Page 48 of Aubade Rising
Another jolt and I inhale abruptly through my nose. My stomach protests at the cloying smell, forcing me to vomit violently to the side. My eyes open on reflex and all I can see is the glassy rose-pink water around me. I’m floating in blood. So much blood.
More heaving and coughing, I fight to keep myself away from the darkening water. Then it hits me: I can move. And I’mgetting damper by the second, the diluted blood soaking through my clothes. The rucksack is a dead weight, dragging me lower and lower. I panic.
Eskar’s magic has gone. Is he…? The tinted water around me is evidence enough. I can’t bring myself to think about it and push my grief down and kick my legs, twisting to keep my head above water.
I can’t swim properly with the rucksack of rocks dragging me under. I tell myself it’s only water, as it floods my nose and burns my throat. Spluttering and coughing, I refuse to sink, to give up the serpentine we risked so much for. I go under, the cool water closing in over my hair and my wet clothes adding to the weight of the serpentine.
I sink until my toes find firm ground and the lazy current gives me traction. Kicking against the floor, I push my way to the surface to breathe and sink again.
Panic barely under control, I fight my way to the wall of the aqueduct, using my spare hand to feel for purchase, so I can hold myself above the water. It’s futile: the walls are old and worn smooth and I’m quickly tiring. Fighting the current to stay in one place feels impossible.
Panic wins the fight and I thrash and kick, mind and limbs jumbled. The burning lack of air confuses me and I lose track of the surface. I’m blind, trapped in a liquid prison, twisting and turning underwater. By sheer, dumb luck, as black dots fill in my vision, I break the surface and gasp a final lungful of air. The black dots recede. I’ve delayed death for another minute.
The magic in my chest will not give up: it rebels at my hopelessness and my hands burn. Strong light colours my eyelids white as my magic fights desperately to keep us both alive. I wish I’d had more time to explore this wondrous piece of me.
I think of Eskar in Tanwen. Perhaps our bodies will wash uptogether. I feel my own burnout approaching: my light flickers. The urge to breathe becomes stronger. I hold out for a few moments more but I know as soon as I try to breathe my lungs will fill and it’ll be over.
Then a tug, a small boost upwards. Then another. My eyes open in surprise and the water is clearer, the surface not so far. I feel a niggle as the last shred of my magic nudges me to reach for the surface. My hand breaks free, there’s another tug and I’m up. I’m suspended again, my face breaks through the water and I suck in a lungful of air, choking as the churning current splashes over my head.
The relief is temporary – Eskar is fighting. I cling to that fact, but his magic is fading in and out; it’s not stable and I won’t survive if it disappears again.
The niggle inside me draws my attention again. It’s the strand of Mordros magic I took from him in Cathair. The strand that refuses to bend to my will. In my desperation to help Eskar, to make it easier on him, I draw that last scrap of magic to me and this time my intent is so strong, the magic obeys. I direct it to the rucksack, winding it round the straps to give it buoyancy, to reduce the load on Eskar. The effect is instant: the stuttering lessens and I begin to hope.
Chapter 48
The sun is about to set when I see a quay appear ahead. I hope it’s Cathair but, right now, I’ll do anything to get out of this freezing water, still tinged with the faintest pink. I paddle closer and grasp the wooden structure. My fingers are cramping. I crawl onto the dock. White knuckles, arms shivering, I make it out of the water alive.
And I wait.
The cold sets in but I feel nothing. I will not leave until I know if Eskar is alive. The last ray of sunshine flickers over the horizon and through habit I channel. Thank goodness I do because I’m at risk of hypothermia. I send a flash of light upwards, alerting the aqueduct guards to my presence. It occurs to me they could be rebels but I doubt that they will kill me on the spot. Nonetheless, I’ll die if I stay here exposed. I don’t even care that I’ve used my magic so openly. Logic has abandoned me and I can only think about the cold… and Eskar.
The guards, taken aback to find a member of the King’s Concord stranded at the aqueduct quay, give up attempting to get me to leave after a while. If they think my behaviour bizarre, they don’t say. I’m left with heavy blankets and some food but I can’t bear to eat right now.
I sit and wait, and think of all the things I haven’t said to Eskar – how he’s been constantly on my mind, how he kept me sane in the Haag and protected me time and time again. I never got to explain or apologise for his torture.
The water keeps flowing, its rhythmic noise hypnotic. I scold myself when my eyes try to shutter and resume my watch.
My ears are so attuned to the regular pulse of the flow, theycatch a slight variation. An irregular splash, then another. All of a sudden, I’m wide awake, peering through the darkness, wishing the moon was brighter.
A silhouette rises from the water. My heart threatens to pound out of my chest at the hope it could be him.
The figure struggles and collapses, too weak to make it to the bank. Without thinking, I jump back in the water, icy in the darkness and make my way over.
I get close enough to recognise his face, his broad shoulders, his height. It’s him – it’s really him. In the darkness I can’t see if he’s injured but he’s alive.
He’s too exhausted to speak but I see a smile once he recognises me and pulls his arm over my shoulder to help him get to dry land. He’s too heavy for us to move quickly and when we get to the bank, I use my light to signal the guards below for help.
While we wait, I hold his head against my shoulder, giving his legs a rest. His eyes close, pale face drawn but his hands start to channel under the water. Good, hopefully that will give him something to keep in reserve, since his magic must be thoroughly depleted.
The guards help me carry him out of the water and down the stairs. They must recognise him because a carriage is called.
I refuse to let go of his hand on the journey and every so often he jerks into consciousness and panics. When he sees my face, he relaxes and slips away again.
My heart sinks when we are taken through the streets of Cathair to his family home, a monolith of white stone glowing in the moonlight. The driver opens the carriage door and coughs when I don’t move to leave.
Eskar peels open one eye. His attention snaps to the driver when he notices where we are, his gaze narrows.
“Sir, the house is err… quite empty. Ms Dervla Cairbre told us to keep it maintained but your arrival is unanticipated. Yourparents have been…” Eskar visibly relaxes as the driver stumbles for the right word.
