The current swirls, hinting that whatever’s lurking down here isn’t alone. There are many of them. And they’re circling me, their rotation muddying the otherwise vibrant water.
My gaze jumps from one rock projection to the next, then stalls on a silhouette with a triangular dorsal fin protruding from its spine. From illustrations and oral tales, I recognize the pits of the creature’s eyes, the pectoral fins, the gills slitting into its flesh, and the row of carnivorous teeth.
A river shark.
Terror claws through me. Where I’m from, sharks are not of my region, which makes them rare. So very rare.
But in Faerie, what is rare?
What I don’t recognize from the Fables is the animal’s jade skin and how it glistens with every stroke. That’s not a characteristic of a mortal shark. Nor is the way one of them shudders into a larger form, thus doubling its size.
One shark becomes two, two become three, three become four, until a fleet of them ring around me: a shiver of sharks.
The lack of oxygen causes my lungs to singe. I can endure quite a while, but not this long. Nor can I outswim sharks. If I try, they’ll cast me as prey.
A Fable floats through my head, one that Juniper had pointed out to me years ago, a tale in which the quarry didn’t flee. Instead, it did something outrageous and reckless—and it survived.
This could be the end of me, but what choice do I have?
I paddle gingerly and unlace my boots. They’re a hindrance to speed and will prevent me from gliding seamlessly. The shoes plummet, the laces trembling out of sight.
I flex my toes. Then I swim toward the sharks.
Immediately, one of them maneuvers backward, then another follows suit, then another, their ring dissembling. Wonder sparks in my blood. If I don’t act like a target, they won’t attack!
As the muddied water settles, my eyes stumble across the spear resting on the river floor several leagues away. I swim carefully past the sharks. Once I break through that barrier, hope flares.
Then it dies.
It dies because I’ve put my back to the sharks.
Dread curdles in my stomach. I vault toward the weapon, snatch it off the floor, and whirl to block the first incoming set of teeth. My spear batters the creature away, though it fails to discourage the rest. I can’t move as quickly underwater, and my throat is scalding, and my mind is growing hazy.
A pair of sharks charges. I rotate and jab the spear in their direction, clipping each of them in the sides. And when the spear becomes too heavy to wield, I make a Lark-worthy fist and punch the next predator in the nose.
The shark lurches away, but it’s not enough. They keep coming, forming that circle once more and fencing me in.
I clasp the spear, and my limbs beat in place. My head lashes from side to side, searching for an outlet. But then the faintest ripple skids across the water, alerting the sharks to an incoming threat. All at once, they scatter like a school of fish, the largest member quivering to its normal size before disappearing.
Only one thing would cause them to retreat like that. Something stronger and faster.
The water whisks into a frenzy, spiraling like a vortex. The force catches my ankles and thrusts me around. I maintain a death grip on the spear while my free hand gropes for purchase, seeking any stable foundation that will lug me out of the undertow.
This spiral isn’t what had alarmed the sharks. No, it’s the male figure that swoops past me.
A montage of olive arms and chest shoots across my vision, a whipcord mass of skin and sinew that vanishes before I have a chance to process more. As he loops into the depth, something long and glinting slinks behind him.
I swivel in place, seeing and hearing nothing. Then I feel it. The water convulses in a furious agitation of movement, akin to an incoming wave.
Following the motion, I turn. Just then, an arm thrusts out of nowhere. It happens too quickly, a hand striking the weapon from my grasp. The single backhanded blow catapults the spear from my fingers.
Warmth puddles around me, my bladder emptying. On instinct, I duck to evade my attacker’s second strike and barrel toward the sinking weapon. Fables forgive me. I’m terrified of so many things right now, above and below the depth. But if I stop, I’ll be paralyzed, and I’ll never move another inch again.
My lungs heave, the lack of air charring my insides to cinders. I catch the spear in time—and I shriek as a force yanks me sideways. As though I’ve been lashed, pain sears across my flesh where the figure had struck. I hit a sandy surface and roll across the river floor. Bubbles spurt from my lips, and my forearm throbs from the assault.
Whatever he’d used, it hadn’t been honed enough to pierce my skin. Yet it possesses the velocity and strength to snap bones if I’m not vigilant.
I tumble upright as the monster streaks toward me, shoving the current out of his way. A mane of onyx-black hair dashes around his head, though I can’t see his face. I can’t distinguish anything beyond those locks, that naked chest tapering arrow-like to an obscure place, and the forked daggers glittering in both of his hands.