Charles throws a coil of rope into the bottom of the rowboat, shoves it fully into the water, and swings over the side. The current takes control, pulling us downstream. The tracking spell follows us over the churning white river. It may be tracking me, but they can’t follow without another boat. For a tiny moment I think we might make it.
As I watch the tracking spell follow us on to the river, there’s another flash of vivid blue off in the distance.
“Charles!”
“I see it.”
He paddles faster, sweat beading on his forehead, but it’s not enough to outrun the spell flying at us. It zips over the river straight for me. I brace my hands against the side of the boat and prepare myself to be inundated with pain. The spell slams into the center of my chest. Only, there’s no pain. But unlike the previous spell, it’s not only the lack of something, it’s the entirety of nothing. I can’t feel sensations at all, not even the wind against my skin or the droplets flying at me.
I collapse, landing in the bottom of the raft paralyzed. The only sound is the rushing water but more muted as if even my hearing is leaving.
Charles must be moving me over to my back, but I don’t feel it. I only see the bottom of the boat then the side, then his face leaning over me. His mouth moves, but I can’t hear the words. Are we going to crash into a rock? Is the warlock casting the spell within sight? Wherever he’s at, he’s stronger than the hexes I’m used to. The frozen feeling becomes more numbing, everything closing off except the panic boiling in me. The sound of the river is a whisper in my ear.
Suddenly Charles’s face grows closer but not because he’s leaning toward me. I think I’m—I’m floating up toward him.
Panic pounds inside me. The floating doesn’t stop. Something tugs me up and to the side, away from Charles. I can’t go like this!
He wraps both of arms around me, pulling me close. The tugging persists, making the sky appear to do this strange bounce, but he keeps me tight next to him. The tug morphs into a jerk. I fly from him. He grabs a hold of me, pulls me back, and presses his full weight against me. Panic mixes with anger that there’s no way to help.
“No,” Charles shouts.
The sky and trees seem to jerk about, though I think it’s actually me. Charles’s face comes back into view, scrunched with effort. He braces me against the seat, though I can’t feel it. With one hand, he tries to grab the rope I held earlier. The trees jump again. He braces his shoulder against me. The sides of the boat come back into view. With one arm and his torso holding me down against the bench, he grabs the rope again. The yanking turns to vibrating, but Charles doesn’t budge, keeping me from flying away.
He throws the rope around me and the bench, then reaches beneath to pull it up and over again. The process is repeated until my legs, stomach, and chest are encircled tightly with the rope. He works to tie a knot more complicated than I can follow. Once the rope is secure, he slowly inches away from me, holding his hands out like he’s going to stop me if I start flying again.
My body strains against the rope but can’t get free. The panic ebbs. If my body weren’t numb, would the ropes hurt? Perhaps the bruises later will. Charles examines the ropes, saying something I can’t hear, and rushes back to his paddling.
It’s hard to see much without turning my head, but his hands come up first one side than quickly changing to the other. He’s trying to take us faster than the current already is. Or perhaps dodge rocks or branches or something else.
My eyes burn and blur from going so long without blinking. Tears form, making everything watery, and trailing down my cheeks. It’s difficult to determine what exactly is happening with small, blurry glimpses. I wish I could move my head. I wish I could see more.
At least with the passing distance, my body eases from the rope. I alternate between watching the clouds pass overhead and the rope growing less tense until it's fully slack. Feeling slowly returns. First a little tingling in my fingers and toes. Then it spreads to my limbs. I blink rapidly and squeeze my eyes shut in relief. Until the feeling in my wrist returns with a sharp pang.
I move my head a bit, taking in more of our surroundings, trying to distract myself. The tracking spell is still there, so faint that it can barely be seen. The wind whips against my skin, water sprinkling against it. A few more minutes pass, and I can feel the cracking dryness of my throat.
“Ow.” Though it hurts, I’ve never been so glad to hear my own voice.
“You can talk.” Charles stops his frantic paddling.
“For now. Is my back still glowing?”
“I can’t see the tracking spell, but we’d have to untie you to know for sure,” he replies. “Can you wait a little longer for that? Just to be certain something else isn’t going to happen.”
“If it keeps that hex from ever happening again, I’d stay tied to this bench for a week.”
“Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.”
Despite my words, I hope it doesn’t either.
“How’s your wrist?”
“Hurts.”
“I’ll fix it when we’re a safer distance away.”
“Did you see any of them?”
He nods. “One was the law officer who stopped you. The other was an old man.”
“Nigel.”
“Your owner?”
I close my eyes tight, the memory of him more painful than my wrist. “Yes.”
We continue down the river for some time. Thankfully, the sun is covered by clouds. My legs and arms are going numb again. Not numb like before, more like pins and needles. Still an uncomfortable feeling. I shift as much as I can. With the ropes slack, I have some freedom, though it’s not as much as I wish. It's at least enough to send relief bolting through me. For now, we are out of range of hexes and spells.
Finally Charles puts the paddle down and says, “Let’s have a look. I think we may have outdistanced their magic enough.”
He spends a few minutes undoing the knot securing the rope around the bench and me.
“You tie a good knot.”
He gives a half smile. “Too good.”
