Baswin
Page 9
Baswin delved into the pocket of his toolbelt and grabbed the long handle of the steel screwdriver. A puny blade to wield against the formidable sharks.
As the first shark dove at him, he twisted aside and slashed the bladed tip of the screwdriver into its sensitive snout.
Blood spurted.
The other, larger shark pivoted toward the smaller, wounded one, and crunched its jaws on its tail.
A third shark appeared at the fringes of his vision and joined the attack.
Baswin scooted away.
He collided with a fourth shark, the largest he had yet seen.
It wheeled around, angling its gaping jaws to clamp on to him.
Terror spurred him into an agile leap, spinning over its body until he grasped hold of its dorsal fin.
Lashing its long body back and forth, the shark attempted to dislodge him.
Grimly determined, he held on to the fin and wrapped his legs around its body. Using his free hand, he stabbed the screwdriver at the shark’s head. On the third attempt, he connected with his target, driving his blade into the shark’s large eye.
Its blood oozed out, dissipating in the currents.
The shark bucked.
Its violent jerk tossed Baswin off his precarious seat. He grabbed the fin with both hands, losing hold of the slippery handle of his screwdriver. Reestablishing a firm grip, he unclipped the tool belt and slammed the heavy pockets against the side of the shark’s head.
The flap of one pocket broke open, releasing the contents. By chance, the small coil of wire unraveled and stuck in the shark’s gills.
The shark grew frenzied. It whipped around, losing interest in prey in its desperation to free its gills and breathe.
Baswin kicked away.
The big shark blundered into its fellows, becoming yet another victim to their voracious appetites.
Swimming deeper as swiftly as he could with an injured leg, Baswin fled from the bloody melee. He did not slow until the darkness was complete. Afraid the blood seeping from his bites would attract other predators, he tore his shirt into strips and wrapped them around his wounded thigh.
Why was the water so dark? In the oceans of Rishalt, he could see well at similar depths. He remembered the remaining part of his disguise. He wore tinted lens to mute the unearthly color of his irises. The dark lens also protected him from Earth’s brighter sun. But they interfered with his normal vision in the deep sea. The lens must go. He needed to see well to avoid further hazards. His disguise was an impediment at this stage. His exposed gills would reveal his alien origin to any fisherman who hooked him.
He swam on, snatching moments of sleep as he traveled. A skill he had perfected while fighting against the Swarm.
A BURNING PAIN ON HIS bare calf jolted him awake.
A second stinging flare sent him somersaulting away from the unseen attacker.
Not far enough. The same agonizing sting scraped across his other leg.
He peered through the dark waters. Long curling strings dangled from above. One brushed against his bare back and forearm. The spasm of pain exposed the source of attack. He had become entangled in the stinging tendrils of a large jellyfish.
He fled, jackknifing down into deeper water.
The stings burnt like fire running along his calves and arm. Using a sleeve of his shirt, he scraped the affected parts to remove the loose stingers. He touched his limbs gingerly and felt the swollen scores of welts crossing his skin.
He had no healgel, no medicine to soothe the pain and ease the swelling. He must endure the agony.
The burning sensation along his arm and legs left him feeling shaky and weak. Instead of the pain fading, he was assaulted by waves of nausea. In a new torment, he endured brutal stabs of abdominal cramps. Was he dying? Curling into a fetal position, he descended slowly into cooler, darker water.
He longed for the agony to cease. Would he die in this alien ocean, far from the lively seas of his home world?
Hours passed, perhaps days. He lost track of the time.
Sometimes, he roused in the undulating waves under the blazing sun. At other times, he felt surrounded by the comfortable pressure of the ocean depths.
He drifted alone, immobilized with pain and exhausted. Shivering with fever, he dreamed of better times with his brothers. Where were they now? His triad brothers, if they were alive, were out of reach on a distant planet.
Once, he dreamed of a pretty woman. A human woman, her face haloed in angelic brightness. He imagined she smiled at him. Was he hallucinating?
