Corvus (Stars and Sails, Book 1)

Eleven

Aiden was careful where he paddled the dory. The sea was darkening, and just as the evening fog thickened, the crests of each wave began to grow taller. He couldn't look at Tanner anymore, but was keenly aware that his eyes were trained on him.

Aiden positioned the boat to the left of the break in the sandbar. The water was silent, except for the lapping of the waves on the shore. Underwater, the riptide must have been coursing; it must have been. This was the best place to dump Tanner. Any further out and Aiden might lose track of the riptide.

After this, he'd paddle through and keep going. Maybe he could make it to the Durantan Union. Just Northeast of Aydesreve was Longport. Maybe he could find safety there. He'd miss Haworth. Haw might be worried sick about him, but he probably wouldn't be too surprised if Aiden had disappeared in the middle of the night. And Nova—he'd miss that Nova a good deal. But this night had changed everything. He was leaving—either that or he'd die in Aydesreve. They'd hang him out in Nooseneck Valley with the other criminals.

Aiden reached out and pushed up on Tanner's side, but he had become stiff in the hours after his death. He unthreaded an oar from its collar and, using a tackle box for leverage, began to push the body up the wall of the dory. It took all of his energy. He almost shattered his teeth from pressing them together so hard. Inch by inch, he leaned forward and Tanner's lifeless, purple-splotched body inched further up the side of the dory. Then, the water broke as the body tumbled out of the fishing boat and into the water. The boat rattled and shook. Water flooded the side. Aiden had time to drop the oar before he was ejected into the endless brine. He panicked underwater, flailing his arms and legs so that they might find something to hold onto, but he fell deeper and deeper. Cheeks puffed out, searching for every last bit of air in his lungs, he opened his eyes. Tanner's corpse stared back, eyes marbled with blood. Their limbs were entangled and Tanner was pulling him down deeper, until the two of them riled up a flurry of sand from the sea floor. Aiden focused and loosened Tanner's arms from around himself. He pushed himself back. He floated up to the surface, but he couldn't tear away his gaze. Tanner's body ascended back up and floated further out to sea in the riptide.

He could have sworn he was smirking, but his eyes were playing tricks on him as his lungs begged for air. That was the last time Aiden ever saw Jim Tanner.

But even as he pushed himself up to the glassy surface, he could still picture Tanner—all those moments playing over and over. It was all so real, so fresh. He could have sworn he felt the kickback of the pistol, but this time it was inside him, pounding at his chest. As he surfaced, he let out the loudest scream—heartbreak, a war cry, pure regret. It was all tangled up inside him like a bowline. He panted on the cold night air.

The mist was thicker now. It got inside of his mouth and gave him a taste of water, but never quenched him. The moon was lower in the sky. It hadn't kissed the horizon yet. He still had time left. He turned himself around and looked for the boat, but it was no longer beside him.

He was moving. The tide had wrapped its hands around his ankles and was pulling him along. First, it was gentle. Then it became violent. He was lost in the riptide. He clawed at the sandbar as he drifted through it. He pulled at clumps and clumps of damp sand. Just as Aiden thought he might be able to pull himself back up, the torrents tore mercilessly at his feet and swept him up. He gave up and allowed the undertow to consume him. Then, under the surface, he sputtered on a mouthful of tart sea. The waves choked him back out. He took in air only to cough it out again. Even above the surface he felt as if he was drowning. Aiden stopped fighting and succumbed to a swelling vein of water.

What bitter, bitter luck that would be if Aiden died trying to hide the body of a man he had killed. He could never win anything. Every fight, every chance he'd ever had, failed miserably on his behalf. He was painfully unlucky—a true enemy of the universe.