again.
Still she did not look. She remembered watching the first wave roar in, and she wondered how long it would take for her to die. She would feel the water pluck her up, sweep her along, and she would be battered by the broken parts of the village it had already consumed. One beat? Five? She doubted she would drown. The wave promised a more violent death.
She was almost crawling up the steep slope, pushing with her feet and digging her hands into the soil, pulling toward safety.
First wave didn’t reach this high!
But she had seen the massive amounts of water still flowing back toward the sea from that first deluge. And the new wave could be even more powerful than the last.
Kel pulled her roughly over the wall and they were on a path, and he grabbed her hand and ran, dragging her after him, unforgiving when she stumbled, ignoring her cry of pain as she twisted her ankle, his fingers digging into the back of her hand. He kicked down a gate and they ran up the slope of a garden planted with salt-herbs and spice. Other people ran with them—people she had lived with forever—but they were all alone in their panicked race for survival.
They dropped over another wall and Kel kicked at a gate between two tall, thin houses until timber cracked and the gate bowed inward. He pressed through and Namior went after him, and soon they were climbing a terraced fruit garden,tearing through fine nets protecting the fruits from birds. Bizarrely, incredibly, someone opened a window and cursed at them. She wanted to scream at them to flee, but she remembered Kel’s words—
Save your breath and run
—and by the time her conscience pricked her, they were already over another wall and running up a winding, cobbled path.
“Kel …” she said, gasping, her shins and knees burning, ankle aflame from where she’d twisted it. But though she called his name again, the monster the sea had birthed roared too loudly for him to hear.
She fell to her knees and Kel fell beside her. They held each other as the second giant wave blotted out the moon and cast its shadow over the remains of Pavmouth Breaks.
AFTER THE SECOND wave, they returned to Namior’s home. Her mother and great-grandmother were still there, surrounded by survivors who had fled uphill from the ruined and damaged areas below. Her great-grandmother sat close to the groundstone, shivering and crying as she held her hand a finger’s width from its surface. Her mother brewed tea, and between pouring large mugs she pressed a herby paste into an ugly wound on a man’s leg. The groundstone hummed very slightly, and the man groaned as his bleeding ceased.
“Will there be more?” Kel asked, not aiming the question at anyone in particular.
Namior’s mother looked at him, frowning. “Can’t see,” she said. “We tried scrying again before the survivors arrived, but there’s still a blankness there.”
Kel went close to her, talking quieter. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
“Yes,” she said. “Many times. Our eyes are our true sight; anything further is afforded to us by magic. But there’s plenty that can confuse what we see.”
“Anything
exactly
like this?”
She poured bondleaf tea into several more mugs, not looking up at Kel.
“I assume that’s a no.”
“You don’t like what we do,” she said, not scolding, simply stating a fact. “How can I expect you to understand?”
There’s plenty about me you don’t know
, he thought, but sometimes when Namior’s mother looked at him, he saw suspicion in her eyes. “Understand what?” he asked.
“No, Kel. I’ve never seen or sensed anything quite like this. And I can’t tell you why.”
Kel nodded, grabbed two of the mugs and returned to Namior. She was kneeling with several children, trying to calm them with a gentle song. One of them was sobbing quietly, and he wondered whom the child had lost.
“We can help here as well as anywhere,” he said hesitantly, but he was pleased
Still she did not look. She remembered watching the first wave roar in, and she wondered how long it would take for her to die. She would feel the water pluck her up, sweep her along, and she would be battered by the broken parts of the village it had already consumed. One beat? Five? She doubted she would drown. The wave promised a more violent death.
She was almost crawling up the steep slope, pushing with her feet and digging her hands into the soil, pulling toward safety.
First wave didn’t reach this high!
But she had seen the massive amounts of water still flowing back toward the sea from that first deluge. And the new wave could be even more powerful than the last.
Kel pulled her roughly over the wall and they were on a path, and he grabbed her hand and ran, dragging her after him, unforgiving when she stumbled, ignoring her cry of pain as she twisted her ankle, his fingers digging into the back of her hand. He kicked down a gate and they ran up the slope of a garden planted with salt-herbs and spice. Other people ran with them—people she had lived with forever—but they were all alone in their panicked race for survival.
They dropped over another wall and Kel kicked at a gate between two tall, thin houses until timber cracked and the gate bowed inward. He pressed through and Namior went after him, and soon they were climbing a terraced fruit garden,tearing through fine nets protecting the fruits from birds. Bizarrely, incredibly, someone opened a window and cursed at them. She wanted to scream at them to flee, but she remembered Kel’s words—
Save your breath and run
—and by the time her conscience pricked her, they were already over another wall and running up a winding, cobbled path.
“Kel …” she said, gasping, her shins and knees burning, ankle aflame from where she’d twisted it. But though she called his name again, the monster the sea had birthed roared too loudly for him to hear.
She fell to her knees and Kel fell beside her. They held each other as the second giant wave blotted out the moon and cast its shadow over the remains of Pavmouth Breaks.
AFTER THE SECOND wave, they returned to Namior’s home. Her mother and great-grandmother were still there, surrounded by survivors who had fled uphill from the ruined and damaged areas below. Her great-grandmother sat close to the groundstone, shivering and crying as she held her hand a finger’s width from its surface. Her mother brewed tea, and between pouring large mugs she pressed a herby paste into an ugly wound on a man’s leg. The groundstone hummed very slightly, and the man groaned as his bleeding ceased.
“Will there be more?” Kel asked, not aiming the question at anyone in particular.
Namior’s mother looked at him, frowning. “Can’t see,” she said. “We tried scrying again before the survivors arrived, but there’s still a blankness there.”
Kel went close to her, talking quieter. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
“Yes,” she said. “Many times. Our eyes are our true sight; anything further is afforded to us by magic. But there’s plenty that can confuse what we see.”
“Anything
exactly
like this?”
She poured bondleaf tea into several more mugs, not looking up at Kel.
“I assume that’s a no.”
“You don’t like what we do,” she said, not scolding, simply stating a fact. “How can I expect you to understand?”
There’s plenty about me you don’t know
, he thought, but sometimes when Namior’s mother looked at him, he saw suspicion in her eyes. “Understand what?” he asked.
“No, Kel. I’ve never seen or sensed anything quite like this. And I can’t tell you why.”
Kel nodded, grabbed two of the mugs and returned to Namior. She was kneeling with several children, trying to calm them with a gentle song. One of them was sobbing quietly, and he wondered whom the child had lost.
“We can help here as well as anywhere,” he said hesitantly, but he was pleased
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