The golden light became blackness and noise.
Something was crushing him. He kicked, but there was nothing to kick against. For endless moments he thrashed helplessly. Then the world peeled back around his head and he was sucking air into his stinging lungs and struggling to keep his head above the water, straining to hold onto the beautiful, marvelous, silversweet night air.
The boy Gally, clutched in his arms, sputtered out water and rasped in breath. Paul loosened his hold and let the boy out to arm's length so he could use his other arm to help keep them both afloat. The water was gentler here than the place in the river where they had dived. Perhaps they had drifted away from the scarlet woman and that terrible creature.
But how could they have been underwater long enough for it to become night? It had been only late afternoon a moment ago, and now, except for a salting of stars, the sky was as dark as the inside of a coat pocket.
It was no good trying to understand. Paul could see a faint light from what must be the shore. He pulled Gally close and spoke to him in a low voice, worried in case their dreadful pursuers might be somewhere near. "Do you have your breath back? Can you swim a little?" When the boy nodded, Paul patted his sopping head. "Good. Swim ahead of me toward that light. If you get too tired, or begin to cramp, don't be frightened—I'll be right behind you."
Gally gave him a wide-eyed, inscrutable look, then began to dog-paddle toward the distant glow. Paul struck out after him with a slow stroke that felt strangely natural, as though there had been a time when he had done this frequently.
The waves were low and gentle, the current minimal. Paul felt himself relax slightly as he fell into the rhythm of his own movements. The river's character had become entirely different since they had first entered it: the water was almost pleasurably warm, and had a sweetish, spicy smell. He wondered briefly what it might be like to drink some, but decided that was an adventure better attempted when they had reached the safety of landfall. Who knew how different things might be here?
As they drew nearer to the light, Paul saw that it was a high flame like a bonfire or signal beacon. It burned, not on the shore, but atop a pyramidal shape on a stone island. The island itself was only a few dozen yards long, with stone steps leading down from the pyramid's base to the very edge of the water. Beyond the pyramid, at the island's farther end, another stone structure stood surrounded by a small grove of trees.
As they drew closer, Gally pulled up, thrashing. Paul stroked forward swiftly and put one of his arms around the boy's thin chest.
"Do you have a cramp?"
"There's something in the water!"
Paul looked around, but the surface, painted with jagged splashes of reflected flame, seemed unbroken. "I don't see anything. Come on. we're almost there."
He kicked hard, pushing them both forward, and as he did so, something heavy bumped along his shins. Paul made a startled noise and swallowed water. Coughing, he swam hard for the stone steps.
Something huge was moving just beneath them. It rose and dumped them sideways in a sluice of river water; Paul saw first one, then a half-dozen snakelike shapes break the surface only a few yards away, twining aimlessly. Gally was struggling, and Paul found himself floundering only a few strokes short of the steps.
"Stop it!" he shouted into Gally's ear, but the boy was still thrashing weakly. Paul lifted him as far out of the water as he could, swung him back while kicking hard for leverage, and threw him up onto the broad step. The effort pushed Paul back under the water. His eyes popped open. Something huge and dark and faceless, with a mouth like a puckered hole full of curving spikes and a corona of ropy arms, was reaching for him. It was too late to reach the steps. He flung himself downward as hard as he could, churning his legs to force himself deeper. The arms snaked past over his head. He felt a rubbery something scrape along his side, then he was snagged briefly and tossed end over end. He popped to the surface like a fishing float, not sure which end was up or down and not entirely certain that he cared any more. A thin hand closed on his arm, a human hand.
"It's coming back!" Gally shrilled.
Paul struggled onto the step beneath the water, with the boy's help, he clambered up the slippery stone onto the island itself. As his feet left the water a shiny black shape lashed out at him, slapping on the stone a yard away. It slid back into the river, pushing waves a yard high onto the stairs.
Paul clambered up the steps onto the platform at the base of the small pyramid. He put his back against the lowest layer of square stones and sat clutching his knees until his shivering slowed.
"I'm cold," Gally said at last.
Paul stood on shaky legs, then reached down to help the boy. "Let's go look there, where the trees are."
A tiled path led from the pyramid to the grove. Paul absently noted the design passing beneath their feet, an intricate, braided swirl that seemed somehow familiar. He grimaced. There were so few things he could remember clearly. And where was he now?
The trees that ringed the clearing had long silver leaves which hissed softly as the wind rubbed them together. At the center, on a small grassy mound, stood a small stone building open on one side. Only a little light from the beacon atop the pyramid leaked through the silver trees, but it was enough for Paul to see that the building, like the rest of the island, was empty of inhabitants. They moved closer and found a stone table inside the building, piled high with fruits and conical loaves of bread. The bread was soft and fresh. Before Paul could stop him, Gally had torn off a piece and stuffed it in his mouth. Paul hesitated only a moment before joining him.
They ate several of the fruits as well, tearing open the tough skins to get to the sweet pulp inside. With juice on their fingers and chins, they sat down against the cool tiles of the building's interior wall and enjoyed a satiated silence.
