Now she was between the high canyon walls. The roar of the water echoed from the cliffs and the sheer walls of the canyon plunged directly into the water. The racing current had smoothed the stone into rippling sheets of rock without a finger-hold to cling to. She focused all her energy on just keeping her head above the surface as the violent river rocked and spun her about. She risked another glance back up stream but couldn’t tell how far the waters had taken her.
The river bent sharply and the current sped up, swinging around as the canyon turned. Rowan cried out as she struck a large rock below the surface. She was spun sideways and struggled to pull in a full breath.
I have to get out of this – the thought sluggish. The icy current and the adrenaline had cleared her head but now her limbs were wooden. She hit another rock but felt no pain this time – only the force of the blow.
Her head slipped under and she kicked weakly to regain the air. She broke the surface and filled her lungs before the river sucked her back under. Her legs would not work properly. Opening her eyes, she looked up at the light but couldn’t get there. Shadowy forms of boulders and riverweeds sped by as she tumbled through the dimness. Her lungs burned and her heart pounded in her ears. She no longer knew which direction to swim. The cold was gone now and she felt only tired. It was so calm here in the weightless, watery world. Wasn’t the world above a harsh place? Wasn’t this far better, quiet and safe? Her panic receded and peaceful contentment slid into its place. Why was it so important to reach the surface? She fumbled dimly for the answer, her vision fading.
Her feet struck something. Gravel gritted against the soles of her boots. Her legs relaxed until her knees crunched as well. The need to draw breath was on one hand overwhelming but on the other – why bother? Surely this calm dark place would keep her safe.
Her father’s face smiled at her and her heart wrenched. How could he look at her with such pride when she had failed him? Scenes from her life floated through her mind – random images of home; her mother; her little brother and the pranks he played. Her friends were there too, their faces concerned – and Torrin, his expression intense. He was speaking but she couldn’t hear. It was important, his gaze insistent, compelling.
Torrin.
The clouded haze of her thoughts burned away. She connected to something so much greater – infinitely larger and unknowable than her own life. With all the strength she had left, Rowan kicked off the river’s bottom.
Her head broke the surface and she pulled sweet air into her lungs. In that instant the world glowed with crystal clarity – the beads of water that flew from her head; her own breath resonant and filled with life; every detail and nuance of the high canyon walls revealed in sublime clarity
I am exactly where I am meant to be.
She sucked in a second breath. My life has always been moving towards this place. The death of her father was a catalyst for an unbroken chain of events bringing her here. Even Miroth, working his evil deep within Krang, was as he should be – an opposition to be realized and overcome.
Rowan pulled another less portentous breath and the heightened consciousness began to fade, but an encompassing peace remained. Her friends were out there somewhere, searching for her. The knowledge settled around her like a protective cloak.
The water’s surface was smooth and calm; she was in an eddy, away from the tumult of the river’s current. She kicked feebly with her legs, unsure if her limbs were responding. Her foot hit gravel, then her knees and her still-bound hands. Rowan crawled forward out of the water, sopping clothes dragging at her body. Unable to lift herself free of the water, she rolled and squirmed up the gravel bank. A clump of bare bushes offered scant shelter. Curling into a tight ball, she fell instantly into a heavy, exhausted sleep.
The River Pellar
Torrin watched the flurry of activity along the shoreline below. In the dusk light, the broad expanse of the River Pellar glinted like a silver ribbon. Arynilas and Nathel lay nearby, all of them hidden from view by the long grass at the top of the rise. Torrin rubbed his tired eyes and re-focused below, frowning. He counted eighteen horses but only fifteen men, some of whom were being dragged from the fast flowing water.
There was no sign of Rowan.
Torrin searched again. Five riders whirled their mounts on the far shore and headed downstream at a gallop. Another five splashed back across the river toward the rise. Torrin tensed as they reached the shore, their horses scrambling up the bank amid flying sand and gravel. Instead of riding up the slope to where the three of them lay hidden, the riders turned and headed downstream as well. Two of the remaining riders waited by the opposite shore. While one scavenged the bodies of their drowned companions, the other held the riderless horses, his bald scalp glimmering in the gathering dark. One of the horses – Torrin’s breath caught.
“Arynilas, can you see if one of the horses has no bridle?”
The Tynithian searched for a moment. “There is a mount with only a halter and long shank. It is tied to the pommel of the bald man’s horse.”
Torrin nodded
“They look as though they have lost something, don’t they?” said Nathel. Torrin glanced at him. It was the first time his brother had spoken in hours and he almost sounded like his old, irrepressible self. Nathel turned and caught his eye, a faint smile played around his mouth.
Downstream, the riders were disappearing into trees that covered the top of the high canyon. Torrin turned his attention back to the haltered horse. Rowan had been tied to that horse. But where was she now? It would be a good opportunity to escape, provided you were a strong swimmer. The men who had been dragged from the water had either been knocked in or had jumped in after her; but wearing chain-mail and breastplates – they would have sunk like stones. A slow appreciative smile spread across his face, then it vanished. I just hope she was able to swim the rapids.
