Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
I flail for several heartbeats. I’m oriented wrong, pushing myself deeper instead of reaching for the surface. The river is
murky with mud and detritus, but I spot a muffled brightness and aim for it, kicking hard, hard, harder, expecting massive
teeth to close around my legs at any moment.
The brightness intensifies. My head breaks the surface, and finally I can fill my aching lungs enough to scream, “Titus!”
Shattered bits of ferry bob all around me. A limp body floats by, head down, arms splayed. The hair is deep brown, almost
black. Not Titus.
I stroke through the wreckage, letting the current guide me. If Titus is unconscious or dead, he’ll have drifted downriver.
No pack encumbers me—Apple had been carrying all my gear—but my water-soaked boots threaten to drag me under.
The town of Windara’s Ferry is no longer visible, but the opposite bank of the Iolandria is a blur to the east. No one can
swim that far with such heavy feet.
I allow myself to dip under the water as I lift my feet to wrestle off my boots. The waterlogged laces are stubborn, but I
manage it. I kick them off, and they drop into the dark depths of the river, leaving my feet free but vulnerable.
It’s easier to tread water now, and I’m able to crane my neck higher and get a better view.
A reddish horsey head stretches a few boat lengths ahead of me.
Apple! I stroke toward him, but then a darker head snags my gaze—mane thick, nostrils flaring with heavy breaths.
It’s Blackwind, struggling to stay afloat, because unlike Apple, he has not managed to lose all his heavy saddlebags.
Which means he’s still carrying the magical gauntlets.
I can’t reach them both.
“Oh, Apple,” I mutter, swimming hard for the Thordin stallion. “I’m so sorry, sweet boy.”
Blackwind moves with the current, getting whisked downstream faster than he can swim for the shore. But Grandda taught me
well. I make the current my ally, and within minutes I’m even with him.
He’s terrified, the whites of his eyes rolling around as he swims for his life.
“Hello, sweetheart,” I mumble through cold lips, as though nothing were the matter. “Let me get rid of this baggage for you.”
His ears perk, so I keep talking as I reach for the saddlebag containing the gauntlets.
“If we make it through this, you’ll get free carrots for life,” I tell him, unhooking the bag. I’m not sure what to do with
it. Hook it to the belt at my waist? What if the gauntlets fall into the river? “What should we do, Blackwind?”
The stallion flails, and panic returns to his eyes as the current sweeps us ever southward.
No time to be fancy. I pull the leather ties around my neck and knot them, so that I’m wearing the saddlebag like a giant, ugly amulet.
I start unhooking the other bags, but they’re stubborn and my hands are clumsy with cold, and treading water beside a panicked horse is nearly impossible.
So I unsheathe my knife and cut the bags off.
Our tents, bedrolls, and all our food disappear into the Iolandria.
But it was the right choice. Now unencumbered, Blackwind proves to be a spectacular swimmer. I clutch his mane, and he does
all the work, pulling me inexorably toward the far shore.
“Good boy, Blackwind,” I say, to keep from sobbing with relief. “You are such a good boy. That’s it . . . keep going.”
Something massive slicks against my foot, and I almost scream. Blackwind felt it too; he stretches his neck forward and churns
harder. But whatever swims beneath us is so large it creates a suction of current, pulling us back toward the center of the
river.
Screams louder than the wind. Waves so huge I can’t tell up from down. Bright-hot pain slicing my shin.
I should ready my magic. I could kill this giant monster. All I have to do is get a hand on it before it eats me.
With my right hand, I tighten my grip on Blackwind’s mane. But I gradually untangle the cold fingers of my left and ready
myself to reach. The grootslang could come from any direction.
My stomach leaps into my throat as we dip into the deep trough of a wave. A wall of water looms over us. I’m so consumed with
keeping air in my lungs, with keeping my fragile grip on Blackwind’s mane, that I don’t see the plank of shattered ferry until
it crashes into my forehead.
My vision goes black as water rushes into my mouth. I’m choking and gasping, still pulled along by Blackwind. Somehow I’ve
managed to keep my grip on his mane.
I can’t see. I can barely breathe. A whole world of pain is expanding inside my skull. I’m going to pass out, and when I do, I’ll drown.
Unless . . .
Somehow, my left hand—my grootslang-slaying hand—finds its way back to Blackwind’s mane. I drag myself closer to him, lift
a leg over his back. Every effort sends daggers of pain into my head.
“I need your help, my friend,” I say. Or do I just think it? I’m astride him in the saddle now, my chest stretched across
the back of his neck. My feet can’t seem to find their way to the stirrups.
More screaming, more splashing. Everything goes dark. And just as suddenly, it’s bright again—way too bright—and I must close
my eyes against the agony of consciousness.
Some part of me understands that I’m sliding off Blackwind’s back, and I rally my stiff, icy fingers to keep clutching his
mane, my thighs to tighten around his girth. Hold on, Bria. Don’t let go, no matter what.
Time passes. I’m awake enough to know I shouldn’t sleep, though I want more than anything to lose myself to this drifting
feeling. Water floods my mouth every few moments, choking me, and I’m grateful for the coughing, because it reminds me to
keep struggling.
I don’t know how long I can stay alert. Everything is closing in around me—darkness, water, pain; even the leather ties around
my neck are tightening with the weight of the waterlogged saddlebag. Through the maelstrom of misery come a few bright, clear
thoughts: I miss home. I can’t lose these gauntlets. I can’t bear the thought of never seeing Titus again.
The drifting becomes jostling. Blackwind shakes himself, and the motion dislodges me from his saddle.
My fingers loosen, taking strands of mane with them. I slide . . . fall . . . crash to the ground. More agony, in my neck
and shoulder this time. My entire life is pain.
Dirt and blood on my tongue. My cheek is smashed into mud. I’ve just enough time to register that I’m out of the river, that
Blackwind has carried me to shore, before my head explodes into nothingness.