I have trouble keeping my feet as we climb and dive. In the night, the waves are a huge black darkness tipped in foamy white, swelling higher than the gunwale, but always, at the last moment, our prow breaks through and my stomach drops as we slip down the other side.
Felix tells me it’s too early to be afraid, that they’ve survived harsher weather than this. “We are barely at the edge of the storm, Your Majesty,” he says with a grin that holds more mania than humor. “The worst is yet to come.”
An older man with a gray beard and a missing earlobe rushes up to the captain and yells, “Bilge is halfway to the first mark.”
“What does that mean?” I holler through the wind.
“Some of the water coming over the side filters down to the bilge,” Hector yells back. The wind has whipped his hair into a wild, curly mess. “Someone mans the pump at all times, but if the water gets high enough, we’ll have to use buckets too. If it goes past the third mark, the ship is lost.”
And then it begins to rain in great stinging sheets.
The deck is slick and chilled. I cling to a bit of rail stretching across middeck that seems to be made for that purpose. The sky flashes brighter than daylight a split second before thunder crashes around us.
God, please show us the way and keep us safe.
A smidge of warmth snakes through me, bringing the sensation, stronger than ever, of tugging at my navel.
Hector bends close. “You just prayed, didn’t you?”
I look up at him, surprised.
“I can always tell,” he says. “Your face changes.” He wears a slight smile, as if we’re sharing a secret. Lamplight shines against the planes of his sea-soaked face.
The ship rolls sideways, flinging me against him. He wraps one arm around me, braces us against the railing with the other. “Maybe having you on deck is not such a good idea,” he says in my ear. “You heard what Felix said. Things are going to get worse.”
“I have to help navigate!”
“There will come a point when it doesn’t matter anymore, when we just have to survive.”
I stare up at him, acutely aware in spite of everything of the way our bodies are pressed together. What if I don’t survive? It would surprise no one if I died young, like most of the bearers before me.
Or worse, what if he doesn’t survive? I lost Humberto before I could tell him how I felt. I can’t bear to do it again.
“Hector, I need to tell you—”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he says, putting a finger to my lips. “No good-byes, no confessions. Because we are going to live. Both of us. It’s faith, right?”
Lightning streaks the sky behind him, as if in punctuation. “Yes,” I say. “Faith.” He’s right. I need to prepare to live, not to die.
Maybe I’ve been preparing to die for too long—ever since that day in the desert when I decided it would be better to die in service to God than to live uselessly. And maybe I will. Maybe tonight.
But I’m suddenly frantic to do something—anything—to prove to myself that I won’t, to feel some kind of power over my predestined future. Hector’s face is very close. It would be so easy to wrap my arms around his neck, force his lips to mine, and kiss him until we are both breathless.
I want more from Hector than a single ill-timed kiss. No, I want more from life. I clench my fists, and my nails bite into my palms as I think, My supposed destiny can drown itself in the deepest part of the sea. Along with everyone else’s plans for me.
“Elisa?”
“I’ll be right back!” I yell, and dash across the deck to Captain Felix’s quarters.
I bang open the doors, and Mara looks up, startled. She’s huddled on the floor at the foot of the bed, knees to chest, and her cheeks are streaked with tears. “Elisa?” she says waveringly.
I shed water everywhere as I grab my pack and drop down beside her. The ship rolls while I reach inside for the naked figurine that holds the lady’s shroud.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Preparing to live.” I put my hand to the stopper.
Mara grabs my wrist. “Wait.” She reaches for her satchel and retrieves a matching figurine. “Me too,” she says with a shaky grin. “Ready?”
In answer, I pull the stopper and upend a few seeds into my palm. She does the same. In unison, we toss them back and start chewing. They’re bitter and hard and taste faintly of lemon rind.
The ship rolls again, and I almost choke on the seeds. The captain’s chair slides across the planking and tips over at our feet. Mara whimpers. I wrap my arms around her, and she does the same right back, mindless of my soaked state. I shouldn’t linger, but I revel in the luxury of stealing these precious moments with my friend.