Chapter 17: Final Departure

Violet awoke in the half dark just short of dawn after a few hours of uneasy sleep. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and took a small breath. So this was it. The moment had come. At long last she would be leaving. It hardly seemed possible, as if she were to turn her thoughts in a certain way the fragile unreality of her planned adventure would pop like a soap bubble.

In a certain way Violet supposed she could do exactly that. She could turn over and pull the blankets over her head, refusing to acknowledge the fraught, dangerous journey she’d committed to. The thought squirmed inside of her, sharp edged and ugly.

She was afraid, there was no denying that, but it was like the cat had told her; she was correct to feel fear. The journey would be dangerous, but it would also be right. She had to remember that.

Violet got out of bed, shuffling her stockinged feet across the floorboards, careful to make as little noise as possible. Her mother wasn’t an early riser, but Violet still didn’t want to wake her.

Finding her rucksack, Violet checked through its contents. A growing nervousness tugged at the edges of her thoughts. It prickled along every synapse, like static in the moment before a lighting strike. Again she took a breath, then hugged the half empty rucksack to her chest and knelt in place for a long moment, her eyes slowly tracking across the corners of the room. It was all so familiar, and the thought that this was the last time she’d see any of it for quite a while still felt strange and false.

There was her desk and her bed, her closet and the marked up places on the far wall where she’d once tried her hand at painting…much to the chagrin of her mother. There were even tiny pink marks caught between the floorboards at the foot of her bed, from where she’d drawn her very first sigil.

Suddenly it seemed like entire years had passed since then.

Violet stood and shouldered her rucksack, leaving the top open. She still had to gather more supplies before she could be off.

The house was dark, but Violet knew where everything was, even in such gloom, and made it to the pantry without issue. It wasn’t a very nice thing she was doing, Violet supposed as she gently stacked the remaining cans into her rucksack, but she needed food for her journey. Otherwise, like the cat had said, she’d probably starve to death. Or be eaten by wolves. The cat always had seemed fairly fixated on wolves for whatever reason.

Aside from the cans there were also jars of preserves and various pickled vegetables lining the shelves of the pantry, but Violet ignored those. All it would take would be one hard knock and she’d have a rucksack dripping with broken glass and vinegar. Instead, she reached in next to them, to where the leftover biscuits were. They’d been securely wrapped in a checkered cloth and Violet tucked them gently away. The biscuits, more than anything else she could have taken, were a reminder of home.

With food secured Violet found a small simmering pot, a black cast-iron frying pan, a fork, a spoon, a tin-opener and then an aluminum plate with blue enameling that had begun to chip away along the sides. All of this just barely fit and when she went to shoulder her rucksack again, Violet had to take a quick step to the side in order to keep from toppling over. Her things had suddenly become rather heavy, hardly the breezy, light load she’d taken into the woods not so long before.

Shuffling the rucksack more firmly onto her back, Violet did up the straps and let herself get used to the weight. It felt much better with everything settled, and she supposed that as time went on there would be fewer cans and, consequently, less weight.

She didn’t allow herself to consider the flip side of this little piece of optimism, that with less cans she’d also have less food.

Violet thought for a moment about tiptoeing into her mother’s room and whispering goodbye, but somehow knew that if she laid eyes on her mother’s face she might not be able to go through with actually leaving. Instead she squared her shoulders and snuck back into her own room, letting the door whisper shut behind her.

Once there, she took a page she’d torn free from her notebook and wrote a simple message.

Im going akross the river to find the GLOW & stop the deemons. Ill be back soon. Dont wurry!

The last two words felt almost like a plea, and even as she slid through the window and stepped out into the pre-dawn darkness, Violet knew it wouldn’t work.

It was a chilly morning and the sky was freckled with ragged scraps of charcoal colored cloud. A cold breeze pushed through the seams in her clothes and Violet couldn’t help but shiver as she gently slid her window shut. Suddenly it felt a lot more like autumn than summer.

