The Lost Abbey (Covenant of Muirwood 0.5)
Jeff Wheeler
The prow of the Blessing of Burntisland pitched so suddenly that a sailor near Maia toppled over the gunwale. Salt water silenced his screams and foamed up onto the deck, forcing the other seamen to lunge for ropes or risk losing their footing as well. Maia clutched the webs of rigging, digging her fists into the slick ropes as a wave crashed against the hull, dousing her gown and cloak. She tried to breathe and started choking. The wind and rain lashed the sails, spinning the lanyards in a frenzy and hurling the men’s curses in every direction.
“Are you all right?” A hand gripped her arm to steady her. Her protector—the kishion.
Maia nodded, coughing in spasms until she vomited, and finally felt the salty air go in right. Another lurch nearly threw her overboard. Holding on to the rigging tortured her arms.
“The dinghy is bobbing like a cork!” He pitched his voice to a yell to be heard over the storm and the cursing sailors. “This is as close to the rocks as we can get the ship. We cannot see another safe way to shore other than the dinghy. Must we do this?”
“There is no other way!” Maia shouted. She tried to look up at the kishion, but the salt stung her eyes. She wiped her face and pushed wet clumps of hair from her cheek.
“Give me your hand then. I will help you down the ladder. Come on, we haven’t time to waste on this! Give me your hand!”
Maia pried her hands loose from the rigging, though she felt certain the ship would tilt again and send her into the sea. The kystrel around her neck felt as heavy as an iron yoke instead of the small bronze medallion it was. It burned against her skin, its magic seething like the storm’s fury—or the whispers in her mind. It wanted her to use it. It could banish the storm and calm the waves. She struggled against the urge, biting it down like she would a bad-tasting onion. Not in front of the sailors or the soldiers. They would kill her on the spot if they knew she wore a kystrel.
The kishion hooked his arm around hers and pulled her after him. She slipped on the wet deck and went down. Her skirts were already soaked through, and her cloak threatened to choke her as it flapped in the wind.
“Get up, woman! Take my hand like I told you!”
Maia grasped his callused hand and forced herself to her feet again. The kishion brought her along the rail, clutching a guideline until they reached the rope ladder. Five soldiers had boarded the dinghy already and were struggling to keep it far enough from the jostling ship so it didn’t smash into pieces. Fear shook her resolve as she stared down at the slick and narrow rope. She had never done anything like this in her life.
“Here, I will tie this around you in case you fall. Raise your arms so I can get this around you—very good, there we go. I cannot carry you down there. Do your best not to fall.”
Maia nodded and bit her lip. She steeled herself, feeling the tickle of a cough threaten to rise up and break through. She wiped her mouth and then slid her leg over the rail. Another wave bullied the ship, and she found herself gripping the rope ladder for her life. The leather soles of her boots slipped twice, but she recovered and scampered down as the ship rocked on the waves.
“There we are, Lady Maia!” One of the soldiers reached up around her waist and hoisted her down. Rain and waves drenched everyone. “There we go, sit over there. Help her, Verrick.”
Maia felt another set of hands clamp against her shoulders and shove her down onto a hard bench. The dinghy took the wave crests even more sharply, and she grabbed at an oarlock. It steadied for a moment, giving her enough time to tighten her cloak around her throat and raise the hood to shield her head. The boat rocked as the last man entered it. The two soldiers gripping the rope ladder released it and snatched two dripping oars from another man.
“All right! Dip and row! The water is calmer over there. C’mon men, give it your backs. It is hard rowing, but we will get to shore. Watch for the rocks.”