And when the smoking mists cleared and the chaos died away, as the tract
broadened and the waters smoothed again just as swiftly, their craft
remained, unbroken and undaunted. Kalus gave a cry and shook his fist
at the sky, while the girl wept. Another obstacle had failed to defeat
them.
But Kalus was given no time for celebration, and he knew it. Soon they
would enter the delta, and the meeting with the more voluminous North
River. Immediately he threw down the paddle and took up the longer,
stouter steering oar. The sail was heavy and wet, bunched unevenly
along the yard; but with supreme, unyielding effort he tried to angle
the craft into the wind, which to his dismay now turned nearly straight
from the North.
The mast gave a troubled groan; the right hull and stern sank
dangerously low in the water. But that was all. He could
change the direction of the prow but not their course. The
hulls' edges simply would not bite and drive them forward.
For all his cursing the craft barely held center. And soon the
North River would be upon them. Sylviana raised her dripping
face, her chest heaving both with oxygen and emotion. And for
all her trauma, she felt a swift and stark moment of
recognition.
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