Читать книгу Only the Destined - Морган Райс, Morgan Rice - Страница 10

Royce was padding through a forest, the trees blending into one another until it became impossible to know the path. He was lost, and somehow he knew that this was a place where to be lost was to die.

He continued onward, not knowing what else to do. Around him now, the trees closed in, and their branches whipped around in an unseen wind, buffeting Royce and lashing him. Their branches tore at his skin, and now there were brambles to go with the branches, ripping into him and holding him back. It took everything he had to keep going.

Why keep going, though? He didn’t know where he was, so why press forward like this, through the darkness and the uncertainty of the forest? His energy was fading, so why not sit down on the stump of a tree, waiting until he got his breath back, and—

“To stop is to die, my son.” The voice came through the trees, and even though he had only heard it in dreams, Royce instantly recognized it as that of his father. He turned toward the sound, starting forward.

“Father, where are you?” he called out, pushing in the direction the voice seemed to have come from.

The way was, if anything, even harder here. There were fallen trees to contend with, and Royce found it harder to leap over them each time. There were rocks protruding from the forest floor, and now it seemed that Royce had to climb as much as run just to get around them. The route ahead was still indistinguishable from the rest of the forest, and Royce could feel the despair of not knowing pressing down on him.

That was when he saw the white hart standing there, the deer waiting and looking at him expectantly. With the same strange certainty that he had felt before, Royce knew that this animal was there to show him the way. He turned to follow, running in its wake.

The white hart was fast, and Royce had to put everything he had into keeping up. It felt as though his lungs were exploding with the effort, and his limbs were on fire. Even so, he kept running, through the whipping branches of the trees and on into a space where the deer vanished, replaced by an armored figure rimmed in white light.

“Father,” Royce said, gasping the word. He felt as though he had no more breath, no more time.

His father nodded and smiled, then, inexplicably, pointed upward. “You need to go now, Royce. Kick, kick toward the light.”

Looking up, Royce saw a light above him, and as he tried to do as his father said, the light grew closer and closer…

***

Royce came to with a spluttering breath that seemed to involve as much water as air. He spat out sea water and started to sit up, but careful hands held him in place. Royce fought against them for a moment before he realized that it was Mark there, his hands pushing the water out of Royce’s stomach.

“Careful,” his friend said. “You’ll tip the raft.”

The “raft” in question was no more than a section of the ship’s mast that had broken off in the chaos, and then tangled with enough other driftwood to form a kind of temporary floating platform, buoyed up and down by the waves.

Bolis, Neave, and Matilde knelt on the makeshift craft, with Gwylim a little way away toward the edge and Ember flying overhead. Matilde had a gash on her side that might have come from a knife or a piece of wood, but either way blood was leaking into the water while Neave fussed over her and cut lengths of sail cloth into bandages. Sir Bolis was hastily trying to lash a metal fitting to a length of wood, forming a crude harpoon. Of his own armor and weapons, there was no sign.

Royce looked down quickly, and saw that the crystal sword was still by his side, while he still wore the armor that he had taken from Earl Undine’s tower.

“I don’t know how you managed to swim in that,” Mark said, “but you did. You popped up like a cork and I pulled you out.”

“Thank you,” Royce said, offering his hand to his friend.

Mark clasped it firmly. “After all the times you’ve saved me, you don’t need to thank me. I’m just glad you survived.”

“For now,” Bolis said from the prow of their makeshift raft. “We’re still in danger.”

Royce looked around, trying to make sense of things beyond the raft. He could see that they’d been washed further out to sea, so that the Seven Isles were a speck in the distance once again. The sea was roiling too, as if a storm might follow. Their raft was creaking under the strain of it all.

“Forget a spear,” Royce said. “We need to focus on tying the raft together.”

“You didn’t see the creature devouring people,” Bolis said. “It must have killed every sailor who was caught in the main wreck. That sea-wyrm is nothing I want to face unarmed.”