He turned to the others. “We go downstream.”
Nathel and Arynilas were moving even as he spoke.
Once mounted, they kept below the rise, circling wide to enter the dense trees without being seen. Arynilas quickly found the trail left by the five searchers and they picked up speed.
We have to find them before they find Rowan.
Torrin caught glimpses of the river down in the canyon and his heart jumped into his throat. He swallowed hard. The Pellar narrowed to a fierce torrent through these tight, sheer walls; black and formidable in the dim light, it tore past huge boulders huddled ominously in the center of the flood, spraying white foam against the darkness.
If she survived the water, they probably wouldn’t be able to find her until the morning. Torrin shook his head, frowning. She is strong. He focused on the path ahead.
Arynilas held up a hand and they all stopped. Over the blowing of the horses, Torrin caught the faint sound of shouts – men calling back and forth across the canyon. Arynilas turned to look at Torrin, his black hair blending into the surrounding shadow, making his pale face glow.
“They are three hundred paces ahead, maybe less.”
Torrin nodded, drawing his sword. The others took up their weapons and they moved forward through the dark trees.
They took the five men utterly unaware. Arynilas’s arrows took two before the remaining three even knew of the danger and began to draw their swords. Torrin killed one from the back of his horse and Hathunor, who was swifter than the horses, dispatched the last two in a blur of claws and teeth.
The mercenaries had been well armed and provisioned. Torrin cleaned the blood from his sword and moved to the edge of the canyon to scan the river below. They needed to find a way down to the water so they could begin to search for Rowan.
They mounted up and continued along the top of the canyon, moving carefully through the gathering darkness. Faint shouts carried across to them from the other side of the canyon – hails to comrades that would never be returned.
Hard Won Freedom
Rowan woke shivering and gasped as she tried
to move. Everything protested with pain – back aching sharply; arms, wrists and head needled with pain. She tried to bring her hands to her face but they were still tied, the end of the rope snaking underneath her side. She looked groggily around. Dawn brought only a little light into the deep canyon. Huge boulders rose around her like a forest and the canyon wall glimmered, pale, behind her. The river roared past ten paces away, its rolling surface charcoal black.
Her shivering increased as a cold wind stirred the bush she was curled under, waving leafless branches at the lightening sky, where a few stars still sparkled.
She rolled painfully onto her stomach, gritting her teeth as her cold, wet shirt pressed against her chest, then levered up slowly and crawled awkwardly from under the bush. When she sat back on her heels, pain flared in her right thigh. The fabric of her leggings was torn and blood oozed from a gash beneath. Casting a look around her to make sure she was alone, she brought her hands up to her face to better see the rope around her wrists. The knot wasn’t complicated but the water had swollen the rope, making it tighter. She worked at prying it free with her teeth, ignoring the ache it caused them and the burn in her wrists as the coarse, sodden fibres rasped against her skin. Eventually she worked it free. Her hands warmed a little as blood pumped into them, and she rubbed them together, blowing into her palms, until the shivering increased and her mind began to fog.
I have to get up and move. Warm up.
Somehow she summoned the energy to push herself to her feet, locking her knees to keep her legs from buckling. A single tremulous step sent pain shooting through her right leg, but it was bearable. Another step. Her feet stung as the blood was forced through them. Another step brought her to the nearest boulder and she reached out to steady herself against the rough stone. She took a deep breath; at least the spinning sensation and nausea had passed, but she weak and shaky.
The canyon was still steep here but the bottom was wider, strewn with large boulders and small trees and shrubs. In the increasing light she could make out the dense trees at the top of the canyon. She would need to walk downstream to find a way to climb out. How long was the walk back to Pellaris? She frowned – first she had to survive the elements and her injuries.
Rowan hugged herself, looking up at the high canyon. The men she had escaped last night would surely be searching downriver. There was more tree cover near the canyon wall to the right, where she could hide under the spreading branches. Pushing herself away from the rock, she took a step toward the shelter.
She took another step and saw the rope she had pulled from her hands lying coiled on the pebbles. Making her way to it, she picked it up – she might very well need it and she couldn’t take the chance that the men searching for her would find it.
As Rowan neared the trees she was heartened to find her limbs slowly becoming more responsive, but with the improving blood flow the pain in her leg grew more intense, overshadowing the throbbing aches from all her other wounds combined.
Progress would be slow and painful.
River Search
In the pale light of dawn, Torrin peered through the mist that hung thick in the bottom of the canyon, obscuring everything. Nearby, he could barely see Hathunor’s tall, black form, huge head swinging as he walked; somewhere across the canyon were the rest of his companions, searching through the fog. He couldn’t tell rock from shrub without getting almost close enough to touch them. If Rowan was unconscious, they could walk right past her and never know it.
Arynilas, in his fox form appeared ahead, trotting with his nose to the ground in search of Rowan’s scent – nothing so far. At least that meant she was still upstream, or so they hoped. Dalemar emerged too and as the mist began to clear, he could see Nathel and Borlin as well across the fast-flowing current.
