Horsecaller
Just as Lauren hoped, they had arrived at low tide. Firm, smooth sand stretched for fifty yards before plunging beneath a middling surf. Unmarred by tracks of any kind, the beach begged to be run across, particularly by a horse, in Lauren’s mind, but she would not force one down the cliff.
From where they stood, the sheer bluff continued in each direction as far as she could see. At the base, the steady churn of water had eroded enough rock to form shallow caves. Fighting a strong desire to strip down and make for the waves, Lauren stayed where she knew her companions felt safe–as far from the water as possible. She sucked in deep droughts of the brine-tinged air.
“Refreshing, isn’t it?”
“Reeks of death to me,” Leinos commented.
He appeared calm–wore what she called his Fin face–the one reserved for the public, but beneath that? The tightness in his jaw belied the otherwise calm guise. She hadn’t considered just how severe his reaction to being even this close to the water might be. “Let’s go back,” she said. Listening to the surf’s rote would have to satisfy her.
Before they could turn, Lauren heard her name called from above. Malew danced at the cliff’s edge, spinning, his golden hair bending like wheat awaiting harvest.
“Get back,” she yelled. He didn’t heed. To Leinos, she said, “I keep forgetting he’s only eight years old. He usually acts so much older.”
A shadow overhead made Lauren cringe as visions of yekerk sent panicked thoughts through her brain. Her most recent encounter with the monstrous winged creatures was still fresh, and the old wounds on her legs, left by a yekerk’s deadly claws, refused to fully heal.
When she returned her gaze to the cliff’s edge, Malew had gone. She scanned the precipice, then whipped her head around when she heard him screaming. One of the huge birds struggled to gain height as it flew toward the sea with Malew hanging from its talons.
“Shit.”
Leinos stared wide-eyed at the sight.
“Do something,” she urged.
The bird skimmed the surf edge keeping tight hold of its squirming catch. Leinos didn’t move. She shook his arm as dread spit through her. “Shoot it.”
“Malew is with the dead. It is too late.”
“Shoot it,” she repeated then sprinted away. The bird made steady, unhurried progress not far above the surface.
Leinos ran after her. His voice, when he yelled, sounded strangled. “Don’t go in the water.”
She skidded short of a receding wave, and when he flanked her, snatched the small crossbow from his belt, took a shot, missed.
Leinos wrestled the weapon from her.
“For God’s sake,” she pleaded. “Do something.”
He placed a bolt and took careful aim. “I will shoot it, but he will drown. He is with the dead.” With deep sadness, he added, “I am sorry.”
The arrow sung and found its mark. Forty yards out, the bird lurched, lolled to one side, dropped the boy, and both hit with a clumsy splash. Lauren didn’t wait.
She kicked hard into the surf, knowing she had little time. Frigid water numbed her skin. Struggling past the curl of breakers, she treaded a moment, then swam to where Malew had landed. The bird’s tail twitched and blood spread around it. Lauren dove. She caught sight of the boy, reached, and grabbed only more water.
The fading sun provided no help, and below, the sea grew murky. Something bumped her shoulder. Spinning about, Lauren saw nothing. With heart pounding, she surfaced, gulped air, and swam straight down, where visibility was nil.
C’mon, she thought, he can’t have sunk this fast. There. A milky face swirled past. Lauren recoiled. It was not Malew. Then another figure slithered a cold hand around one ankle and jerked. Lauren kicked it away, but realized what she thought was seaweed or the eddies of some tiny sea creature, was something else entirely. She forced herself to keep going. A little farther, and a glimmer of Malew’s yellow locks drew her even deeper. More translucent swimmers emerged from the depths, surrounding her. One tugged at the boy, another cradled his head, almost in a caress.
The dead.
Not sure she believed her eyes, Lauren pushed through them. Air bubbles escaped Malew’s nose. It was not too late. The passing faces of the dead were sad, their bodies gaunt. She could feel their bleak hunger. They wanted Malew to join them.
Lauren mouthed, “No,” as she pulled her knife. “You can’t have him.”
She swept the blade through the torso of the nearest, and like mist on a cool morning, it dissipated, then just as quickly coalesced. Before her lungs gave out, and without care for the consequences, Lauren snatched Malew from the two who held him. They scrambled to hold on, but their incorporeal grips could not hold, and the effort scattered their forms like vapor from an aerosol can. She made another swipe at the swimmers as she kicked for the surface. They followed and scrabbled for her, white arms too long, mouths open in perpetual screams. Their hands had no strength, and she hauled the boy toward light.
As quickly as she could, Lauren floated him along the swells to where she could touch bottom, then carried him the rest of the way, stumbling through the undertow. The others stayed back as she laid the boy down. Even Leinos did not approach.
Lauren pinched Malew’s nose and breathed into his mouth. “Stay with me, sweetie.” She forced air into his lungs again. He did not respond. Lauren continued to breathe for the boy, and after a few more attempts, he coughed and spat up water, eyelids fluttered open. She wiped at her tears.
“Horsecaller?” he asked.
She hugged him to her, started to ask someone to bring a blanket.
A pair of bare feet appeared at Malew’s side. Leinos crouched but did not touch either of them. “You swam with the dead,” he said, his tone flat.
Leinos and Vraz regarded her and Malew with pinched brows and evasive eyes, the concern there far beyond that for someone who had merely almost drowned.
Then, she felt it, like a brimful of icy rain tipped down her neck. Something, or someone, clung to her, and it wasn’t seaweed. She glanced at the boy’s face. A pallid shadow oozed around him.
The dead were still with them.
Recent Comments