"I'm very tired," Paul said at last, but the boy was not listening. Gally had already fallen into one of his deep, deathlike sleeps, curled up like a rabbit near Paul's leg. Paul struggled to stay awake as long as he could, feeling that the boy deserved protection, but weariness overcame him at last.
The first thing Paul saw when he started awake was the reassuring shape of the moon high in the sky. When he noted its strangely uneven silhouette, it lost some of its power to reassure. Then he saw the second moon.
The noise that had awakened him was growing louder. It was music, clear and unquestionable, a melodic chanting in a language he didn't recognize. He put his hand over Gally's mouth and gently shook him awake.
When the boy understood what was going on, Paul released him. They peered out of the building and saw a long flat boat sliding past the island, ablaze with torches. There were figures at the railing, but Paul could not make them out through the trees. He led Gally out of the sheltering stone and into the grove itself, which seemed a better place to hide.
Crouching behind one of the silver-leafed trees, they watched the front end of the boat drift to a halt at the pyramid end of the island. A squat but agile figure leaped off and made the boat fast, then turned from side to side, face held high as though sniffing the wind. For a moment Paul could see it clearly by the beacon's flame, and what he saw made him flinch. The creature's shiny skin and long-snouted face were more beastlike than human.
Other shapes clambered off the boat onto the pyramid's base, blades glinting in their hands. Paul took advantage of the confusion to lift Gally up to the lowest limb of the tree, then followed the boy into the branches where they would be less likely to be seen.
From this improved viewpoint, he saw that the boat itself was a barge a third as long as their entire island, elaborately carved and painted, with a sweeping fantail, a pillared cabin, and torches all along the rail. To his relief, not all its occupants were as bestial as the first. The snouted one and his fellows seemed to be the crew; the others, now stepping onto the island, though very tall, seemed otherwise manlike. They wore armor and carried long pikes or curved swords.
After a brief loo
k around—they seemed unusually alert for such a large armed group on such a small island, he thought—those who had debarked turned and signaled to their companions on board. Paul leaned forward for a better view through the leaves. When the occupant of the cabin stepped out, he almost fell from his perch.
She was almost as tall as the soldiers and stunningly beautiful, despite what even by moonlight seemed an odd, azure cast to her skin. She kept her large eyes downcast, but showed a hint of defiance in the set of her shoulders and neck. Her mass of dark hair was swept up and held by a crown of glinting jewels. Most astonishingly of all, translucent wings trailed from her shoulders, paper-thin but colored like stained glass, flaring in the moonlight as she stepped from the confining cabin.
But it was something else that had startled him. He knew her,
Paul could not say where or when he had seen her before, but he knew this woman, the recognition as swift and complete as if he had seen his own face reflected in a looking glass. He did not know her name or anything about her, but he knew her, and knew that somehow she was dear to him.
Gally's small hand reached out to steady him. He took a deep breath and felt that he might weep.
She stepped down from the barge's high platform onto the gangplank that the bestial sailors had put in place, then walked slowly down onto the island itself. Her dress was constructed of countless filmy strands which surrounded her like fog, leaving her long legs and slender torso no more than shadows. The soldiers followed her closely, as though to protect her, but Paul thought he saw a reluctance in her movements that suggested the sharp blades were meant to spur her rather than protect her.
She stopped and knelt before the pyramid for a long moment, then got up slowly and started along the tiled path toward the building in which Paul and Gally had slept. A thin man in a robe had followed her down from the boat, and now walked a few paces behind her. Paul was so fascinated by the grace of her movements, by the strange familiarity of her face, that she was directly beneath them before he realized that these visitors would see that he and Gally had eaten the offerings in the little temple. What would happen when they discovered it? There was nowhere to hide effectively on an island this small.
He may have breathed a little louder at this sudden fear, or it might have been some sense other than hearing that drew her glance, but as the dark-haired woman passed beneath she looked up into the leaves and saw him. Their eyes met only for an instant, but Paul felt himself touched and recognized. Then she cast her eyes down again, giving no indication that she had been doing anything but gazing up at the night sky. Paul held his breath as the man in the robe and more soldiers passed beneath, but none of them looked up. As the company reached the grassy mound, Paul clambered down the tree as quietly as he could, then caught Gally as he jumped down. He was leading the boy through the trees toward the water's edge when a sudden shout of anger rose from the temple; the soldiers and the robed man knew there had been thieves on their sacred island.
Already Paul could hear the rattle of footsteps in the grove. He lifted Gally and eased him down into the water, then slid in beside him. The soldiers were calling to each other, and some still remaining on the boat were hurrying down the gangplank to aid in the search.
Gally clung to the island's rocky verge. Paul moved close to whisper in his ear. The boy nodded and struck out swimming toward the barge. Paul followed, trying to stay low in the water and make as little noise as possible. Two soldiers were loitering in the stern, leaning on their spears as they watched their fellows search the island. Gally and Paul silently eased past them toward the barge's far side, where they would be shielded from view by the boat's own bulk. Paul found a handhold in the intricate carvings near the waterline. Gally clung to his shirt. Together they bobbed in the shadows, bumping gently against the hull, and waited.