Another minute passes, and the knot loosens. Charles untangles me from the ropes. When I first sit up, a batch of dizziness hits me but quickly passes. I stretch my sore arms into the air, wrist throbbing. “I hope we don’t ever have to do that again.”
“You and me both.”
I catch his gaze, gratitude and something warmer coursing through me. “You saved me.”
His gaze moves to my mouth and lingers, just long enough for a strange sensation that makes me want to lean closer. So I do, immediately pulling back with a hiss of pain from putting weight on my wrist.
“Let me fix that for you.” He tears off the bottom of his shirt and wraps it around my wrist and hand in a sort of x pattern. “Try to keep it up in the air.”
“Thank you.”
While I hold my throbbing wrist in the air, he grabs the rope and coils it. Once the rope is put away, but within reach, he motions for me to turn around. Waves splash higher against the side of the boat, some leaks in through the hole. The wind picks up, gusting through my hair. The waves grow harsher, rocking the boat beneath me.
“The tracking spell is still there, but faint. As long as they don’t find a boat to follow us down stream we should be able to get far enough away to break it.”
I can’t bring myself to ask if he thinks they are following us. I fear I already know the answer. “Is the raft going to last that long?”
“The boat is sturdier than any spell,” he corrects, giving the side a good slap.
“Someone is protective about a few sticks of wood.”
“These few sticks just saved your life.”
Again. I hope it’s the last time. I turn my head so he can’t see my face. I’m not sure what it looks like, but if feels as if it may be revealing too much about these emotions I don’t understand. “I am grateful for that.”
The current picks up, rocking the rowbo
at harder and turning his focus back on the river. The tension in his eyes has me asking, “Do we need to go ashore?”
He doesn’t even look at me as we jostle down the stream. “Perhaps, but our need to put more distance between us is greater.”
The river grows rougher, water sneaking in through one of the holes, enough that it’s pooling around my feet. “Is this safe?”
He finally glances at the growing puddle and curses. “Scoop out what you can.”
Of course. I brace my back against the side of the boat while attempting to splash the water over and out the side with my good hand. My glove seems to soak up more liquid than I’m able to get out of the boat. My second attempt isn’t much more successful.
“Make a cup out of your hand,” he yells over the rushing.
As soon as I hold my hand in a cup shape, we hit a wave. I tumble forward, splashing in the puddle.
“Drat.” At least our problems now come from the weather and not warlocks.
Charles’s arms pump up and down as he continues fighting the river. “You all right?”
“Fine,” I yell back.
I stay in the puddle since the rocking isn’t getting any better and cup my hand again, keeping the injured one tucked close to me. I fill my good hand with water and dump it over the side. After repeating the process several times it seems better than before but still not enough. The river is pouring through the hole faster now.
I scoot over to it, gather the bottom of my skirts and shove them into the hole. Instantly, I’m soaked, but it seems to be keeping less from getting in. Or perhaps it’s just getting all over me instead of the boat. I stay pressed against it just in case. With my good hand, I continue cupping the water and flipping it back into the river.
The waves grow rockier. Liquid splats down from the skies as well as the river. I struggle to continue blocking the hole. Charles curses and yells, “Hold on.”
The row boat jostles and water pours over the side, right on to me. Charles frantically paddles, but it’s no use. We are tossed about with no control. I try to get back to the hole, but it takes several attempts while Charles violently attempts to steer us through the worsening conditions.
Finally, he throws the paddle in the bottom of the boat, and he dives for me, wrapping his arms tightly around me. I cling to him, the only solid thing left.
There’s a crash, the sound of the boat splitting as we’re thrown. Forward and apart. There’s not time to think about being separated.
I slam into the water. It surrounds me, then I’m thrust back to the surface. Waves crash over me. I thrash, trying to stay above the surface. Trying to find something to grab on to. Trying not to drown. I break against something. Pain jars through my back. The current starts to pull me from it. A large rock. I turn and attempt to hold on.
My fingers grip the slick rock, but the waves push and yank and drag. Banging me into the rock, trying to beat me into going downstream. Fingers slip. Grip loosens. Struggle to keep hold. Water crashes over and over. Tumbled about.
Cold.
Chapter Ten
I cough, choking up water. My eyes sting. The sand is gritty. Sand? I wipe the grime from my eyes and blink several times. Land. Somehow I made it ashore. I cough a few more times and collapse back on the sand. My body aches. My wrist is a mess of searing pain.
I clench my teeth and roll over, letting the sun warm my face. Sun. It’s nice to have sunshine instead of a ceiling made of rock. Once I’ve collected myself, I stand and look for Charles. The ache in my body focuses in on my chest. What if he didn’t make it?
Thinking like that is not allowed. He made it. I just need to find him. I try to call out his name, but a croak comes out instead. I survey the bank on both sides of the river as far as I can see. Nothing. Only sand, rocks, trees, and broken bits of rowboat. I knew that thing didn’t look safe.
Which way should I search? I’m so turned about, I don’t even know which way is the way we came and which way is closer to safety. The sharp ache concentrated on my wrist makes it even harder to think. I scan the banks again but still nothing.
