The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3)

The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3) Page 125

“But what about your power, miss?” Mae asks.

Felicity takes a seat and tucks her sword between her feet. “Precisely. We’ll serve notice if they’re foolish enough to trouble us.”

“We don’t know that I’m a match for them,” I warn. “We know nothing about the Winterlands at all, really. The magic isn’t always within my control, and I don’t want to have to employ it unless there’s no other choice.”

I look about at the solemn faces of my friends, and I suddenly feel small. I wish there were someone else to carry this burden. The passage ahead is impossible to see clearly; the mist sits heavily on the water, and I hope we’re not sailing into a terrible mistake.

“Ready, then?” Bessie calls. She’s got one foot on the boat and the other on the narrow ledge.

Ann hands the torch to me again. I secure it near the front of the boat to light our way.

“Cast us off, if you please, Bessie,” I answer.

She gives us a sharp shove, and the boat drifts out into the river, away from any safe harbor. We scramble to places at the oars. Pippa stands at the bow and peers through the mist. Felicity, Wendy, and I work the same oar, grunting with the effort. The water’s weight makes it heavy to move but soon we ride upon the river. The mist thins, and we marvel at the great masses of glistening rock that rise on either side of us like the enormous weathered hands of a forgotten god.

The only color in this bleak landscape comes from the primitive paintings that stretch along the inside of the cliffs. The boat passes pictures of terrifying specters, their cloaks spread out to show the souls they’ve devoured. Water nymphs tearing the skin from a victim chained to a rock. The Poppy Warriors in their tattered knights’ tunics and rusty chain mail. Black birds circling over battlefields. Amar’s likeness stares out from the rock—the white horse and the ghastly helmet—and I wish I’d not glimpsed it. There is so much drawn here, an entire history, that I cannot possibly absorb it all. But one image does catch my eye; it shows a woman standing before a mighty tree, her arms stretched out in welcome. The mist thickens again and I can see no more.

“There’s something ahead!” Pippa calls. “Slow your pace!”

“I’m not…a sailor…or a…pirate,” Ann pants between strokes.

We turn on our planks to see what it could be. A vast rock formation fronts the gorge. It has two holes at the top and a wide hole at the bottom, like a screaming face.

“Aim for the mouth!” Pip calls over the rush of water.

With a whoosh, the boat hits a sudden drop, and we’re pushed along by a faster current. Mercy screams as a wave of water crashes over the side of the boat. There’s little we can do against the fierce tide. The boat rocks and turns round till we’re dizzy.

“We’ll be dashed!” Pippa shouts. “Steady!”

“We have to row into it!” Felicity shrieks.

“You’re mad! We’ve got to stop—” I say.

Water splashes into me. It smells of sulphur.

“I’m an admiral’s daughter, and I say we need to row into it!” Felicity barks as if she were a commander.

“We’re getting closer!” Pippa calls. “Do something!”

“You heard Felicity—row into it!” I shout. “All your strength now. Don’t hold back!”

We heave with all our might, and I am surprised by the strength in our arms and hearts. We match strokes, and soon, we’re able to right ourselves and head for the gorge’s tall, slender mouth. Four hard strokes and we’re through. The river calms, carrying us deep down into the Winterlands.

We shout in exultation of our victory over the river, and as there is no one to tell us to temper our outburst, the cheer echoes for a full minute.

“Oh, look!” Pippa calls.

Colored light streams through the sorrowful sky. Gloomy clouds have given way to swirls of purple and indigo, pink and gold. And there are stars! Several of them shoot through the heavens and fall away. It is vast. I feel small and insignificant and yet larger than I have ever felt before.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

Pippa throws out her arms. “To think we might have missed this.”

“We’re not back yet,” I warn.

Water nymphs undulate beneath the river’s surface, the soft, round arcs of their silvery backs peeking through like a reflection of the starry sky above.

“Oh, wot’s that, then? Mermaids?” Mae asks, peering into the water’s depths for a better glimpse.