Chapter 13
HOLLY AND ROSIE ENJOYED their new life on the tropical island. They pored over tutorials of proper etiquette in Warrish society, ate Warrish-style meals of fish stews and fruit, and swam in the translucent shallows of the lagoon. In many of the activities, Amrita accompanied the Moon sisters. They had no particular fondness for the timid woman, although they tried to encourage her to chat about herself. In Holly’s opinion, the attempt to force the candidates into future triads was ill judged and might not succeed. Among the other candidates, only the Li sisters presented a unified appearance and behavior.
In the middle of their week at the embassy, Holly and Rosie were invited to join their guides on a sailing trip. They would spend the whole day swimming and fishing from the boat, and later they would land on the sandy beach of an atoll to dine on their catch.
The Moon sisters were delighted to accept.
They set out soon after daybreak, wearing casual swimsuits and breathers and descended the steps to the beach. A double-hulled catamaran was moored by the dock. Their Warrish tutors, Arrak and Arkan, stood on the dock with two of the native staff, Panina and Makani.
Holly guessed the Third, Arkur, had been assigned as usual to work on Amrita’s swimming lessons. Jumping onto the wooden planks, she asked, “Are you off duty today?”
The First, Arrak, answered, “Yes and no. Sailing, surfing and fishing are our favorite leisure activities.” Offering a wry grin, he explained, “We also want to ensure you are comfortable in the wider ocean for when you live on Rishalt. Our planet is largely a vast ocean with scattered archipelagos of small islands.”
“If we’re chosen,” Holly muttered, worried about the next set of tests.
On Arrak’s instructions, the two sisters climbed on board and sat on the deck. Arkan unfastened the moorings and shoved the sailboat away from the dock. Crouched at the stern, Arrak steered, while Makani and Panina adjusted the sails.
Sitting beside her sister, Holly relished the rush of cool wind on her face and the way the sailboat bounded over the waves. The Warrish, evidently experts, took turns to help trim the sails and steer the catamaran. Soon, they sailed out of sight of the embassy and the Isle of Warra.
After about an hour, Makani dropped the anchor and Arkan pulled two fishing rods out of a long compartment in the hull. While they fished, the others jumped into the sea and swam around the sailboat.
Fortunately, she and Rosie had often swum in choppy coastal waters. They had little fear of drowning in this company. Panina and Makani were almost as home in the ocean as the amphibious Warrish. When they were tired of swimming, they climbed a rope ladder onto the sailboat. Makani proudly displayed their catch, four fish ranging in size from a third to one meter in length.
By the time they anchored inside the lagoon of a small atoll, Holly was tired and happy to jump out and paddle onto the narrow beach. Their Warrish guides muttered about sunburn and donned tunics. Panina offered them water and fresh coconut milk from the supplies on board. Their hosts began to clean the fish, search for dry branches and palm fronds and build a fire.
While Rosie helped to cook the fish, Holly wandered along the beach, ostensibly to find firewood. In truth, she wished to explore and yearned to be alone for a change. She ambled along the strip of sand to the end of the beach. Scrambling gingerly over an outcrop of coral, she discovered another, even smaller cove, lapped by waves and backed by steep cliffs.
She walked onward. Her gaze roamed from the splashing breakers to the raw rocks inland. Ahead, she glimpsed a pale object in the reef on the far side of the cove. Curious about this strange thing, she strode toward it. Distinguishing the length of a slim torso, she raced across the sand.
A body sprawled in the coral rocks.
Panting from the effort of running in the damp sand, she dropped onto her knees beside the body. The person lay on one side, their legs trailing underwater, while one arm cradled the head. A wave splashed over the body. Gill slits fluttered open, revealing an alien Warrish. He wore only a tattered pair of shorts.
Was he alive? Could Warrish mermen drown?
As the wave ebbed, she noticed a piece of cloth wrapped around his thigh. The ends had unraveled to expose deep gashes, still raw and sticky with blood. His lower legs and one arm were scored by ugly red welts. What had caused those wounds?
