Page 31 of The Withering Dawn
“She is,” I said.
Cathal raised a brow, snapping his eyes back toward me like I’d just insulted him.
“Beg pardon?”
“Just trust me. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”
“Yes, but never with a siren aboard.”
I took a moment to watch Aeris’s reaction to our conversation and I saw nothing malicious in her demeanor. I didn’t see anything hateful. Anything that would indicate that she was even offended by Cathal’s reservations. I couldn’t quite explain it, but I knew her efforts to help were genuine.
“She’s on our side,” I said.
“How do you know that?”
I turned back to face Cathal. “I just do.”
Slapping him on his thick shoulder, I moved to the stairs leading to the helm where Nikolas had been listening to the conversation, arms rested on the wheel. I tapped his back and he moved to the side, letting me take control of the ship.
“Prepare your pistols and knives, gentlemen! In a few day’s time, we’ll be in Dornwich,” I said. “And one step closer to finishing this.”
Nazario had gone to the helm and stayed there for the rest of the day. I could tell by the look on his face that he intended to have the wheel until he could not stay awake any longer. Whoever Antonio was, telling him where he might possibly be had altered his character. He looked more determined. Reinvigorated somehow. I was glad I could give him that motivation but saddened at the fact that the motivation came from somewhere dark and unresolved.
I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself outside of a locked cell and, not wanting to disturb Nazario’s very obvious focus, I isolated myself at the bow of the ship, sitting with my legs hanging through the railings so I could watch the water beat on the hull.
The Amanacer was different than other ships I’d been on. She felt almost alive and the men treated her as if she was. She was clean and well cared for. Even the figurehead had character. It was a horse head, its chin tightly tucked over an intricately carved sun painted gold. The whole thing was a bit abstract, though. It took me a while to figure out the shape holding the sun was a horse head, but once I did, I found myself staring at it for a good portion of the day.
The breeze was cool. I hiked my dress up so my bare legs could feel it, deciding that every experience should be savored in case my fate was yet the inside of a cell or death. After learning that Henry and the others who attacked me were dead, I did not want to fool myself into thinking the crew would not have their suspicions. Every stroke of bad luck seemed to lead back to me and I wondered if perhaps I truly was cursed like Nazario had said.
After many hours, the tension in my body that I barely knew I’d been harboring began to seep away like bad blood draining from a festering wound. And as it did, I felt lighter and lighter. It was only when I heard boots walking my way that the tension came back. For most of the day, the men didn’t pay much attention to me. The occasional sideways glance didn’t bother me, but feeling someone approaching made me sit up straight.
I turned and saw Cathal, Nazario’s quartermaster, walking toward me with a rickety wooden stool in one hand and a thick slice of bread in the other. He set the stool down and sat with an exaggerated groan, making him sound much older than he looked. Then, unexpectedly, he handed me the bread atop a white cloth.
“Cap’n says ye need to eat,” he said.
I took the bread, which had a layer of mashed beans on top, and put it in my lap.
But Cathal wasn’t leaving. Instead, he perched his elbows on his knees and started staring out at the setting sun. The features of his sun-tanned face relaxed, emanating the kind of serenity I felt when I stared at the horizon.
“Nothin’ like a sunset on the open ocean,” he said.
I took a small bite of bread and chewed it carefully, unsure if I was supposed to engage in conversation. I couldn’t help taking in the colors of the sinking sun. The whole sky was exploding with red brilliance, lighting up the clouds like plumes of floating fire.
“That’s why the ship is called the Amanacer, ye know.”
I turned to him, curious. “What does it mean?”
“Cap’n named it. Means ‘the dawn’.”
“But it is dusk.”
He smiled. “Right. Suppose that’s different. When we were all just boys, Nazario found himself a book of poems. One was called ‘The Withering Dawn.’ It was about how there is no darker moment than the time before the sun rises. But after dawn, we are all filled with hope that there will be no darkness again only to be disappointed when the sun sets once more. But just like the world is darkest before dawn, it is brightest afterwords. Dawn is the in-between where we decide whether we are going to be glad to have come out of the darkness or too fearful of its return to enjoy the light.”
I swallowed my bite of food, letting his words stew for a while. I wanted to know which side of the line I stood on and as I continued to eat, I pondered if I’d ever seen the line in the first place. Hope was something I’d lost a long time ago. It happened gradually and when it turned to ash, it was too late. I hadn’t even realized it was burning. I wasn’t even sure I could rebuild it or if my complacency was because I knew it would all fall apart.
And then Nazario opened my cell gate and hope rekindled like a phoenix from ashes. It felt awful somehow, like I had something to lose again.
“What are ye thinking?” Cathal asked.
