the colour of flames, which seemed fitting. Smoke still drifted into the air from the Wanderlust's exposed bow and foremast. The air smelled like fire, despite a nice sea wind.
Slowly, Soren realized that some of the burning smell was coming from the remains of the beach bonfires. It seemed impossible that so much had happened over the course of one night, but that smell was what finally drove Soren to his feet.
Tucking the sea chest safely away, Soren cautiously wandered out onto the beach. He counted five bodies. The first one he checked was a pirate, a man he didn't know, sightlessly staring at the sky, a jagged wound in his neck. The second, near the water's edge, was one of their men. A young man named Starios, one of the Navirians. Not someone Soren had known well, but he felt a pang of guilt anyway. Soren took the man's arms and dragged his body away from the water, before the rising tide could pull him out to sea.
The third body was Crelan. An older man named Povic who had been on the Wanderlust since her first launch. Soren left him where he was to check on the last two bodies. The fourth was another pirate, and Soren gave the body a wide berth. The fifth had fallen into one of the bonfires, and it took Soren a moment to work up the willpower to pull the man away from the charred wood.
The body was badly burned, completely unrecognizable. Although he felt sick to his stomach, Soren made himself look closely for any identifying markers. He struggled to focus, and not think about how close to had come to this very fate. He tried not to wonder if the man had still been alive when he had fallen into the fire.
When he noticed traces of dark tattoos on the body's left hand, Soren hated the relief that flooded through him. It wasn't Ara. He felt terrible for thinking it, but he couldn't help it. Folti, the only Crelan who's tattoo matched the body's, deserved to be mourned. He and Povic and Starios all deserved more. But for a moment, kneeling beside Folti's burned body, all Soren could think about was that he wasn't Ara. That Tanden was safe on one of those pirate ships. That Jale, Jerios, Roan and Ivern weren't lying on the beach.
The sun was climbing in the sky. Soren's exhaustion was starting to catch up with him, but before he could let himself sleep, he had to do something about his crew.
He moved Folti first, grimacing as he touched flaky black flesh. He carried Folti closer to the water and carefully lay his body beside Starios. Povic was larger and harder to move. It wasn't as dignified as the old Crelan deserved, but Soren didn't have the strength to do any better than to drag his body across the sand to lay beside the other two.
Soren found a slightly cracked tankard and scooped up salt water, then stood at the feet of the three bodies. He ran lines through his head, trying and failing to remember the proper words. He had never actually seen a burial at sea, if this even counted.
Soren cleared his throat and spoke to the bodies and the empty beach. "Povic, Starios, Folti. May the Old God of the Sea welcome you into the ocean—or..." He faltered. Tanden would know what to say. "Starios, I hope your gods greet you, I'm sorry, I can't remember who or where or... I'm sorry." The salt water in the tankard rippled as his hand trembled. "I'm sorry that you were hired by us and dragged into this... 'm sorry that I can't remember the proper words. I'm goin' t' do the best I can, but you all deserve so much more." He took a deep breath, blinked away tears, and tried again.
"Povic, a lifelong sailor, you have earned your place with the Old God of the Sea." He stepped closer to splash some water from the tankard over Povic's face. "Folti, a hardworking deckhand, you have earned your place with the Old God of the Sea." He poured water over the burned face. "And Starios, new to the crew, you have earned your place with your gods." Soren splashed water over Starios' head as well, before tossing the tankard aside.
He stood still, looking down at the bodies for a moment before working up the willpower to get moving again. Crelans were buried at sea. He couldn't remember—wasn't even sure he had ever learned—what Navirians did. But he focused on what he did know and crossed the sand to look for something, anything, that he could turn into a raft.
If he hadn't been so exhausted, he might have noticed the overturned table earlier. Instead, he spent far too long poking around the bonfires, moving sluggishly in the heat. When he finally considered the table, all he wanted to do was lay down in the slim patch of shade it was casting, and rest. But he knew if he stopped, getting back to work would be even harder.
He was just beginning to pull it through the sand when he heard rustling in the jungle. A rush of panic overcame his usual courage, and he ducked behind the table, heart racing. It was far too easy to imagine a jaguar stalking out of the trees to investigate the bodies. Soren clenched his left hand in the sand and rubbed his face with the other. He was too tired for this. Too thirsty and hungry, and—
"Soren?"
Soren went still. It wasn't possible. He must have been much worse off than he thought.
"Soren?"
The voice sounded more real the second time. Soren shifted slowly, moved to the edge of the table and peeked around it. It could have been a talking jaguar and he would have been less surprised by who he saw standing in the middle of the beach. Tentatively, half-afraid he really was imaging it all, Soren stood up.
"Ara?"
Ara was around the table in an instant, his arms tight around Soren's waist, pressing himself as close as possible and speaking Tallenese so quickly even Tanden might have had trouble following it. Soren moved slowly, looping his arms around Ara's back.
Then Ara switched to Teltish, and barely slowed down. "I'm sorry, you don't understand Tallenese but I thought you were all gone and I saw the bodies and last night when they attacked I didn't help, I'm sorry, I ran away and I hid and this morning I heard your voice but I thought I was going crazy and—"
"You and me both," Soren mumbled. "Shh, slow down." He pushed Ara back half a step so he could properly inspect him. Ara was dirty but aside for his jittery energy he seemed fine. The relief of seeing him, after everything else that had happened, was nearly too much for Soren to handle. He swayed on his feet, right hand darting out to steady himself on the overturned table.
Ara took a deep breath. "I'm sorry about the ship."
Soren hadn't looked. All that morning, while looking over the beach and inspecting the bodies, Soren hadn't let his gaze stray out over the water. Every time he caught sight of the Wanderlust's bow, still pointing at the sky, still smoking, he tore his eyes away.
He couldn't look at her. He had to focus on one thing at a time. First, properly deal with the bodies. Then find food and water. Then...
But even as he thought about what had to be done, Ara's presence rearranged his priorities. "We need to find food and water. Then take care of our crewmates. Then... we need to go after Tanden. I just don't know how."
Ara's gaze flickered to Soren's face, then over his shoulder, towards the wreck Soren couldn't bring himself to look at. "What about the Waterborne?"
"What?" Soren finally looked.
Beside the Wanderlust's bow, the Waterborne bobbed in the waves. She was half-swamped, the side that had been lashed to the Wanderlust had been pulled under the water. That was fine, they could bail her out. More importantly, the fire hadn't touched her.
Soren often thanked Roe. It was a Crelan phrase, something he said more so by habit than actually, truly believing the words. This time, he meant them. Completely, whole-heartedly. The Old God of the Sea had done this.
"Thank Roe," Soren whispered.