The call of a bird sounded over the rush of water. He cocked his head to listen for a reply. It was not a bird of Pellar – they had used the whistling sound as a contact call for years. Even when there was no danger of unfriendly ears hearing voices, they used it. Rowan would recognize it.
If she heard it.
Torrin sighed and rubbed his eyes. She would be fine; she had to be! He cast his gaze out over the misty riverbed again, his vision snagging on anything that looked like a figure. Dalemar, his blond hair blending with the mist, headed toward the canyon wall on the right to search a stand of trees. Arynilas waited panting, as Torrin caught up. The footing was treacherous next to the water’s edge with dew-slicked rocks that could easily turn an ankle. The fox navigated them effortlessly, while Torrin had to place each foot carefully.
Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he blew a sharp whistle that drew to a warbling close. The taste of salt lingered as he waited for a return call, hoping.
With the exception of Arynilas in his fox form, they had decided to wait for the moons to rise before starting the search – too much risk of passing by Rowan in the darkness. The wait had been unbearable for Torrin. They had tried to rest during the few hours it took for the pale half moons to rise high enough. But visions of Rowan injured and needing help had flashed through his mind, each worse than the last. Before the moons had risen completely, he had bolted to his feet, chased by the image of her caught among the boulders like spring storm debris. Stumbling to the river’s edge, he had peered into the black shadows and forced his eyes to look for shapes in the dark.
An echo of the whistle cut through his thoughts. Torrin froze. Arynilas stilled and perked his ears. Torrin glanced quickly across the river. Nathel and the others were behind them. It couldn’t have come from them.
Torrin repeated his whistle, waited – breath held.
A faint echo of it filtered back to him from the thinning mist. He scrambled forward, slipping on slick stones. He whistled again. The call returned, stronger now. Unmistakable.
Torrin searched the mist ahead – trees, boulders, river, his eyes swept over them all looking for what he wanted to see, needed to see.
And then she was there, her slim figure gaining mass and deepening in color, emerging out of the paleness. She was moving slowly and Torrin closed the distance. When he could finally make out her face, her grin was all he saw and his own face stretched to mirror it. Smiling foolishly, his weariness falling away, Torrin swept Rowan up in his arms, spinning around and crushing her to his chest.
“What took you so long?” she breathed.
Torrin barked a laugh and placed her back on her feet but the smile slipped from his face when her knees buckled. He caught her he and looked at her carefully.
Her brave grin couldn’t cover the pain and exhaustion in her face. Dark circles rested under her eyes; a purple bruise spread across her jaw and a long gash on the side of her head, just past her hairline, was inflamed and covered with dried blood. Torrin took her cold hands in his. Her sleeves only partially covered the angry red burns and raised welts where ropes had been tied. A large slash in her leggings revealed dark blood crusted over a wound on her right thigh.
And that was only the damage he could see.
Rowan shook her head. “Mostly scrapes and bruises. I will be fine.”
Torrin nodded and reached up to push the loose hair back from her face. His fingers lingered on her cheek. “I thought I’d lost you.”
Rowan closed her eyes and a tear slipped down her face. “Me too.”
He swallowed and gently pulled her into a hug – there was so much he wanted to say but just to have her standing safe before him was enough for now.
Arynilas was there suddenly, black bushy tail wagging and then Dalemar. Nathel and Borlin waved madly at her from the opposite shore. Rowan caught sight of them and laughed. “Thank Erys Nathel is recovered,” she said. “The last time I saw him he was gravely wounded.”
Hathunor splashed across the river as though it was a creek and flew past Torrin to pick Rowan up in his huge black arms. When he set her down she turned to hug Dalemar as well. Arynilas yipped and she scratched his head, a smile on her cracked lips.
/> Torrin pulled his water skin out and unstopped it, placing it in her hands. Her fingers shook so he cupped his own around them to help her raise it to her lips. Dalemar stripped off his long coat, placing it around her shoulders. She nodded in thanks.
“There are at least fifteen men looking for me, I don’t know if the river claimed any of them.” She scanned the top of the canyon.
Torrin nodded grimly. “There were twelve when we caught up with them at the crossing. It must have been just after you escaped. Ten were sent downstream, five on each side. We have not yet come across the ones on the east side, but on this side they will not return to their comrades.”
Rowan looked closely at him and nodded.
Torrin turned and waved across the river at Nathel and Borlin. They would have to walk back downstream to the place they crossed earlier. He took a quick scan of the canyon. The mist was almost gone; it was time they started back to the horses and looked for a concealed campsite where Rowan could get warm and have her wounds seen to.
As they took their first steps back down stream though, Rowan stumbled. Her shivering had increased. Torrin scooped her up into his arms. She felt so light it made his heart ache.
“It’s alright, I can walk,” she protested.
Torrin ignored her. It was an excuse to hold her close.
Safe Harbour
Rowan rested her head against Torrin’s neck. His skin was warm and rough with whiskers. She breathed in his comforting scent of leather, oil and horses. Despite her protests, she would collapse the moment she was placed on her feet. For the first time in a very long while, she allowed herself be taken care of. Her eyelids dragged downward; her shivering slowly subsided.
Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1) Page 45