Once again, Violet checked over her rucksack, the action nervous and impulsive, but she couldn’t think of anything that was missing.

What it all came down to, she supposed, was the strangeness of walking away from her home, not knowing when she’d return. Her thoughts felt slow, impeded by an irresistible sense of wrongness that hung over the morning like a fog.

The cat met her just past the fence, filling the empty space by her side so smoothly that Violet didn’t even jump. Having the cat close felt comforting.

“Is it too dark, do you need me to guide you?” It asked, and Violet found herself almost surprised by how calm and businesslike her companion was being.

“I’m okay.” She said quietly, and for a time the two of them walked in silence, Violet listening to the noises of the nighttime forest as they began to slacken and fade. There wasn’t much light in the air yet, full dawn was still a while away, but somehow the creatures of the night seemed to know that their time was nearing an end. Soon they’d all need to go home.

Violet paused and listened further, past the specific noises, the squeaks of whirling bats and the gentle rustle of animals shifting in the bushes and on the branches overhead. What made them sound so prominent was the silence that lay between everything, a great gulf of total noiselessness.

For all the space the silence offered, there wasn’t anything in it. More than being unknown or unquantifiable in any way, the woods were empty.

Violet let that emptiness press against her ears for a moment, but though she expected to feel unease or even fear, all that rose within her was a tired sort of sadness. She wasn’t sure why.

“Going across the river won’t be so bad,” the cat said, noting her hesitation. “I’ve seen humans row boats before. You just need to push and pull and…it looked fairly easy. I’ll be sure to stick around for moral support.”

There was a breezy nonchalance to the cat’s words but Violet could tell that it didn’t know a thing about rowing…which wasn’t terribly surprising seeing as how it could bypass any river it wanted.

She considered the explanation the cat had given, how it could simply flip its own perspective of the world and glide through a sort of unspace with the river ‘below’ it and the water well out of the way.

Even considering the implications of that made Violet feel swimmy and strange. In any case, she couldn’t zip from place to place as the cat could so it probably wasn’t worth considering. Her only option was the boat.

The cat had to be right, Violet told herself, rowing was just pushing and pulling at a set of oars. All she’d have to do was repeat those motions and keep the nose of her boat pointed at the opposite bank of the river. Do that and not think about the great gulfs of water beneath her.

“Good,” Violet made herself nod. “…Can you please stay on the boat all the way to the other side of the river? I don’t want to be alone if…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

The cat nodded.

“I’ll be right next to you,” it said reassuringly. “And don’t worry, I won’t let anything bad happen. Life wouldn’t be very exciting around here if you were to capsize.”

Violet rolled her eyes but felt slightly cheered all the same.

They reached the dock just as the leading edges of the sun cleared the far horizon, drawing crimson ripples across an increasingly cloudy sky. Violet paused at the edges of the trees, crouched low like a hunter, scanning for any signs that the dock was occupied. But even as she searched for the Trade Master or anyone else that could have been hanging around, the cat stepped brazenly into the open, completely unworried.

“We’re alone,” it said. “Now come on, we should be across the river by the time the sun is up.”

The spare boat was where they’d left it, still sitting off to the side, and Violet took a deep breath before setting her rucksack into the bottom and digging in her heels. The boat moved in fits and starts, its oars rattling where they’d been tucked into the bottom of the vessel. Adding to the cacophony was a grating squeal of aluminum against concrete that set Violet’s teeth on edge. She glanced anxiously to where she knew the path to the village was, all but certain that she’d see the Trade Master running at her from the trees, but the forest remained still.

Violet made herself think rationally. She was quite a distance from the village. Even if she were to call out at the top of her lungs, inviting everyone to come after her, she wouldn’t be heard by a single soul.

It took a while longer to get the boat into the water and Violet nearly fell on her face while clambering over the side, being very careful not to get her feet wet. The boat rocked alarmingly in place as she sat down.

