Violence broke out in places. As Kisia pulled him along, Rasim caught glimpses of water-walls shooting up between antagonists, protecting former masters as well as former slaves. Occasionally, when the surprise of a watery interference wasn't enough to slow them, whole streams would open up, sweeping the opponents out of one another's reaches. "Where's all the water coming from?"

  Kisia flashed Rasim another smile as they darted down a dry street. "Prince Lorens bought three stone witches. They opened up fissures to the water table without breaking the city apart. It worked, but the river is way down." Somewhere behind them, an explosion rocked the streets, throwing them all forward. Kisia lost her grip on him, and Rasim fell. He flipped onto his backside, trying to see what had happened while trying to get up.

  Desimi appeared and hauled him to his feet. "You can look at the wreckage later. Run."

  "I don't want any wreckage!"

  The exasperation on Desimi's face made him seem forty, not fourteen. He didn't answer other than to push Rasim along. They hurried down another street, and suddenly seemed to be at the leading edge of chaos and change. People here weren't panicked yet, or fighting one another. They were shouting and pointing, curiosity clear in their voices, but the worst of the rebellion hadn't reached them. Faced with half a dozen foreigners running full bore down the street, the Moranese fell back in surprise. Someone would buy them drinks in exchange for hearing that story, later, Rasim thought wildly. Assuming there was anywhere left in Moran to buy a drink, by morning. He hoped he wouldn't be there to find out. He was getting a stitch in his side, but tried to breathe around it. Lorens was carrying somebody else, and not complaining about it. Rasim could manage running with a stitch in his side. Besides, it wasn't too much farther to the docks. He told himself that with every step, and was grateful for a few minutes of relatively empty streets to run through.

  So was Kisia, who said, "Maybe we'll make it," on short breaths. Desimi, who seemed less winded than either Kisia or Rasim, snorted. "Sure. Just as long as we don't have to run straight to the docks where the entire Moranese guard will be waiting for us. Oh, wait..."

  Karluk looked at them both as if they were—well, journeymen, Rasim thought, or worse, apprentices. He laughed, which made Karluk include him in the next glance of adult exasperation, which he then shared with Hassin. To Rasim's delight, Hassin only shrugged and smiled, not taking the Skymaster's side of things. Karluk glanced at Lorens for support, but the prince had surged ahead, moving surprisingly fast for a man with someone on his back.

  For a moment it felt like Kisia was right, and they would make it to the docks easily. Rasim caught a glimpse of the beggar woman he'd seen that morning—had it only been that morning?—who was now perched on a half-wall, gaping openly at the water and people in the streets. "We're almost there. Can we help her—?"

  Karluk barked, "We can't help everyone, boy!"

  Rasim, suddenly flushed with anger, came to a complete stop in the middle of the street. "What if I'd said that about your family?"

  "Then you'd be dead now, boy," Karluk said through his teeth. "Now run."

  Rasim thrust a finger toward the beggar woman. "Tell her! Tell her if she wants to come to Ilyara, to come with us now!"

  "For Siliaria's sake, just do it," Desimi muttered. "He'll stay here all day if you don't."

  Karluk, his lip curled, snapped words at the beggar woman, who flinched. Then she drew her feet up under herself even more tightly, staring at the sky witch with suspicion. Karluk threw his hands open at Rasim, as if freeing himself from all further responsibility, and broke into a run again. Rasim cast the woman one more glance, then ran on with his friends, down the street he'd traveled earlier, around the corner that led to the docks.

  And ran, as Desimi had predicted, into an army of city guard who stood calf-deep in river water with spears and swords at the ready. Desimi shot a look at Rasim and muttered something under his breath, then, without slowing his run, lifted his hands.

  Witchery surged. Water yanked the legs out from under the gathered guards. They fell backwards in coordinated rows, the water pulling them just far enough apart that they didn't land on one another's weapons. Divots formed in the water over their faces, allowing them to breathe, but struggle as they might, they couldn't rise. Desimi said only one, strained word: "Run!"

