a dozen times over. I barely managed to keep my own head above the choppy waves, and every time I looked back, it seemed that I found his face underwater yet again. But one of those times, his eyes were open.
I sucked in a breath, and a mouthful of river water along with it, then spat it out, coughing and hacking. He did not seem to notice or respond, but the eyes—that was a good sign, wasn’t it? I decided to take it as such, and redoubled my efforts.
Finally, after what felt like an hour but was probably much less, a patch of sand appeared up ahead. I swam toward it as best I could one handed, but didn’t believe that it was real until my wobbly legs touched solid ground. I dragged Ray and I onto the little beach, and then just lay there, gasping and panting and laughing in uncontrollable spirts of giggles at the sky, I wasn’t sure why.
The air was beautiful, the sun was beautiful, the world was beautiful, and we were alive! Somehow. I giggled again.
I should have been exhausted after our experience, and I was. But euphoria also buzzed in my veins, so much so that I could hardly lie still. I wiggled my toes against the sand, and felt the waves lap at them. I did not even try to process all that I had learned; it was too soon. And my mind was in no mood for it, no mood at all. Instead, I had a sense of expectancy running through me that I did not recognize. I finally realized that I was waiting for the next act of this strange play that I seemed to have stumbled into.
And judging by the spear that suddenly appeared in my face, it had arrived.
“Gah!” Ray yelled, suddenly coming alive and launching himself off the sand. I managed to catch him by the hem of what remained of his tunic before he did anyone an injury, but it was a close thing.
“What are you doing? What’s the matter with you?” he spluttered, turning to look at me, his face coated with sand.
I just nodded at the individual holding the spear. He had pale skin and gray eyes, and a shock of black hair that rather reminded me of Ray’s. It was cut shorter, however, or was mostly bundled under the soft knitted cap he wore. His clothes marked him as a peasant: a tunic made from what looked like brown wool, tight, lightweight hose in scarlet, and a pair of old brown boots that sagged around his ankles.
They looked like he needed to grow into them, which was probably the case as he appeared to be about twelve years old. That explained why the spear was shaking so profoundly. And why an old man—or an old fey, I supposed—came running out of the woods a moment later.
He had a spear, too, and his did not shake, despite the age spots on his hands. There were also wrinkles on the weathered old face, and gray hair protruding like a scarecrow’s from under a wide brimmed straw hat. He looked about eighty, although what that meant here, I had no idea.
There was a spluttering of words in a tongue that I didn’t understand, and which, apparently, Ray didn’t, either. The old man was gesturing at my tunic, or perhaps at the blood on it, I wasn’t sure. It had been in water for much of the last day, but it still had a large stain on the side and several smaller ones that I had added to it.
The discolorations were brown now, the water having washed the red out, but I didn’t think it fooled him. And I had no way to explain, or any clue as to whether I should. If they were vassals of the Svarestri, wearing a blood stained, obviously stolen tunic might mark me as an enemy.
Perhaps I should have stayed naked, after all.
“Okay, so what?” Ray asked. “We just sit here like idiots?”
I glanced at him. “As opposed to?”
He waved a hand. “Take care of them.”
I just looked at him.
“Not like that! I mean . . . we knock them out or something.”
“And then what?”
“What?”
The old creature said something else. It did not sound friendly. “I don’t think he likes us talking,” I told Ray.
“And I give a shit because?”
“We are lost,” I reminded him. “Perhaps they can help us find a portal.”
“Yeah, or perhaps they can ransom us to the damned