the rain caught up with me again, I would be swallowed up by darkness.
Clouds roll over me, shadowing the water and shadowing my thoughts. Ideas toss around in my head like tiny boats on the waves.
I have to get to you—to get out of the water, out of the rain, out of the cold. It seems like it should be easy, but despite the fact that I can understand the goal, I can’t think of how to accomplish it.
Paddle, I tell myself. Paddle.
I dig deep into the waves, but my muscles won’t cooperate. I dig again and again, but with each stroke, the thought of you slips further and further away.
Darkness closes in at the corners of my vision. The dark calls to me, promising warmth. For a moment, I’m tempted. It would be so easy to stop trying.
I close my eyes and darkness falls fast and heavy, cutting me off from the water, the cold, the waves.
I want to welcome the dark. I open my mind to it, to the possibility of letting go of the pain in my shoulders, the shiver in my chest, the numbness in my fingers. I suck in a deep breath of darkness, letting it fill me.
Yes, I will let go. I will slump into darkness’s warm embrace. I will open my eyes one last time, take one final look at the cold sun, and let go.
My eyelids flip open, and something at the water’s edge catches my attention.
Movement.
Among low cliffs of gray rock something flashes—light slides in front of dark before disappearing into the shadows. An elk, maybe? I know you have herds of elk in your range, and there are few other animals that would graze on such steep footing. I slow my boat and let my gaze sweep over the ledges. I watch but see nothing. . . .
Nothing.
Gray on gray, shadow on shadow.
The sun stabs one final ray through the thickening gloom, and there it is again. The flash of movement. The glint of light.
My eyes shift involuntarily to the same rocky ledge they’d searched just a moment before.
And there you are.
TWENTY-SIX
You wave your arms. . . . I can see that you are calling to me. I bend toward your words, but before your voice reaches me it breaks into little pieces that scatter on the wind.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you’re saying. I only care that I’ve found you.
Deep within my core, in a part of me that’s been numb with cold since I first set out on this trip, my heart begins to race. Panic wills my eyes to stay open. I need to do this last thing . . . this last thing. But what is this thing I need to do? My paddle rests across my lap. I know I need to use it, but I’m not certain that I can.
Holding the paddle feels strange, as if I’m holding it in a dream. It is both heavy and weightless at the same time. My fingers tense and release, tense and release.
Maybe, I think, I’ve found you too late.
My eyelids fall shut. Letting go feels so good. I loosen my grip, let my fingers go limp. It feels so good, so good.
Forgive me. . . . The words echo through my head, hover on my lips, yet I’m not sure who they are meant for.
Just as I let the shaft of the paddle slide from my fingers, a cold drizzle begins to fall. Drops beat against my forehead and trickle down my nose. Unbidden, focus returns to my mind.
No. I don’t want to try. I don’t want to have to try anymore.
I open my eyes and watch the tiny dents the rain makes in the surface of the sea, each one a stabbing pinprick. They dot the surface on every side of the paddle. I watch it float away, carried by the waves to the edge of my vision. I hate that paddle. My hands ache and my palms burn with the contempt I feel for it. I tip my head, watching it float to the edge of my reach. I hate that paddle. Soon it will be gone, unable to hurt me anymore.
My hands fall loose at my sides and the water stings my palms like I’ve dropped them into flames. All at once I remember . . . the flames, the pain they caused. I remember Pek, straining through the pain, demanding that I come here and warn your clan.
I remember now.