“Charles?” I call again. This time it’s actually audible, though probably not loud enough to hear more than a few feet away. I follow the water's edge, going in the direction the river is flowing, cradling my injury to my chest. That has to be the safer way to go. But will it lead to where Charles is? What if I’m wrong? I glance back and search again. Nothing.
I press on, scanning both sides of the river for any sign of him. The sun creeps further down in the sky, a growing reminder that every moment that passes is one more moment for the warlocks to discover me. It doesn’t matter. I can’t give up looking for him. But I’ve walked so much. He can’t be this far down, can he? My instinct says no. I must have chosen the wrong way.
It’s hard to turn back, hard to move toward the warlocks, but I force myself to anyway. Charles has given me so much help. He must be somewhere along here. My steps are faster now, my eyes still scanning the rocks, tree riddled banks, and rowboat bits strewn about. Suddenly I stop. Something doesn't look quite right. My pulse pounds with hope. There’s a brown tree fallen on the other bank, except for a stripe of brown that isn’t the same as the rest around it. It’s more uniform in color and smoother.
I think it might be… Is it…? I hurry backward, not taking my eyes from the spot across the river. There’s a spot of white above the brown, a spot that looks very much like that back of Charles’s bald head. It is him!
But he’s not moving. I have to get to him. He has to be all right.
The river is swift through here, but I have to cross it. If I slip in…Can't think about that. I glance upstream. No sign of warlocks. The spells would probably be the first sign of them anyway.
“Charles!”
No response.
I call his name several more times, but either the rush of the river is drowning me out or he’s still unconscious or—
No. It’s only that it’s loud through here and he’s unconscious. Nevertheless, I step into the river. It’s coldness tugs at my skirts, trying to pull me back into its clutches. I scan out a path of rocks and the dead tree Charles is lying next to. I have to make it, and I have make it now.
The water tugs harder on my skirts, the threat to yank me downstream growing. Charles is still not moving. I call his name, but the response is as lacking as before. Please don't let him be hurt.
I tug my skirts up and drape them gently over my arm with the hurt wrist and use the other hand to hold on to the rocks as I cross. The water still tugs at me, but without my skirts to pull on, it’s not as fierce. It's a few inches above my knees. The rocks are slippery. I focus on my grip, taking one step at a time and Charles in my mind pressing me forward.
When I reach the other side, I use the fallen tree to help pull me through the last few steps and rush to Charles.
As soon as I’m at his side, I fall in the mud next to him and put my hand on his back. Nothing. My chest tightens, the burn behind my eyes strengthening. But then, beneath my hand, his back moves. Slowly, but he’s breathing.
The burn behind my eyes spills out, splashing tears all over him. I found him, and he’s alive. At least he’s already wet. Except he may be breathing, but he's not awake. I have to help, only I don’t know what to do.
“Charles.” I tap his shoulder. Nothing. “Charles.” I shake his shoulder.
He stirs but doesn’t wake. I rock back, wondering what to do. Why isn’t he waking up? I check him over for wounds, but there’s nothing visible. If there’s something else I’m supposed to do, I don’t know what it is. I wish I was strong enough to move him. It feels too exposed here. He may be fairly hard to see, but I’m clearly visible, and the memory of that hex numbing me is strong.
This isn’t helping. I stand and search around a little, yet don’t stray far. I don’t even know what I’m looking for, but there has to be something to help. Lots of rocks and trees, though the ground is rougher here, grittie
r. Even away from the beach, the dirt is more rocky than compact. Charles groans. I hurry over to him. Only to jump back as he lifts his head and vomits. He rolls to his side and groans again.
“What do you need?” I say, brushing my fingers against his arm.
He grunts and puts his hand over his eyes, but otherwise doesn’t make a move. It would be easier if there was something I could do to help. Some way I could help him feel better. I want to get him a drink of water, but the only water is from the river and if it’s unclean it may only make him sicker. Remembering it took me a few minutes to feel well enough to do anything after coming to, I attempt to wait, eyes shifting between watching him breathe and searching upstream for signs of warlocks.
His clothes are as wet and dirty as mine, though his were already wearing thin and now have several holes. Probably part of the reason he was so difficult to spot. If we aren't caught and punished or killed, perhaps I can find time to mend them. I take off my pack and open it. The movement helps warm me from the growing cold.
Everything is soaked. The food doesn’t look edible. I pull out a mash of watery, paste-like bread, but set it aside anyway. Maybe we can salvage it. Using my good hand, I pull out my change of clothes and underthings and set them in the sun to dry along with my sewing kit. Hopefully it didn’t get wet enough to ruin anything.
Several minutes later Charles sits up. “Let’s not do that again.”
“I concur.”
He glances at the things laid flat to dry, and I feel myself warming when I realize this includes my underclothes. I hurry to distract him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I almost drowned.” He sounds like he almost drowned too. “You?”
“Same. Only I’ve had more time to recover.”
“Your wrist?”
The truth about its mind-tripping pain won’t help. I shrug.
“That good, huh, Kat?” My heart gives a little flip at the shortening of my name. He presses the palms of his hands into his eyes. “How long have I been out?”
Mine to Tarnish Page 6