“And do you want to face it in the water when the raft falls apart or sinks?” Royce countered. He’d seen the creature Bolis was worried about, and he knew how big a threat it would be, but right then, the sea could kill them just as certainly.

There were ropes attached to the masts, and Royce pointed to one of them. “Everyone try to grab pieces of rope that aren’t already tangling things and use them to tie the raft together. That’s the priority, then paddle so that we can get to land, then weapons.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Bolis said, but he did it anyway. So did Neave and Mark. When Matilde went to help, she slumped back, grimacing in pain.

“We’ve got this,” Royce told her. “How bad is it?”

“I’m not going to die from it,” Matilde said. “At least… I don’t think I am.”

“Why does she get to sit there and rest?” Bolis asked.

Neave was immediately there in front of him, a dagger in her hand. “Give me one reason not to gut you and throw you to the fish, invader.”

Royce moved to step between them, but Gwylim was there first, the bhargir’s bulk pushing them apart.

“We can’t afford to fight,” Royce said. “We have to work together, or we’ll all drown.”

They grumbled, but they went back to work, and soon, the raft felt a lot more stable than it had before. From where she sat, Matilde was already working on lashing a plank to a longer piece of wood, creating a kind of oar. Royce joined her, and soon, they had an oar for each of them.

“Which way?” Bolis asked, and Royce pointed. There was only one way possible on a makeshift craft like this.

“Back toward the isles,” he said.

“And the creature,” Mark pointed out.

“Maybe we’ll be lucky and slip by it,” Royce said.

“Maybe it will have eaten its fill,” Neave said with a look that said she hoped everyone on the ship had been a part of its meal.

Royce didn’t know how likely that was, but there didn’t seem to be any other option; they had to try to get back to the islands.

“Row together,” he said. “Ready?”

They paddled the raft in the direction of the islands. All of them, even Matilde, helped. Even with all of them paddling, it was still hard going, because their oars weren’t really designed for the task, and because the waves seemed almost determined to pull them back out into the sea. Royce knew they couldn’t let that happen. Out there, they would sink, or die of thirst, or fall prey to some other creature of the deep. Their only hope lay on land.

“Paddle harder,” Royce yelled, trying to encourage them. “We’re making progress.”

They were, but it was slow. Through Ember’s eyes, they were a mere dot against the vastness of the ocean. That dot was moving in the direction of the islands, but barely faster than it might have if it had been bobbing along on the tide. Even so, they were growing closer, in among the mist and the rocks and the rest of it.

“We’re nearly there,” Mark said, and his friend sounded hopeful at the prospect. Looking at it all from above using Ember’s sight, Royce could still see the jagged maze of rocks around the islands, the swirling tides around them seeming almost determined to drag any ship that came too close onto them.

The closest of the islands had beaches around its edges, but those beaches were ringed by rocks and reefs, with a tide before them that seemed to rush far too fast. Looking at it all, Royce thought that perhaps it might be better to head for another of the islands, avoiding this first one completely in spite of the danger of their situation.

Then Gwylim howled, long and low and warning. The sound was enough to make Royce have Ember wheel back toward the raft, giving him the benefit of her view as she looked down. From up there, Royce could see the shadow in the water powering forward toward them…

“The creature!” he yelled, snapping back to himself just as the beast reared up out of the water in sinuous coils, eel-like and blade-finned, its teeth shining in the sun.

It plunged down into the water near the raft, and the wave plowed into them, almost tipping the tiny vessel. A part of Royce guessed it was what the creature intended; maybe it had worked out that people were easier to eat once they were in the water.

He drew the crystal sword, not knowing what else to do.

The creature flowed up out of the water once more, and Royce slashed at it, only able to graze it as it towered over him. The thing looked down at him, as if trying to work out what this thing was that was causing it pain. It struck out toward Royce, jaws gnashing, and Royce jumped back as far as the raft would allow, cutting at it. Gwylim was there, leaping at the beast and biting.