The searchers at last began to return. Paul wondered whether they should try to regain the island, but the sound of the woman's voice as she reboarded decided him. He tightened his hold on the carvings and on Gally as the barge was pushed away from the island. For a moment he wondered at his own blitheness, that he should commit himself and the boy to waters where only hours before they had been attacked by some unknown monster. Had seeing the woman clouded his judgment? He only knew he could not simply let her float away. Gally seemed calmly trusting, but that did not make Paul feel any less of a betrayer.
The night was berry-dark, and the disconcerting pair of moons were still the brightest things in the sky. The barge moved slowly but steadily against the weak current. It was not difficult for Paul to maintain his grip, but it was a tiring position. He reached down to unfasten his belt and realized for the first time that he was wearing something different than when he had first gone into the river. His memories were disturbingly vague. He and the boy had escaped from the Eight Squared, fleeing both a woman in red and some other, even more frightening threat, but he could remember little more. Surely he had been in some terrible war—but hadn't that been somewhere else? And what had he been wearing before, that he should be so certain now that this was different?
He was wearing baggy pants and a sort of leather waistcoat, with no shirt beneath it. He could not remember having anything on his feet when he had first reached the island, and he was certainly barefooted now. He did have a long belt, though, which wrapped twice around his waist. He dismissed all the other questions as unanswerable, removed the belt and looped it through a piece of filigree just above the barge's waterline. When it was secured, he dropped it over Gally's head and beneath the boy's arms, then stretched the loop wide and slid himself in behind the boy, his back pressed against the hull. Now they were both held securely and Paul could at last let his tired muscles go limp.
The barge pushed on, surging minutely as the oars pulled. Paul felt like a strand of kelp, tugged back and forth by the warm waters with Gally's head bumping gently against his throat. The gentle pressure of the waves nudged him into sleep.
He was startled awake by a tingling that seemed to sweep through his entire body. As he floundered in his makeshift harness, trying to sweep away whatever stinging things had attacked him, the purple sky abruptly blazed a harsh green and the water went a flat, coppery orange. The air crackled with static electricity. Half the watercourse suddenly rose, as though some huge thing had surged up from the bottom, but the other half did not, even as the displacement lasted into its third and fourth second. There was even a firm and delineated edge between the two halves, as though the water were something as solid as stone. A moment later, the tingling ran through Paul even more sharply and he cried out. Gally, newly awakened and frightened, shouted also. The sky twisted again, glowing ghastly white for a single instant, then the painful tingling stopped, the sky flickered back to normal, and the water was all of a piece again, with no waves, or even ripples, to mark the change.
Paul gaped at nothing, staring into the near-darkness. He had trouble remembering things, but he felt quite certain he had never seen a body of water behave in that way before. In fact, he realized, it had been more than just the watercourse. The entire world had seemed to twist for a moment, to distort grossly, as though it were all painted on a single piece of paper, and that piece of paper had been violently crumpled.
"What . . . what was that?" Gally struggled for breath. "What happened?"
"I don't know. I . . . I think. . . ."
Even as he struggled for an explanation, the entire section of carving from which he and the boy hung ripped free from the side of the boat and they were suddenly floundering in open water. Paul grabbed for Gally, and when he had him safe, he helped him to the piece of carved trim, which was spinning slowly in the water a few yards away. The section that had broken off was longer than Paul was tall, and buoyant enough to give them something to cling to, which was just as well: the barge, ignorant of its lost stowaways, was swiftly pulling away down the watercourse. Within a few score of heartbeats it had disappeared into the mist and early morning darkness. T
hey were alone again.
"Ssshhh," Paul told Gally, who was crying between watery coughs. The boy looked up at him with reddened eyes. "We'll be all right. See, we're just going to float here."
"No. I'm not . . . I . . . I was dreaming. I dreamed Bay was under the water, down on the sand at the bottom. He was lonely, see, and he wanted me to come down and play with him."
Paul squinted, trying to locate the shore: if it was close enough, they could swim, despite the quiet but steady drag of the current. But if the land was close enough to reach, it was hidden by mist and dim light. "Who did?" he asked, distracted.
"Bay. I dreamed about Bay."
"And who is that?"
Gally stared, wide-eyed. "My brother. You met him. Don't you remember?"
Paul could think of nothing to say.
They had clung to the bit of wreckage for some time. The sky had begun to lighten, but Paul was growing steadily more weary and feared he would not be able to hold onto the carving and Gally both for much longer. He was contemplating which direction he should choose for an all-or-nothing swim when a long shadow came slipping toward them through the mist.
It was a boat, not a large one like the ceremonial barge, but a modest fishing skiff. A single shape stood in the bow. As the boat drew closer, Paul saw that its occupant was one of the snouted creatures.
The creature backed water with its single long paddle so that the skiff stopped a few yards away from them. It crouched down in the bow and tipped its head to one side, examining them. Crooked fangs protruded from the long muzzle, but an undeniable intelligence gleamed in its yellow eyes. The sunlight showed Paul for the first time that the shiny skin was faintly greenish. After a moment, it stood and raised the paddle as though to strike them.
"Leave us alone!" Paul splashed frantically until he could put the bulk of the floating carving between them and the snouted thing.