  Dozens of the guards were swept to the side, clearing a path straight to the Waifia. Lorens was already halfway up the gangplank with Bayar. Kisia grabbed Rasim's hand, pulling him along, and Sesin dragged Karluk with her. Hassin and Desimi took up the back, with Desimi concentrating on keeping his witchery in place as Hassin guided him through the fallen soldiers. Lorens put Bayar down as soon as they reached the deck, but the Shenryalan boy's golden skin paled as it rocked beneath him. "We are not a sea-faring people."

  "Get below," Kisia ordered. Bayar looked around, baffled. Rasim started to point him the right direction, but Sesin released Karluk and seized Rasim's head.

  "Sorry, this is probably going to feel awful," she told him almost cheerfully. "And you'll—"

  "Wait!"

  Sesin froze. "What?"

  Rasim collapsed toward her with a hug, burying his face in her shoulder for a few seconds. Sesin caught her breath, then returned the hug just as hard, whispering, "We made it," against his neck. A shudder ran through Rasim, bringing him near to tears again, before he pulled back and gave her his best smile. It wasn't very good, but it was the best he could do, and Sesin's seemed to match. "Right," she said roughly, "that was a good idea. And I'm sorry about this. You'll probably have to pee when I'm done. Kisia, get him water!"

  "Wha—?" Witchery rushed through him before he even finished the word, twisting his stomach and his blood. It felt like he was being wrung dry from the inside. It didn't quite hurt, but pain might have been better, because Sesin was right. It felt awful. She released him and he lurched to the Waifia's rail to vomit over its side. When he was done he hung there, unable to stand. Kisia ran over with a water skin and held it for him while he drank while Sesin said, "Well, I thought it would make him pee," to her.

  A glad cry erupted behind the healer's apprentice as Karluk's family burst out from below decks and flung themselves into his arms. They fell in a heap on the deck, laughing and crying. Bayar, finally seeing which way 'below' was, edged through a number of sea witches who were standing around on deck beaming at Karluk and his family.

  Rasim crushed his eyes shut and blinked hard a few times. His head was spinning, like it was still being wrung out, and the water churned unpleasantly in his stomach, but it seemed like there were a lot of people on board. Most of them had their attention on the city, and—he could feel it now—they were working witchery.

  The awareness that he could feel their magic sent his stomach into an uproar again and he flipped over to be sick a second time. Kisia stood up, shouting orders, which was ridiculous. She was a journeyman, and if Nasira wasn't here, then Hassin should be giving orders. The crew seemed to be listening, though. Sails rose and the ship began to have the air of being prepared to sail. Footsteps thumped on the gangplank and Rasim rolled his head to see Desimi and Hassin racing on board. Of course. Hassin hadn't been there. Kisia still wasn't the person who should have been giving orders, but then, she'd been giving them in the arena, too. It felt as if something important had happened with Kisia in his absence, something that gave her more authority than expected. Part of Rasim desperately wanted to know what. The rest of him figured those questions could wait until later.

  He clutched the rails and pulled himself to sitting again, trying to see what was going on, trying to make sense of the chaos. Lorens was helping to cast off, his earlier experience on the Waifia now proving worthwhile. Sesin crouched to offer Rasim water again, and when he tried to wave it away, shook her head fiercely. "We've got to get the heartbreak out of your system as fast as we can. The whole crew has been working together to do this, but Desimi's been doing the heavy lifting and he's exhausted. We need you. Drink more."

  "Sesi, my seawitchery is gone. Mostly gone, anyway. I only have as much as I used to, before Siliaria."

  "You still think she gave you the power," Sesin said incredulously. "That's nonsense. Drink." She squirted water into his mouth and spoke as he coughed and swallowed it. "You always had the power, Rasim. Kisia's sure of it. She thinks maybe you were never a natural sea witch, so you really struggled with it, but that when you started using other witchery, it started breaking down the limits of your seamastery. But you always had it. And you still do. I just have to get the heartbreak out of you. Drink!"