As she steadied herself, trying not to look at the vast gulf of open water straight ahead, the cat materialized on the prow of the boat, seated primly upon the aluminum.

“You’re beginning to drift,” it noted, flicking a casual glance to the water. “Get your oars into the crutches.”

“The what?” Violet asked, but had already begun to move, tugging the oars towards her. They were a great deal heavier than they looked and she struggled to lift them into place, face gone pink with the effort. The first oar’s blade slapped into the water and Violet recoiled as she was hit across the face by a spray of icy river water. Immediately the little metal holder she’d set the oar into (the crutch, she realized, putting the cat’s words together) turned smoothly and the oar began to drag in the water, turning the boat to face the shore. The prow grated against broken concrete and Violet hurried to correct course.

The cat was right, they were being slowly but surely tugged towards the dock itself. Grimacing, Violet managed to get the second oar into its crutch and gripped both handles. She had to strain in order to lift both oars out of the river. They shivered in place, water dripping from the blades, dyed a dull but persistent red by the rising sun.

There was enough light to see across the entire river now, but Violet kept her eyes down, swallowing hard as she angled the blades correctly, so they’d slice into the water rather than slap impotently against the surface. Then she dug them in and pulled as hard as she could.

The boat moved unevenly, its nose waggling back and forth. The cat shifted in place, observing the river ahead, then gently cleared its throat.

“Angle the boat upstream.” It said.

Violet blinked, pausing in her efforts. They’d gone past the end of the dock and were now out into open water, as far from the island as anyone from the village had ever been. She forced herself to ignore that ominous observation and focused her attention squarely on the cat.

“Why?” She asked, and was surprised by how sharp her voice sounded. There was a tremble playing across the back of her words. The boat suddenly seemed very small and flimsy.

“We’re being pulled down the river,” the cat patiently explained. “Do what I say or else we’ll very quickly find ourselves in uncharted territory.”

The cat didn’t sound especially worried, but its words still shot fresh fear through Violet. She took a quick, bracing breath, then redoubled her efforts, straining against the water.

She knew what to do in theory, pulling the oars one way or the other made the boat turn, but the oars were unwieldy for someone as small as her and the effect of the current on her vessel only made things even more difficult.

Before she could stop herself, Violet glanced back at the island. The dock was already past her, receding into the distance. They were indeed being washed downstream, and quite quickly too.

A frightened groan slipped from between Violet’s clenched teeth and she made herself row even faster. Fear had begun to bubble up from the bottom of her stomach, acidy and unpleasant.

“We’re…we’re making good progress, right?” She asked the cat, trying and failing to keep her voice from shaking.

The cat began to shrug, then saw how pale she was and turned the gesture seamlessly into a strong nod.

“You’re doing well,” it said. “…For someone who’s never rowed before.”

However backhanded the compliment might have been, Violet made herself believe it. She’d get across the river, stash the boat somewhere visible, so she could easily find it again once it was time for them to head back…and then she wouldn’t have to think about the river or the water anymore.

It seemed a good plan and she nodded to herself, eyes locked on the cat and the opposite side of the river, which still seemed disconcertingly far away.

She’d get across the river, stash the boat….

Before Violet could get any further, she felt a sudden cold wetness seep into the toe of her left shoe. She glanced down, oars stuttering forward as she lost momentum, and realized that there was maybe an inch of dark water in the bottom of the boat. It sloshed gently back and forth.

Her other shoe began to soak through.

The boat was leaking.

The edges of a word, nonsensical and made up entirely of vowels, filled the front of Violet’s mouth and she whimpered, her hands going tight on the handles of her oars. She was frozen.

“Violet.” The cat said from its place on the prow. It had turned to face her and there was something frighteningly direct about its gaze, completely different to how calm its voice remained.

Violet stared helplessly into the bottom of the boat, where there seemed to be a whole ocean lapping around her feet, more a continuation of the river than anything else. Soon enough it would rise up and swallow her whole.