She leaned over to grasp his wrist and felt for a pulse. But an oddity penetrated her mind. He had five fingers on his hand instead of the six digits of other Warrish. She glanced at his other hand, fingers outstretched under the surface of the water. That hand also had five fingers. Why?
Stupid. She berated herself for the distraction. As a psychic, she had better ways to test for signs of life. She eased into the pool and struggled to maneuver his shoulders onto her knees. A purple contusion on his forehead and blackening around one eye were signs of other injuries.
She lowered her head and placed her fingers on his temples. Yes. She sensed a living mind.
As she gazed at his face, his lips parted in a ragged moan. His chest heaved and he gulped down a mouthful of air. His eyelids flickered open. His eyes had amber irises flecked in gold.
A shock of recognition hit her. She had seen his face before. The strange man in her vision. The man with vivid amber eyes. The vision had appeared immediately before the letter arrived with the invitation from Minister Braithwaite for an interview in the preliminary selection for tripilot training.
His expression warmed into a fleeting smile. “Awa,” he whispered. A second later, he groaned. His eyelids drooped and he slid back into unconsciousness.
Holly sighed. He needed medical assistance. Urgently. She had no means to bandage his wounds unless she stripped naked and used her skimpy swimsuit.
Twisting around, she stared back along her path from the beach with the sailboat. Her footprints marked a wavy line in the sand, but nobody else was in sight.
Filling her lungs with salty air, she yelled, “Rosie.”
Her shout was dampened by the crash of waves and the buffeting winds, but her sister might still respond. Although they did not communicate telepathically in words, she could often sense her sister’s emotions. Surely, Rosie would sense her distress.
Confident that Rosie would respond, Holly labored to drag the man out of the sea and onto drier sand. His weight, and the tug of the waves, placed the task at the limits of her muscular strength. She had only shifted him by an arm’s length when a faint cry cut through the clamor of wind and waves.
“Holly.”
She glanced in the direction of the first beach.
Rosie was jumping down from the ridge of coral separating the two coves. And Arrak appeared just behind her. Good. Rosie could use her healing powers on the injured stranger, and their Warrish guide would know what to do with him.
Holly waved. Sitting on the wet sand, she lifted the unconscious man’s head onto her lap. She had found the man in her vision and felt responsible for the Warrish stranger. She wanted to hug him, comfort him, and protect him from further misery.
Once over the ridge and onto the smooth sand, Arrak sped into a run. He overtook her sister and soon reached Holly. Squatting on his heels, he said, “What have you found?”
“I pulled this man from the waves. He’s badly hurt.” She pointed to the gash in his thigh and his bruised brows. As Arrak stared at the ugly wounds, she asked, “Do you recognize him?”
Arrak switched his attention to the man’s face, but said nothing. Instead, he pulled off his tunic and tore it into lengthwise strips.
By this time, Rosie had joined them. Kneeling on the other side of their patient, she placed her fingers on his forehead. “He’s alive.” She glanced across his body at Holly, adding, “But barely alive. We need to get him to a hospital.”
Their guide was winding the strips of his tunic over the gashes in the stranger’s thigh. Without looking up from his task, he said, “No.”
His blunt negative startled Holly. She blinked at him and said fiercely, “He needs proper medical help.”
“Warrish help.” Shooting a frown at her, he said, “We have strong medicines. Better than Earther physicians, who have insufficient knowledge of our bodies.”
“Okay. But we’re a long way from Rishalt.”
Instead of replying, he tapped on his com and spoke in rapid Warrish words to somebody. After listening to the faint response, he looked across at Holly. “They will come to this island and take him to our undersea base.”
Rosie had already placed her crystal pendant on the unconscious man’s forehead. Shutting her eyes, she focused healing energy on him.
Still holding his head and shoulders on her lap, Holly felt him relax.
Arrak pulled a small jar out of the pouch on his belt, and handed it to her. “Dab this ointment on the rash.”