  Rasim drank, unwilling to argue about either the water or his erratic sea witchery. "What happened after they took me to the arena? How did Kisia and Desimi get here? Why is Kisia in charge?" The water was staying down a little better this time, and he took another drink.

  Anguish twisted Sesin's face and she forgot her part of the story to say, "Are you all right, Rasim? When they took you away…."

  "I'll be fine." Rasim wasn't really sure about that, but he wanted to understand more than he wanted to count his own woes. "What happened?"

  "Well, obviously it all went horribly wrong when they took you to the arena, but the captain had to pretend it was all right, and she made deals to sell some of us, but I thought of making everybody eat a palmful of salt as soon as they could after they were given mindkiller, so we were all sicking it up and mostly not under its control. We've all been carrying salt with us, in our pouches, with Siliaria."

  "That was a good idea." Water surged in Rasim's belly and he threw up again, then sank to the deck, panting. "Kisia and Desimi…?"

  A brief, bright smile flittered across Sesin's face. "They were in Hongrunn's sewers when the attack happened. When they realized our people were being taken, they swam out and stowed away on the slavers' ship. They're still arguing over whose idea it was, but they agree that they did it because they knew you would take any chance you had to, to rescue your crewmates, so they knew you'd come to Moran and that they'd find you here. And then they thought Nasira had betrayed us all and they stormed the Waifia and nearly arrested her the first night we were in harbor." Sesin's eyes widened at the memory. "It took a lot of explaining to talk Kisia down. Do you feel better yet?"

  "No." He did, though, and this time reached for the water himself, drinking with more enthusiasm. "What do you need me to do?"

  "We don't have any skymasters until we stop for Arrat and his journeymen, so we're going to need a very strong river current." Sesin shut her mouth so fast it made a popping sound as Rasim gave her a rueful smile. "Oh. We do have a skymaster. We have two!"

  "One Skymaster," Rasim disagreed, still smiling crookedly. "One apprentice."

  "I fought you in the arena," Karluk said unexpectedly. He crouched beside them, Zyterna's fingertips resting on his shoulder, as if she was afraid he might disappear if she released him. "You're more than an apprentice. Healer, I've been given heartbreak, too. I'll submit to that unpleasantry, but I'm not as young as Rasim. I may not recover as quickly."

  "How long do we wait for the captain?" Desimi asked from the ship's bow, his voice tight. "I can't hold them much longer."

  "Sorry," Sesin said to Karluk. "This is going to feel awful." A moment later, the Skymaster was vomiting over the ship's side, with his children exclaiming gleefully over the sound and contents as it hit the water below. Rasim pulled himself to his feet and wobbled toward Desimi, whose face was ashy with exhausted concentration.

  "Hand it over," Rasim said quietly. "I've got it now."

  "You sure?" Desimi's voice was strained. "If any of this gets dropped, people are going to die. And I've been trying really hard not to let people die."

  A stupid grin etched itself across Rasim's face. "I noticed. Thank you."

  "Don't think anything of it," Desimi grated. "I just didn't want to have to look at your disappointed face for the rest of the voyage. Ready?"

  "When you are." He'd barely finished speaking when the full weight of Desimi's witchery settled on him, and the other boy tipped backward in a faint.

  24

  It was one thing, Rasim decided immediately, to work a massive piece of witchery. It was something else entirely to take over someone else's. He sat abruptly, the weight of Desimi's working too great to stand under. A wobble ran through the magic. Pools of air buckled and splashed water into soldiers' faces, and the streams depositing Moranese masters around the city stumbled and dropped some of them. A dozen crew members picked up the slack, pursuing the goal of subduing Moran without hurting anyone, but Sesin hadn't been wrong: Desimi had been doing most of the heavy lifting, leaving finesse to the others. Rasim was already sweating. "Can't hold it long. Too much. Too fast." He didn't even know if anyone would hear him.

  Sesin appeared beside him, checking on Desimi. "You don't have to. Just a few minutes, Rasim. Long enough for your skymaster to get his witchery under control. Then we can bring the water back to the river and—" She glanced away, as if confirming something before continuing. "And then we'll manage the currents. Desimi's all right. Just hold on." She disappeared again, leaving Rasim to dig his nails into the ship's deck and concentrate on holding the witchery until his head pounded with it.