She was a long way from home. Nobody would hear her, no matter how loud she screamed. And even if they did, even if they put together what had happened and came after her, there wouldn’t be a thing her neighbors could do to save her from what was coming.

She was alone.

“Violet!” The cat repeated, louder this time, and Violet forced her eyes up until she was meeting her companion’s gaze.

“I…we….” Whatever she’d been about to say was lost in a growing haze of panic. She wanted to look at the water again, as though her gaze could keep it from growing any deeper, but forced herself to stay focused. If she allowed herself to become hypnotized by terror then that would be the end.

“Take the oars,” the cat instructed, voice still light with forced calm. “Take the oars and row. It’s okay. Everything will be fine.”

Violet made herself obey but knew immediately that something was wrong. The boat, unwieldy before, felt leaden and slow now, moving only reluctantly. In the back of her mind Violet knew this had to do with the water her vessel had taken, the boat was heavier now, of course it would move more slowly, but those thoughts didn’t cohere.

“Please….” She wanted to beg, to plead for the cat to do something, but knew with a sick certainty that for all the knowledge and ability the cat had displayed to her on land, it was powerless here. It could zip to the other size of the river if it so pleased, but she would still be there on the boat.

Suddenly she realized that her companion had never had a name beyond its species, that she knew virtually nothing about it. It had shown her such grand things, had taught her sigils and the nature of the forest, but what good was any of that now that she was about to be done in by a hairline fracture at the bottom of an old aluminum rowboat?

A great wash of emotion swelled within her, terror and confusion and a great sense of dread rising to the top. Violet could feel tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, burning like acid at the corners of her eyes.

Then, before her, the cat stood fully up, all four paws bunched beneath it. The fur on its tail had gone spiky and Violet could see its whiskers trembling.

“You’re the only one who can do anything right now, Violet,” the cat said, a new seriousness in its voice. “Take the oars and row as hard as you can.”

Violet yanked both oars through the water but the blades were angled differently and she only succeeded in making the boat swing drunkenly to one side, treating her to a panoramic view of just how far away solid land had become.

All around her was water, dark and inky as obsidian, the shores immaterial in their distance. Where before Violet had seen trouble in the water lapping around her ankles, now there rose a deeper dread, suffocating and impossibly vast. Her fragmented thoughts spun across the edges of this new feeling but could only catch splinters, moments of panicked query as to what would happen once she slipped below the surface.

There would be the water and then the darkness and then beyond that? What then?

Violet slashed at the water again but still her oars skipped and scudded, refusing to find solid purchase as she took shallow, panicked breaths. And suddenly the cat was scrabbling for purchase on her shoulders, front paws hooked into her hair.

“Dip your oars into the water, evenly. Do this in time with my tail, alright?”

Even as Violet wondered what the cat could possibly mean, she felt a soft, lithe something thump her across the back once and then again, a single moment between taps. A rhythm.

The water in the bottom of the boat had risen nearly to her ankles now, but she forced herself to ignore its icy potential as best she could, even if the dread remained at the back of her chest, slipping icy fingers into the corners of her mind.

The shore was still so far away….

Again the cat thwacked her with its tail and Violet pushed the oars savagely forward as hard as she could. The prow of the boat wasn’t angled upstream anymore but she hardly cared, just so long as the shore was getting closer.

“Good,” the cat said but didn’t sound any less tense. “But you need to go faster.”

Violet glanced up, eyes wide. Her arms were beginning to burn, fiery stripes of pain rubbed across her palms by the rough oar handles. The boat was so heavy and the river so vast, how could she be expected to move any quicker? Again the dread coiled, like a viper preparing to strike.

A frightened plea rose to her lips, Violet cringing away from its uselessness even as fresh fear and helpless self pity filled her eyes. She knew complaints would accomplish nothing, but how else could she express just how frightened she felt?

