Obsidian and Stars (Ivory and Bone #2)(77)

I watch, but I don’t see the dart break the surface. I wonder if she held the shot. Wary, I know I can’t resurface where I am. A dart could pierce me before I was able to draw my first breath.

I reach for the knife in my belt. I don’t have much time. I cut through the sash that holds me in the seat and swim out, letting the harpoon that was tucked by my feet slide into my waiting hands. Kicking hard, I shoot to the bottom of Dora’s kayak and slash at the hull with the knife in my right hand and the harpoon in my left. When a gash hangs down and blood from her wound starts to tint the sea pink, I pull myself up on the side of her boat. She spins to face me, and when she does I pull my body up onto the deck. The boat is narrow and slippery, the hole I cut causing it to toss unsteadily in the waves. I struggle first to get my balance, then to hang on without falling. But once I have myself in position—once I am straddling the kayak right in front of her, a knife in one hand and a harpoon in the other—Dora knows she’s lost. She grabs at the bag of darts on her half-submerged deck and tries to use one like a knife, stabbing at my hands and arms. My skin tears and burns, but it’s too late for her. The boat tips backward, weighed down by seawater filling the hull, and all she can do is grab at the sash to try to escape.

Her hands slide on the knot in the cordage. She’s panicking, clawing at the sash.

And then she’s gone, pulled down by the boat as it sinks.

I know I need to get out of the sea before the cold steals the life from me. But I can’t help but swim down, sweeping the bottom for a glimpse of her. After all, I thought she was drowned once before. My lungs ache, and my legs are going numb. And I see her.

The boat touches the bottom and then floats up again, bobbing right below the surface, carried by the force of the waves. Dora, held in the seat by the sash, has gone still. A cloud of blood flows from her side.

I break the surface and find my kayak. Flipping it over, I drag myself out of the cold waves and climb on top, straddling the deck. My feet hang over the sides, dipping now and then into the sea, but wrapped in sealskin boots they resist the cold. But my hands, face, and neck ache as they thaw in the air.

I search for a paddle, finding one floating on the waves. The only way to reach it is to paddle with my hands, exposing them to the frigid water again. Still, I’m helpless without an oar, so I do what I must. Just as I reach it I hear my name. It’s Seeri’s voice. The one-word cry bursts out of her like a scream for help.

I have to paddle in a circle to see her—she and Pek are almost directly to my back. When I get turned, I know why she called out. Two Tama kayaks have targeted Roon and Lees, and they are coming fast toward either side of their boat. Both Tama fighters hold a knife in their teeth, keeping their hands free to row. Roon and Lees appear to have lost a paddle, and Roon is struggling to get them away as Lees hurries to load a dart.

But even if Lees were to succeed and get the dart loaded quickly, which boat would she target? She could load and fire only once before her time is up. Seeri waves to me—her hands are empty. She is either out of darts or her pack has tumbled overboard into the sea.

My bag of darts is still over my shoulder. I might be able to target one of the Tama kayaks if Lees targets the other. But one dart would have to be perfectly placed to stop the approaching kayak. If they can still paddle, they will have plenty of opportunity to attack with their knives.

Then I remember the harpoon—the harpoon tied to a length of rope—resting in my lap. I load it into my atlatl as quickly as I can. I hardly have time to aim. It flies over my shoulder, soaring toward the closer target, and it finds its home in the side of the boat.

The harpoon cuts right though the sealskin hide of the hull, just below the waterline. Tugging on the rope as hard as I am able, the boat jerks off course and flips before the harpoon comes loose. Lees lands her dart in the shoulder of the other Tama fighter. That boat turns and circles back, and Pek, waiting not far off, sends a second dart plunging into the man’s back.

A voice calls into the wind . . . Fall back! Noni’s father holds a paddle high in the air. A signal.

For one brief moment I think that the Tama are calling for retreat. Several of their wounded are paddling farther away, pulling out of range of our darts. Blood flows from arms and necks. Darts protrude from shoulders and backs.

But then I see that the Tama High Elder is under attack. A boat is bearing down on him.

Kol.

The High Elder is too far away for me to see clearly, but something is definitely wrong. He paddles awkwardly, as if he has the use of only one arm. I watch Kol, and as I do I notice several places where blood seeps from gashes in his tunic. Still, he rows hard toward his target. Morsk is not far away. Noni’s father raises his paddle again and I realize he isn’t calling retreat, not really.

He’s calling all the Tama to his defense.

Thern and Pada, though, won’t let them pass. Two Tama fighters are blocked, unable to maneuver around much more experienced paddlers. Niki and Evet, in their double kayak, have speed on their side, but though they hurry toward Kol, Morsk, and the Tama High Elder, the distance they have to cross is great.

I paddle closer, too, hoping to see Kol finish Noni’s father, but wanting to be close enough to help if he needs me. He holds his atlatl, loaded with his harpoon, all the while paddling to get close enough to know the shot is certain.

Morsk is not far behind Kol now, but a Tama is also closing fast. Kol surveys the water, takes stock of the paddlers and where they all are, growing ever closer to his goal. He glances back at Morsk just once before sending the harpoon sailing over his shoulder.