“Come on, Night Shadow Star.”
Daring the slick and sloping sides of the hull, Fire Cat stood, balancing, as his canoe drifted up to the swamped dugout. The river’s surface, rain-hammered, roiling and rippled by the breeze, had turned into an opaque maze of expanding rings. It reflected a leaden gray, the murky water impenetrable.
“So what, Fire Cat? Do you dive in yourself? Swim down? Try and find her?”
With a palm he wiped beaded water from his face again, raindrops still pattering on his bare head. Braced as his legs were, he locked his knees to keep them from trembling.
He pursed his lips, squinting around. She’d been under for too long. As a boy he’d spent enough time diving in the upper river to know how precarious the currents were when they ran deep. She could be anywhere within a bow shot by now.
“Come on, Piasa. She says she serves you? Give me a sign.”
Even as he said it, he started. Beneath the surface the water flashed a weird blue, as if cerulean lightning had flickered. His canoe rocked as though a wave had lifted the bow, in defiance of the flat water around him.
He dropped to his knees at the last second, weaving to balance the now bobbing canoe. His heart hammered frantically against his breast.
“What in the name of…”
Bolts of real lightning flashed down from the heavy gray clouds. Four blinding flashes—the deafening explosions like hammer blows—wove a pattern around him as they struck the river. He had a vision of instant steam, boiling water, and a bellow of pained rage from below.
What should have been a blink of the eye seemed to stretch into an endless agony. Unimaginable energy pulsed around him, bore him up, and expanded as if to fill the world. A whirlwind of emotions tore through him: rage mixed with exaltation, defeat, and surprise, all spinning and confused.
Like a slap to the soul it ended, left him stunned and flattened, facedown in the sloshing water where it washed back and forth in the bottom of his pitching canoe.
Terrified, heart racing, he cowered against the sodden wood and blinked. Afterimages of black and white lay behind his half-blinded eyes. His ears rang with a high-pitched tone. The air carried a steamy sulfurous odor. Raising his head, he looked around. Rain now slashed down with vengeance.
Night Shadow Star’s swamped canoe, its hull in splinters, was charred.
“By Hunga Ahuito!” It had been a direct hit.
Shaking, his teeth chattering, he pawed cold rain from his face and struggled for breath. How long did he stay? How long did he search?
No one could hold their breath for that long. She had to be down there, drowned, her body drifting along the dark bottom, her long hair spilling in a black, undulating wave as she slowly tumbled, loose limbed, her dark eyes sightless, her mouth open and filling with silt.
He saw it by chance, having the entire river to search. Just a bobbing dot—like a ball that barely popped to the surface only to recede.
Desperate, the paddle clutched in shaking hands, he drove his canoe toward the spot, orienting himself by the distant roofs of River Mounds. Tracking the progress of the current, following by instinct.
There! Once again he caught a glimpse: a head, yes. But was it Night Shadow Star’s?
The ache in his blistered shoulders knotted into a cramp, his physical effort barely keeping the cold at bay. His scorched hands had started to hurt, and his belly suffered from a nauseous tickle. Exhaustion was sucking the last reserves from his souls. Try as he might, ignoring the pain of his burns was no longer possible.
Again the head bobbed up, closer this time.
With three hard strokes he pushed his canoe forward, timing it … and yes. He reached down as the head bobbed up, twined his numb fingers into hair, and lifted.
“Who are you?” he said through panting breath. Fatigue-clumsy as he was, he almost swamped as he lifted. Shipping his paddle, he managed to paw the long black hair out of Night Shadow Star’s slack face.
Keeping a hold on her hair, he repositioned himself amidships, found his balance, and pulled.
It took two tries before he managed to get his clublike hands under her armpits. Winded, he pulled, wondering where his strength had gone, and barely managed to lift more than her breasts from the water.
“No sleep for days, Lady. Ran all night. Fought most of the morning. Haven’t eaten. Got burns all over my back. You might have just found the limits of my oath.”
Her mouth opened and closed, water spitting out.
“Okay, I hear you.” He set himself, filled his lungs, and gave one last tug, feeling her slip up. Her rump caught on the gunwale.
It was enough. He stuffed his hand between her legs and levered her limp body into the canoe.
For a moment, he lay atop her, gasping for breath. Somehow he’d managed to tear his scalp wound open again, and rain-washed blood was streaming down the side of his head.