The Skull of the World by Kate Forsyth Page B

river.
    "We should go on," she said after a long while. "I feel as if air and light are very close."
    He nodded, his horned head casting strange shadows over the rocks. "I have not much light left," he said arid she saw his torch was indeed flickering very low. He helped her up with the grave courtesy of the Khan'cohban and together they went wearily down the side of the river. His eyes dilated a little as Buba crept out of Isabeau's fur coat to lead the way, but he said nothing.
    At last a dim gray light began to filter through. The torrent of the river filled most of the cave, so that they clambered along the walls, slipping and stumbling, sometimes falling to their knees. They saw the rocks grow close all about, the river bursting from a gap in its walls. Together they knelt and peered out, despair filling them as they saw the water plunging down the side of a steep black cliff. Down, down, into a deep ravine the waterfall plunged, flinging spray high into the air where it gleamed like diamonds in the light of the rising sun. There was no way out except down that raging torrent.
    Isabeau looked at the horned boy. He was pale, his mouth firmly compressed so two white dents appeared on either side of his mouth. "We have come the wrong way," he said. "We must go back."
    "I canna!" Isabeau cried wildly in her own language, then controlled herself with an effort. "I do not think I can," she said then in his language, her hands gripped into fists. "I cannot stand the dark, and the smell, and those noises . . ."
    "We shall die if we try and go out this way," he said reasonably. "Not even you who flies through water like an eagle through the air, not even you could survive that fall."
    He was right, Isabeau knew it, but she stared out at the day longingly. "There must be some way," she whispered.
    "There must, for many find their way free in the end," he answered, rather stiffly. She nodded and followed him back up the course of the river, despondency weighing her down.
    Suddenly there was a sharp cry as the horned boy slipped and fell into the river. Immediately he was dragged down, his face disappearing beneath the tumult. Isabeau dragged off her skimmer and boots and dived into the water after him. The power of the current took her by surprise. She had trouble keeping her own head above the water, which was cold as ice. Isabeau felt her strength being sapped away and she struck out, searching desperately for any sign of her companion. Then she saw his white head break through and plunged after him. Her fingers brushed against the wool of his shirt. She gripped tightly and tucked one arm about his neck, keeping his face above the water. He was incredibly heavy, dressed as he was in furs and heavy boots, with his skimmer still strapped to his back and banging against lsabeau with every stroke. She would have freed him from his burdens if she could but there was no time and so she merely struggled to hold him afloat, using the buoyancy of the wooden skimmer as much as she was able.
    Kicking as strongly as she could she struck out for the rocks, racing past at an incredible pace as the river dragged them toward the falls. At last she was thrown against the shore and managed to wedge her legs against a rock long enough to heave him halfway out of the water. Her legs slipped and she was dragged back into the torrent but lsabeau was a strong swimmer and managed to kick her way back to shore, dragging herself out some feet downriver from where the horned boy lay, half in, half out.
    She was sick with weariness but she knelt beside him and managed to drag his slack body from the river, pressing the water out of his body with both hands on his chest and breathing her own breath into his lungs. He coughed and vomited, and she rubbed his cold limbs and squeezed the water out of his hair and clothes, trying to draw upon her powers to dry them. Her strength was all gone, though, and she could not summon even a glow of warmth to comfort