Unbound (The Griever's Mark series Book 3) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Katherine Hurley
where even the torrents of water haven’t cleared away the lingering stink of oil. Behind me, the captain shouts orders.
We are on our way more quickly than I dared hope. I drive the ship across the waters, filling tattered sails with wind. A split in one lengthens with the sound of ripping canvas, but I don’t give the shouting sailors time to take it back in. I stir the waters to push us even faster. Astarti looked exhausted. I don’t know how long she can keep the ship together.
I try to hold my body to the ship, to let only a fragment of myself enter the elements.
I don’t make it more than a mile.
I glide through wind and water, reveling in the freedom, driving the ship with rolling waves and relentless wind.
The hull groans a warning. Another sail rips.
I try to ease the push, to find a balance between freedom and control. I let a sliver of wind slip through the cracks in the ship to touch Astarti, and the answering hum of her energies settles me.
I sense the rise of the ocean’s floor as we near Tornelaine, then the rocky bluffs jut from the water. I itch to drive the wind and water against the cliffs, to feel the impact of the elements.
I slow myself. I don’t want to smash the ship.
Of course not.
As we draw near Tornelaine’s harbor, the waves rush ahead to knock broken ships against one another. When I try to draw the waters back, I only manage to bring a wave against the prow. Men shout as spray explodes across the deck. The Earthmaker onboard tries to calm the waves. He’s not powerful enough to counterbalance me, however, and we come wobbling into the harbor, spraying water over the port road as the captain steers us alongside.
Chapter 5
THE PANICKED SHOUTS from above deck, audible even over the roar of wind and water, warn me to brace for impact. I grab onto a support beam and widen my stance. Even so, the slamming of the boat into what I assume is the port road jerks me away from the beam and throws into one of the barrels.
I lie across the barrel for a moment, letting the pain in my hip settle. Then I hear pouring water. I flood more energy into my patch and renew the Drift-light I’ve kept floating above me. I don’t want to be in the dark down here. The smells of blood and meat and oil turn my stomach, and I’d rather see the weapons fully than catch glimpses of their blades when light filters from above. The harpoons are two and three times the length of my spear, and they hook back with wicked barbs to anchor in the flesh of whales. Thick ropes trail from the blunt ends to coil on the wet, stained floor.
“Astarti?” inquires Horik’s rumbling voice from the top of the stairs.
“Down here.”
Horik and another Drifter, Jarl, tromp down the steps into the hold.
“Gods,” Jarl mutters, dragging his tunic over his nose.
Men start filing into the hold behind the Drifters. They shout to each other in what sounds like Valdaran and start wrestling the barrels toward the stairs.
“The captain wants to save his cargo,” Horik explains. “It might take them a while to clear the hold. You want some help?” He eyes the gaping hole in the stern, where the murky water of the harbor sloshes against my faintly glowing patch.
I nod Horik closer. “It’s a lot of pressure.”
When Jarl and Horik have built a shield that lines mine, I let mine dissolve. Some of the energy dissipates; some seeps back into me. I sag with weariness and relief.
I wait until the sailors, grunting and cursing, have heaved another barrel onto the deck before I trudge up the steps. The sudden light makes me wince.
Logan and Heborian are talking near the rail. Logan’s arms are crossed. He looks jittery, like he’s trying to get away from Heborian. Seeming to sense me, he spins around. He leaves Heborian in the middle of a sentence and strides across the deck to me.
His eyes swirl blue and green. His hands skim over my hair, then my shoulders.
“I’m fine,” I assure him.
“When the
We are on our way more quickly than I dared hope. I drive the ship across the waters, filling tattered sails with wind. A split in one lengthens with the sound of ripping canvas, but I don’t give the shouting sailors time to take it back in. I stir the waters to push us even faster. Astarti looked exhausted. I don’t know how long she can keep the ship together.
I try to hold my body to the ship, to let only a fragment of myself enter the elements.
I don’t make it more than a mile.
I glide through wind and water, reveling in the freedom, driving the ship with rolling waves and relentless wind.
The hull groans a warning. Another sail rips.
I try to ease the push, to find a balance between freedom and control. I let a sliver of wind slip through the cracks in the ship to touch Astarti, and the answering hum of her energies settles me.
I sense the rise of the ocean’s floor as we near Tornelaine, then the rocky bluffs jut from the water. I itch to drive the wind and water against the cliffs, to feel the impact of the elements.
I slow myself. I don’t want to smash the ship.
Of course not.
As we draw near Tornelaine’s harbor, the waves rush ahead to knock broken ships against one another. When I try to draw the waters back, I only manage to bring a wave against the prow. Men shout as spray explodes across the deck. The Earthmaker onboard tries to calm the waves. He’s not powerful enough to counterbalance me, however, and we come wobbling into the harbor, spraying water over the port road as the captain steers us alongside.
Chapter 5
THE PANICKED SHOUTS from above deck, audible even over the roar of wind and water, warn me to brace for impact. I grab onto a support beam and widen my stance. Even so, the slamming of the boat into what I assume is the port road jerks me away from the beam and throws into one of the barrels.
I lie across the barrel for a moment, letting the pain in my hip settle. Then I hear pouring water. I flood more energy into my patch and renew the Drift-light I’ve kept floating above me. I don’t want to be in the dark down here. The smells of blood and meat and oil turn my stomach, and I’d rather see the weapons fully than catch glimpses of their blades when light filters from above. The harpoons are two and three times the length of my spear, and they hook back with wicked barbs to anchor in the flesh of whales. Thick ropes trail from the blunt ends to coil on the wet, stained floor.
“Astarti?” inquires Horik’s rumbling voice from the top of the stairs.
“Down here.”
Horik and another Drifter, Jarl, tromp down the steps into the hold.
“Gods,” Jarl mutters, dragging his tunic over his nose.
Men start filing into the hold behind the Drifters. They shout to each other in what sounds like Valdaran and start wrestling the barrels toward the stairs.
“The captain wants to save his cargo,” Horik explains. “It might take them a while to clear the hold. You want some help?” He eyes the gaping hole in the stern, where the murky water of the harbor sloshes against my faintly glowing patch.
I nod Horik closer. “It’s a lot of pressure.”
When Jarl and Horik have built a shield that lines mine, I let mine dissolve. Some of the energy dissipates; some seeps back into me. I sag with weariness and relief.
I wait until the sailors, grunting and cursing, have heaved another barrel onto the deck before I trudge up the steps. The sudden light makes me wince.
Logan and Heborian are talking near the rail. Logan’s arms are crossed. He looks jittery, like he’s trying to get away from Heborian. Seeming to sense me, he spins around. He leaves Heborian in the middle of a sentence and strides across the deck to me.
His eyes swirl blue and green. His hands skim over my hair, then my shoulders.
“I’m fine,” I assure him.
“When the
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