A hand grips my arm, trying to stop me as I move down the keel, but I break the hold without thought. Out of the corner of my eye I see the captain blanch, his face nearly a blur. Ahead, the polers are working double time, turning the boat, slowing our course. I want to yell at them not to stop. To speed up. To do anything but slow down.
But then the boy will drown.
I have enough dead bodies on my conscience, Red and Silver.
The big oaf jumps into the water first, or certainly tries to. The river simply tosses him, sputtering and spitting, back onto the deck. His crew looks on in horror, the blood draining from their faces. They know what I know.
“Lyrisa, don’t—” the captain’s voice says somewhere as I plunge over the side.
The river doesn’t toss me back. I’m doing what it wants.
We’re in shallower water than I anticipated, and the current laps around my shoulders. It surges against me, trying to push me deeper, into the faster water and stronger course. I lock my muscles, letting my ability surge. Nothing can make me move if I don’t want to, and the river breaks on me like stone.
Shouting echoes back on the keel. I don’t hear a word.
The boy is a few yards off, visible beneath the surface, his eyes open, bubbles streaming from his mouth. Still alive, still fighting. I force my way to him, hands reaching for thin arms and legs. He’s bait. I know that.
Orrian is sick in the head, a twisted sort. I’d rip him in two if I could.
My hands close around the boy’s shoulders, and I can already feel the unnatural pressure of the water holding him down. I try to calculate in my mind, remembering my training with my father and his family. If I pull too hard, I’ll break the boy. Crush him between my hands. Not enough pull, though, and the water will keep him.
There simply isn’t time.
Another pair of hands joins mine, making me jump.
The captain stands over us, face flushed, the water rushing all around him. The river doesn’t throw him back into the boat, and he stands firm, tugging on the boy. Still, the boy doesn’t budge.
The captain curses like only a Riverman can.
I grit my teeth and pull.
The boy breaks the surface with a sick pop, spewing river water as he coughs and sputters. He clings to me, little arms surprisingly strong. And the water crashes over us, intending to catch us off guard. With one hand I reach out, grabbing onto the captain’s shoulder. He falters beneath my grip, nearly losing his balance to the raging current. But I keep him steady.
Then gunfire echoes from the keel, cracking with precision into the Lakelander banks.
The river relaxes around us, releasing its hold.
“Move,” I snarl, shoving the captain toward his boat.
I waste no time, the boy still cradled in one arm. He’s featherlight. I barely notice his weight. I’m a strongarm, after all. Carrying around an underfed ten-year-old is nothing.
The captain pushes me ahead of him, toward the boat rail, as if I’m useless. I scoff at him, seize him by the collar, and toss him bodily over the side.
I go next, one hand more than enough to lift both me and the boy back up and into the keel.
The boy sputters still, spitting water as his mothers descend, wrapping him in dry blankets.
At the rail, the keel crew keeps up the volley of gunfire, and the captain sprints to the helm behind the cargo hold. He spins the wheel of the boat and guns the motor, letting it roar beneath us. We pick up speed, but not much.
Without a word, one of the polers hands a rifle to me.
I’m no grand shot, but I know how to lay down cover, and that’s exactly what I do.
Orrian’s hunters must be clustered in the single growth of trees and rushes on the bank, hidden from sight. They were waiting. I keep up my fire, round after round, in rhythm with the keel crew. When someone reloads, another takes over for them, giving the keel enough time to maneuver around the next bend.
The Lakelanders are not without guns of their own, but we have better cover, using the thick plank rails as shielding. I expect a swift to dart across the river and drag me screaming back into the Lakelands. Or perhaps a magnetron to shred the motor of the keel. A