Christopher at Sea
He woke up on a hard floor. He had a sense of being far at sea, of being at a distance from all existence, except that of the dog, its beating animal heart, its ravenous minds.
A voice was talking nearby. ‘His lips are blue! What if he dies? What do I do? Christopher can’t die!’
Christopher then. His name was Christopher.
‘Touch-now his hand,’ said another voice. ‘Hes needs to be rooteds. He is whats we calls, out of his minds: literallies, actuallies. He has steppeds out, and it is a painfuls thing to steps back in.’
He felt a horn rest against his wrist. A small dragon came to land on his chest and very gently, very softly, bent its head to bite Christopher’s collarbone.
It took an effort he had never known before to find his way back: back to his own mind, his own body and his own memories. The pain of it was very great.
He blinked, and saw Anya was holding tight to his wrist: an anchor.
He struggled upright. ‘I’m all right,’ he muttered. He was shivering, and his whole skeleton screamed at him, but he was alive. He turned sideways and was violently sick.
Anya let out a noise that was part laughter, part sob. ‘You’re awake!’
‘Though you will need a particularly vigorous wash,’ said Jacques.
‘And we have the whiskers,’ said Anya. ‘They’re ours!’ And now her laughter held no sob, was part mania and part delight.
‘Where are we?’ His vision was still blurred.
‘The Neverfear!’
‘How did we get back?’
‘I dragged you some of the way. You walked some of it. Don’t you remember?’
He shook his head. ‘What happened to the dog? Did you set it free?’
She glanced witheringly at him. ‘You passed out, and the second you fell, it lunged at you. I only just pulled you out of range of its teeth. So no, I didn’t let it go, Christopher. I was too busy making sure none of us died.’
‘It wanted to be free.’ He would come back, he vowed. One day he would return, and release the dog.
‘What it wanted was to tear you limb from limb. I saved your life.’ But joy was mounting in her voice.
‘Thank you.’ He did not hug her – they rarely embraced, the two of them – but he grinned at her. ‘One task down!’ he said.
‘Just two more! We’ll be home with Irian in a week! And then this will be over and we’ll be safe! We’re going to do it!’
Anya’s optimism was contagious. She had pulled him through the giants’ forest. She had the giants’ candyfloss tangled in her hair and bramble scratches on her face, and even so she was laughing.
He laughed too. ‘Onwards, as Nighthand would say. For Irian!’
A great wave of light came over him: they had already done so much. They could do anything that was to follow.