It lashed out again, and Royce spun away from the strike, feeling the force of the thing’s fins slam into his armor. Without it, he guessed they would have torn him in half, and even as it was, it knocked the breath from him, sending him to his knees for a moment.

The creature spun again, and Royce knew there would be no chance to dodge this time.

Then Bolis was there, his improvised spear at the ready, flinging it like a harpoon at a whale, aiming for the beast’s head. It struck the sea-wyrm in one of its massive eyes, bringing a shriek from it that echoed across the water even as the thing slammed into Bolis, knocking him from the raft.

To Royce’s surprise, Neave threw herself flat, grabbing him and pulling him close to the raft. He saw Mark rush forward too, and they were just in time, hauling the knight bleeding from the water before great jaws came up in the spot where he had been. Royce stepped over, striking with the crystal sword again, and again blood flowed.

It wasn’t enough; the sea-wyrm was simply too big to kill with a few strokes of even a sword like this. It plunged beneath the waves, and now Royce could see it backing away, its coils forming arches as it swam from wave to wave.

“It’s running,” Bolis said, clutching at the wounds across his chest.

Royce shook his head. “It won’t give in that easily.”

“But it’s backing off,” the knight insisted. “We fought it, and wounded it, and now it’s going away in search of easier prey.”

Royce shook his head. “There’s no other prey to take, and we haven’t hurt it that much. It’s not running; it’s building its strength back up.”

Sure enough, Royce saw it turn, the coils heading back toward them now from a distance.

“Row!” Royce said. “Our only chance is to row!”

Sheathing the crystal sword, he grabbed an oar and started to paddle for the shore of the first island, not caring now if it took them into the riptide or not. Around him, the others seemed to get the message about what was happening, and paddled for their lives, regardless of how injured they were.

Royce felt the moment when the current caught their raft, dragging it in toward the shore. Behind them, the head of the sea-wyrm broke the surface and the thing’s maw opened wide, ready to swallow them.

He looked down through Ember’s eyes, spotting an outcrop of rocks ahead, obvious from above but hidden by the waves from the raft. Royce pointed.

“Right!”

Everyone dug in with their oars, sending the raft to the right even as the current continued to pull it forward. They skirted the rocks, avoiding them barely, and Royce glanced back to see the sea-wyrm caught on them, writhing to get free before turning and heading back into the depths.

By then, Royce was already looking out for more rocks. They were too close the island now to hope to go anywhere else, and the current dragged them forward inexorably. The only chance was to dodge the rocks as best they could.

“Left!” Royce called out.

They dug in their oars and managed to avoid another set of rocks, but now there was a reef ahead, and Royce couldn’t see any way around it.

“Hold on!” he yelled to the others, and saw them grab hold of the raft just as it hit the rocks beneath the surface. Royce found himself thrown forward, and for the second time that day he was in the water, struggling to swim.

Mark had been right when it came to the armor—it was impossible that anyone should be able to swim in it, and yet it was no worse than swimming in ordinary clothes might have been. He kicked out for the surface, and broke through while the current continued to carry him forward.

The sea spat them out onto the land with bruising force, sand coming up to meet Royce as a wave carried him up onto the beach. It left him there, groaning in pain, and around him, he could see the others lying on the sand, Bolis and Matilde bleeding, Neave and Mark looking bruised, and even Gwylim looking battered by the experience, in spite of the speed Royce had seen him heal.

“We’re alive,” Mark said, and Royce could hear the shock in his friend’s voice. He shared some of it, along with the elation behind it at the thought that his friends were safe.

No, not safe.

They were alive, that was true, but looking out on the water, Royce could see that their raft had already broken apart into fragments, carried away on the waves. They had no way of getting back now, or even of crossing over onto another of the islands.

They’d made it to one of the Seven Isles, but now, it seemed that they were stuck.