“What is it?”
“Healgel. It will ease the sting. He was snagged in the tendrils of a jellyfish.”
As she applied the greenish gel over the welts, she recalled his brief smile. “He woke for a moment and said something to me, a strange word, ‘Awa.’ What does it mean?”
Arrak stared at her. “Awa is our word for an envoy of the Great Mother, Warra. One of her attendants and messengers. The closest parallel for you might be an angel.”
“Why would he call me an angel?”
“He believed the Great Mother had sent you to save him.”
Holly tossed her wet curls, and gave a dubious laugh. “Perhaps she did.”
Straightening his bent knees, Arrak stood erect and scanned the ocean. “They will arrive soon. You must return to the sailboat.” Swiveling toward the sisters, he touched his forefinger to his lips and pleaded, “Brisai Holly and Rosie, you must not speak of this man to anybody else.”
“If you wish,” Holly said. “I’ll promise to keep this secret. In return, will you please promise he will receive the best care from your people.”
“Sure,” Rosie said. “I’ll keep my lips sealed.”
On further deliberation, Holly said, “If we don’t mention this wounded man, how can we explain what happened? Rosie came running to find me and you followed her.”
“You have hooked the key problem.” Giving a nod, Arrak rubbed his temples and peered at the unconscious patient. Finally, he said, “You can dissemble. You noticed something unusual. Maybe a dolphin stranded on the sand.”
“Brilliant.” Holly chuckled. “Let’s make it a baby dolphin. It was bleeding. I called for Rosie to try her healing touch. It seemed to revive, so you carried it into the water and waited to make sure it swam away safely.”
Arrak smiled. “I applaud your skills at inventing a story.” Waving his hand toward the tracks of their feet in the wet sand, he said, “Please go.”
The sisters walked along the beach, skirting into the sea and splashing in the waves. Just before they reached the low ridge of coral, Holly glanced back.
Arrak crouched on his heels by the prone body of the battered man.
Beyond the reef, two crested heads rose above the swells.
Standing erect, Arrak waved. The swimmers dove toward the shore.
Guessing the Warrish rescuers had arrived, Holly caught hold of her sister’s wrist a
nd urged her to hurry over the rocks.
They descended from the rocks and strolled across the final stretch of sand to the group by the fire.
Panina waved.
Makani was wrapping a palm leaf around a fish. Crouching by the small fire, Arkan looked at the Moon sisters and quirked his blue eyebrows.
Giving a tiny eyeroll, Holly began her fake explanation for her absence.
Only Panina seemed worried about baby dolphin, the two men accepted her story without comment.
By the time the four fish were cooked, Arrak had returned. “Our patient swam off,” was his contribution.
As they sailed back to the embassy, the Moon sisters were quiet. Holly, and probably her sister too, was musing over their encounter with the wounded man. Why had they been sworn to secrecy about him? Surely, the Warrish man must be on the embassy staff. Yet, Arkan had not recognized him. Holly deduced there was a mystery behind the amber-eyed stranger’s presence on the reef.
Chapter 14
ON THE FOLLOWING DAY, Holly was still puzzling over the semiconscious Warrish man she had found on the island. Due to the secrecy surrounding him, she might never learn whether he survived or not. She went about the daily tasks in a daze of worry.
Toward midday as she perused another tutorial about Warrish customs, her temples began to throb. She felt a tug at her inner sight. Shutting her eyes, the sensation grew stronger. She perceived the injured stranger. He tossed his head from side to side in agitation and cried in Warrishan, “Awa. Where is she?”
He was calling for her. She had to go to him.
Impelled by a sense of urgency, she checked her com. It was almost lunchtime. She trotted toward the dining room. Everyone else would also be heading for the food. Arrak, and probably the other Warrish, would know how to find the wounded man. Scrumptious scents wafted along the corridor and her mouth watered in anticipation of a tasty meal.
Cornering Arrak as he approached the entrance, she swung in front of him and demanded, “Where is the wounded man? I have to see him.”