Rain continued to pelt down, splashing into the raging current. Their speed picked up, and a grey shadow loomed to their left. Kicking out, he pushed them away from the boulder, and they slid downwards, backs brushing over the rocks below them. They sped through a tight gully with rocks on both sides, and at the end, Fel’annár felt himself pulled beneath the surface. His left hand clutched tightly to Handir. Bubbles flew past him, and all he could see was grey fog and silver hair.
The opaque turbulence lightened to silver. His face broke the water, Handir’s head appearing in a spluttering, strangled shout. The prince coughed, but he held on, and they were once more hurtling down the canyon, at the mercy of wild waters, desperate, it seemed, to reach its destiny: the sea and freedom from its rocky confines.
They smashed into a smooth rock, and they dipped under once more. Waterweeds thrashed wildly, straining against their roots. Kicking out, the brothers broke the surface, and Handir’s coughing and retching was weaker. He was losing strength. Fel’annár was not surprised. He was exhausted himself, and Handir had not been trained for endurance.
Fel’annár’s eyes made quick work of their options as they rushed past the obstacles. There was nothing he could cling to, no footholds, only smooth, slippery rock. He braced for impact once again, protected himself as best he could, and then smashed into a slab of granite with a soppy smack. The river was spinning before his eyes, and for a moment, the tension left his muscles. He felt his body move like a cape in a mountain-top breeze.
He blinked furiously. White froth and diamond water drops rained before him, tinged pink. He blinked again. The blur sharpened and a silver head streaked across his peripheral vision.
“Handir! Han.” His voice was silenced by a mouthful of water, which he choked out and then tried again. “Handir!”
The blond head turned, wide eyes watching as the other hurtled towards him.
“Handir!” A desperate cry, or perhaps a goodbye. Either way, although the river jostled and pushed, Fel’annár felt he was floating towards Handir.
He had let go of the prince and not realised.
He reached out, but then almost overtook Handir. Lurched sideways, one fist latched on to cloth, and they crashed together. Just for a moment, he allowed the current to carry them where it would. Fel’annár held his brother against his chest, powerful arms reaching around him.
“I see them. Left! Row hard left!”
Ramien dug his oar into the current while Idernon lifted his. The craft angled sideways and then was pulled forwards once more. They could see the two heads now, miraculously together. Pan’assár wanted to scream his joy, but the other side of himself silenced it, told him they would both die, together at least.
“Row! Row!”
The river’s roar was louder now, and Idernon turned back to Pan’assár as he rowed, eyes wide. But the commander said nothing. What was the point? The Wise Warrior knew what was coming, as surely as he did. At the end of the canyon was Horizon Falls. It was here where they should have taken to shore, camped and then climbed down the cliffs and to the sea.
They could see the horizon through a natural doorway of rock, cut from years of frenzied currents. It was fuzzy with mist, and the roar drowned almost every other sound, except for Pan’assár’s now raw and hoarse voice, and the terrible beat of his own heart in his ears.
“Row! All hands!”
Ramien set the pace, arms and shoulders working to full capacity. The two brothers raced down the river, dipping under but always rising again, sooner or later. The current only seemed to increase, and yet another decision loomed before Pan’assár; follow until they themselves were trapped and doomed to ruin on the falls, or retreat to shore and perhaps regroup with whoever had survived this madness. One way or the other, Pan’assár would find them, and if they were dead, then he would have failed in his promise to Or’Talán. He would take their bodies to their father and then step upon the Long Road in shame.
They seemed further away now, and the weight of the world all but squeezed his heart to a shuddering halt. They could go no further.
And then he saw the others on the shore; saw Deron throwing a buoy, rope snaking through the air. The buoy missed the two figures in the water and he pulled it back, then ran along the shore and threw it again. They saw a hand reach and catch, saw the rope tense. Their hopes flared and then snapped, as surely as the rope slid from Fel’annár’s hand.
“One, last chance, warriors! Row, row, row …”
“Commander.” The urgent voice of Ramien.
“Row! Row!”
“Commander!”
The bright red buoy was streaking towards them. Holding his paddle in one hand and reaching with his other, Ramien fumbled with the oval-shaped buoy. He dropped his paddle and quickly wrapped it around the helm. Still, it tensed before he had secured it and he cried out, gritting his teeth as their craft turned sideways. With one last effort, the buoy was in place.
“What are you doing? We row!”
“Commander! Idernon, we can’t. It’s too late.”
“No. Ramien. You row. We go after him. Release the boat!” Idernon was still rowing, even as Ramien grabbed the floundering rudder. Wood groaned, and the Wall of Stone shouted at Idernon, at Pan’assár.
“Stop! He wouldn’t want this. Brother, he wouldn’t.”
Idernon’s face snapped to Ramien. Fury swirled in his eyes—fury and agony. He turned to Pan’assár, but he was watching the shore and had seen Gor’sadén signalling at him. To continue was suicide, but as Pan’assár watched the rope tense and creak, he thought it a lifeline back to a shameful existence. He didn’t want it, but he was a commander.
“Stop rowing, Idernon. That is an order. Stop!” he yelled.
Ramien’s hand was on Idernon’s forearm. “Stop, brother. It’s over.”
“Never,” growled Idernon, eyes brimming with tears. He knew Ramien was right. They would never reach Fel’annár now.
No one would.
Angling himself as best he could, Fel’annár moved right and felt the current pulling at his legs. They hurtled past a boulder, feeling a downward tug, and then his shoulder smashed into the unyielding rock. They were under again, strangled, releasing muted moans of frustration and pain.
An arm surfaced, grappling for some purchase, anywhere. They rounded another boulder and Fel’annár kicked away from it with both feet. They picked up speed again, slammed into another obstacle. Struggling for breath, Fel’annár’s eyes searched for anything to latch on to.
He could go no further. With Handir in his arms, he knew that. He was too tired, too far gone. That buoy had been their last chance.
They emerged from the gorge, the froth and foam gone. In their place, teal waters that stretched to infinity. There was a sense of weight, of such openness he wanted to bury his head beneath the water. Everywhere he turned was water and sky, almost indistinguishable. Only Handir’s face broke the illusion.
“Han?” His voice was quieted by a mouthful of water which he coughed out, neck angling to see over the edge. “Handir!”
“I know. I’m sorry.”