The cat saw her words coming and suddenly something had changed in its bearing. Its paws tightened atop her head and Violet winced as she felt the very tips of her companion’s claws prickle on her scalp. Again it was speaking but there was no calmness now, nor even any tension.

“There is nobody out here that can help you besides yourself. If you don’t row as fast as you can then this boat will capsize and you will drown. Quicken your pace, girl. Row the goddamned boat.”

Violet found something to do with the terror that filled her. Leaning forward into her next stroke, she rose from her seat and threw her entire weight into the oars, keeping the boat as straight as she could. She repeated the motion again and again, straining into the sullen weight of her vessel, forcing it forward.

Her lungs burned and her muscles ached but Violet hardly noticed. She was buzzing with adrenaline, her heart hammering and her teeth clenched. The fear was still there, burning like battery acid in her veins, but now it seemed to fuel her rather than freeze her in place.

And suddenly the shore was near, drifting past at an infuriatingly languid pace, as though her frenzied efforts to reach it were being mocked. Violet could see stands of cattails and reeds interrupted by shallow banks of clay and mud, beyond which stood tangled stands of trees and brush. It looked much older than her own forest, more settled in its growth.

But there was no time to pay attention to that. The boat had begun to list to one side and Violet found herself leaning to try and compensate, sawing at the water with one oar to try and get her nose onto the bank.

She was only a few meters away, almost close enough to touch. Leaning forward, Violet tugged her rucksack into her lap with a convulsive jerk that nearly threw the cat from her shoulders, then forced it on, icy water wetting her back.

It had cost her some time, she realized, but knew that she couldn’t leave her pack behind. She had her notebook in there after all, safely stacked atop everything else. If she lost that, if she lost her chalk and her food and her spark lighter, she’d be worse than helpless.

Something stuttered across the bottom of the boat and Violet felt the blade of one oar jar against something solid, throwing a painful jolt along the length of her arm. The boat spun in place, throwing her perspective away from the shore for a frightening moment, then she had gained control once more and heaved at a stand of muddy reeds with all her strength. A moment later icy water poured over the left gunwale and Violet toppled to one side. The cat’s weight disappeared from her shoulders like a magic trick and she gripped hard to the right gunwale of the boat as her oar swung hard inwards and rammed her in the stomach.

In an instant the air was gone from her lungs and Violet lost grip on the right gunwale as the boat flopped over with a splash of icy water that caught her full across the face. For a moment she was floundering, then the weight of her rucksack caught her and she was tugged straight down, submerged to her shoulders in the dark, silty flow.

Her legs nearly buckled but Violet managed to stagger to the side, her feet plowing through tangles of dead reeds and gluey mud. An inky wave slapped against her chin but she raised her face skyward and managed a shivery, exquisitely painful breath.

Violet more crawled than walked onto the shore, the weight of her rucksack dragging her onto her side as she pulled free from the river. She tried to take a deep breath but everything hurt too much for her to manage more than a wheeze.

She was in a little clear space in the middle of a stand of reeds, lying on a low, muddy patch raised barely a foot above the water. The riverbank rose from there, turning from reeds to grass, then to brush and trees. Violet knew she should have been fetching her notebook to make sure that it hadn’t been soaked during her tumble into the river, but couldn’t find the energy to move.

And suddenly the cat was before her, carefully seated upon a little mat of dead reeds.

“…At least we only lost the boat.” It said.

Violet tried to pick herself up, failed, and then shuffled clumsily out of her rucksack straps. Sitting up, mud streaked and trembling, she stared back at the river. She could see dark curls of sediment being carried downstream in ribbons where she had crawled ashore.

“I almost drowned.” Violet said, and had to ball her hands into fists to still a convulsive shudder that made her teeth begin to chatter.

The cat nodded evenly.

“Almost,” it allowed. “But you didn’t.”

Violet hardly heard it. Her eyes remained locked on the river, now deceptively calm and still, as though no struggle for survival had taken place at all. The boat was gone.

“I’m stuck here.” She said quietly, and then began to cry.