Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
I swim as a fish does.
Perfectly.
Twenty
The Last Meal Retaliates.
A dull glow guides me. The illumination hovers in the murky water like a lantern on the far side of a dense curtain, and as a moth, I zero in, stroking faster and faster. To reach the beacon, I must begin to rise, and rise I do, until I’m hindered by some kind of drag upon my torso. Unable to progress farther, I claw at the water, pulling on my slippery submersion—but then I’m abruptly free. Just as my lungs begin to burn with the kind of urgency that cannot be denied, I’m liberated and approaching the surface, and this gives me the extra energy I need. As shockingly comfortable as I am propelling myself with strokes, a timer is ticking in my marrow. I know I must take a full breath, soon.
Closer and closer. Bigger and brighter, now the light—
Bursting to the surface, I tear the linen from my head and crest with my mouth wide open. My inhale is not panicked. It’s steady, as sure and deep as my entire body, as if every muscle and all my bones have their own sets of lungs and the whole of me is filling with air at once. This happens with a confidence I’ve never known before—
Settling into a bouncing float, reality returns in a rush. This is not the beachside. This is the fetid moat, and through the muck that coats my face in a thick layer, I look around frantically for balas in the midst of the browning lily pads. I don’t see any of their knobby, bobbing sets of eyes—
But neither do I see Merc.
Spinning in a circle, the village wall rises above me, a towering mountain made by the hands of men. This is the back side, almost directly behind the bridge and the gate. I can tell by the dappling sunlight that dances on the weathered stone and crumbling mortar. It needs to pass through leaves to get that effect.
“Merc,” I hiss so that I don’t attract any guard that might be up walking our defense’s parapet. “Merc.”
Abruptly, I remember the rope. My hands snatch at the knot he tied at my waist, and I pull, pull, pull on the lax—
The end arrives without preamble, and I bring it up out of the water. The twist has been sliced cleanly.
“Merc!”
Grabbing a breath, I plunge under, but can see nothing as I wave my arms around and pull myself deeper. When I have to replenish my lungs, I resurface—
As I’m breathing in to resume my search, bubbles appear three lengths over from me: My agitating movements have called one of the beastly guards to me. Fates! I’m going to get eaten—
Even though I should maybe stay still, I start stroking for the moat’s stone banking. The fact that it rises a full body’s length above me makes me realize I’m in a bowl set for the aquatic predators, and just as a serving of stew has no hope of besting the rim that contains it, I can’t imagine being able to get up and over to the grass above.
The balas I ate and am still digesting is about to be avenged by its brethren. Even if they don’t know they’re settling the score—
A great breaching explodes behind me, and as the beast lands on the surface with a slap, a tidal wave pushes me along, giving me an advantage that will be closed instantly. I paddle faster, slapping at the water with panic—
“Wait for me, why dontcha,” comes an impatient voice.
I roll over in surprise, and keep gliding from my momentum. “M-Merc?”
Against all odds, he’s surfaced, and he seems equally flabbergasted to see me.
“What happened?” I exclaim.
“You can’t swim, huh,” he mutters as he shoves his braids back and pulls a hand down his face. “You have fucking fins—”
“Behind you!”
The first of the balas appears, its red eyes glowing out from beneath its knobby glower. Merc doesn’t bother to assess what I’ve reported. He starts for me with powerful strokes, and I know the only way I can help us is by leading the charge to the impossible moat edge.
When I get to the stones, I try to set my blunt fingers into the seams between the algae’d, smooth-faced rocks, but there’s no purchase, the slime preventing me from securing any kind of hold. I keep attempting to find some sort of grip, even as I glance back once again. Merc is coming at me so fast, he has a wake behind him, but the disturbances have called even more to us. Four or five other balas have zeroed in from way across the water, their tails swirling back and forth with the lazy movement of cats on the hunt.
Right before the mouse is toyed with.
Merc arrives at me and throws himself at the walling. He fails as I do, but doesn’t keep up with trying. In a single move, he comes about and unsheathes the broadsword, the tip breaching the surface and gleaming wet in the sunlight.