  The worst part was that there was some kind of disturbance in the magic, something running counter-current to its flow. He supposed it was Ilyaran slaves under orders from their masters and heading for the docks to stop the Waifia from escaping. It felt like a ship's keel through the magic: a wide, sharp slice disrupting everything it touched. Rasim grabbed at the edges of the witchery left in its wake, trying to hold it together, but it was...

  It was like trying to hold water. Rasim almost laughed at how obvious that was, but that was what it felt like. He struggled to hold on, but the power leaked away just like water would, leaving puddles that he couldn't collect again. He knew he was chanting, "I can't, I can't, I can't," through his teeth, but every repetition made him hold on a little longer, like all he wanted to do was prove himself wrong.

  The counter-current wasn't just cutting through his witchery anymore. It was collecting the water he'd left behind, shaping it into a force of its own. It was going to slam into them and sink the Waifia, at the rate it was picking up speed. Rasim struggled to his feet, hanging onto the railing and trying to focus on the world as well as the magic. He couldn't: he could barely see beyond the river bank. Everything past it was a blur of witchery and exhaustion and, he feared, the remnants of the heartbreak drug. "Sesi. Sesi. Kisia?"

  Kisia was suddenly at his side, working her shoulders under his arm to help hold him up. He felt better instantly, just because of her presence. Just because she was alive. "Ship's almost ready to sail, Rasim," she said. "Just another minute."

  "No. Too late. Cast off. Shield us." He couldn't think of how to shield the ship, and he didn't know if his broken gasps were even enough to communicate the problem. Or that there was a problem. "Hurry."

  Kisia whirled away from him, bellowing, "Captain! Cast off! Rasim says to cast off!" In the dizziness that followed her support disappearing, Rasim wondered how Nasira had gotten back without him noticing. But it was Hassin who relayed Kisia's order as his own. Of course. He was the first mate, and with Nasira off-ship, he was captain. Kisia had apparently relinquished her own inexplicable position of command.

  The wedge he fought had collected half the water in Moran now. There would be fighting in the streets. There would be soldiers at the docks. Rasim's thoughts were fuzzy, ideas coming to him without connecting to one another. It felt like a long time before he understood why he was worried about those things. When the onslaught of power he was trying to hold the line against hit, it wouldn't go to the trouble of saving the guards who were pinned down just beyond the ship's bow. Rasim spread his feet wide, bracing himself as best he could, and roared with the effort as he swept his hands apart, scattering the pinned soldiers to a safe distance before letting go of the witchery that held them.

  No: letting go of all of it. He couldn't maintain the water in the streets while he'd moved the soldiers, and all at once, the whole city was flooded. Then the attack he'd been holding at bay came on full bore, a vast wall of water sweeping around the corner he'd come around himself, not very long ago. The ship lurched and Rasim fell forward, clutching feebly at the railing to stay upright. Above him, the sails billowed, filled with wind that hadn't existed seconds earlier. He caught a glimpse of the blonde Northern prince helping to reel the rope before a shout announced the anchor was up.

  No current in the world could have moved the Waifia the way it moved then. The river itself, shallow as it had become, surged and lifted the ship from its berth. Rasim's grip wasn't enough to hold him in place, and he fell backward as the river rolled backward, taking the Waifia into its depths. At the same moment, the wedge of rolling water hit the river with a roar.

  It looked as if the river bank was a wall. It crashed along it, hundreds of feet at a time, and rolled into the river with a massive, ship-shaking splash. The water level leaped up in one huge surge, sweeping up and over the other bank—the other bank, Rasim realized, hadn't even been touched by the antics on the arena side of the river—and then back down again to rock back across the river. The Waifia pitched and rolled, never in danger of foundering, but the ships still berthed in the docks shuddered and twisted and lurched, some of them submerging under the unexpected waves. Those would be salvageable with a little effort, Rasim thought.

 

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