The Fade

16

I can hear someone calling my name amid the din in my head. The blackness is total and it's burning hot. As the ringing in my ears starts to fade, I can make out the voice, and for a moment I really believe that it's Jai calling. I'm dead and he's coming to me like the fireclaw visions of a dweoming.

Then my eyes flutter open.

I'm flat on my back on the surface of the river. The heat is excruciating. I've been carried a short distance on the flow, and I can see Feyn, halfway down the cliff, making his way through the tarracks. He looks over his shoulder, sees me raise my head. The whole scene is red-lit from beneath, lending everything a surreal aspect, making me wonder if I really woke up at all.

'Orna! Do not move!'

Then my predicament really hits me. I turn my head a little and I see the cracks that radiated out from my body when I hit the surface. Even that slight shift in weight makes something crumble under my shoulders. Through the pain I can feel the tug and crunch of the river. This plate isn't going to last much longer.

Gingerly, I try to pick myself up. Something gives beneath me.

'Stay where you are!' Nereith cries, from where he's standing at the top of the cliff. 'He's coming to get you!'

But I'm being carried away from Feyn faster than he's descending, and anyway the heat is too much to stay still. There's a loud crack and my mind is made up. I push with my heels and elbows and roll to the side as the plate splits apart and a geyser of steam blasts into the air. The plate tips and bucks wildly; I cling to it with my fingernails, pressed face down. Burning hot shards of spume rock pepper my back and hair.

Gradually, the new plate evens out. It's holding.

I can't lie here for more than a moment; the heat is too much. I get to my feet. I'm not as careful or as delicate as I'd like, but I can't bear being spread flat on that surface any more. The rock tilts uneasily, but it holds.

I look back at Feyn, checking he's okay. Nereith has begun his climb now. The tarracks seem to have decided that we're not a threat as long as we stay away from the nests.

I begin to walk, spreading my weight. The far bank is just a slope, ragged with hardy lichen scrub. All I have to do is get to it.

The surface gives frighteningly with each footstep, letting me sink just a little. I'm light-headed; I can taste salt on my tongue. Dehydrating fast. I've got to move quick, but each time I put my weight down I'm convinced the plate is going to shatter and pitch me into the boiling sludge below.

The river is busy with rifts, moving apart and pushing together as the plates jostle for space. I have to jump them, even though the impact could crack the surface. The first is the most terrifying. I ride my landing down to one knee, absorbing it with my thigh muscles as best I can.

The plate stays firm.

Back on my feet, and I'm glancing up at the spike-rays, who are taking a worrying interest in these strange beings in their territory. I'm big prey for a spike-ray. There's no way one of them could lift me. But it might not stop them trying.

Feyn has reached the river, untroubled by the tarracks, and is beginning his crossing. I daren't think about him now. I have to concentrate on myself.

Over another rift, then out into the centre of the river, arms held to either side. I've got good balance, but the uncertain footing makes me want to simply run and hope for the best. The heat, the red glow from beneath, the protracted threat of imminent death – it's like being trapped in a nightmare.

Then I see one of the spike-rays begin a plunge. It comes down lazily but with purpose, heading for me, not caring whether I've spotted it or not. Almost nonchalant as it tries to kill me.

I tense, digging my toes into the treacherous crust. It'll come at me with the tail, in a stabbing motion; I watch as it curves, predicting the moment…

Now.

I jump aside and roll, clearing a rift with my jump, hitting the ground shoulder-first and coming up in a crouch. I finish the manoeuvre facing the spike-ray as it swoops back up into the sky, not in the least fazed by its lack of success. Then the ground shifts beneath me, and it's only because I'm in a ready stance that I move fast enough to avoid being cooked by a steam jet. Still, I land too heavily, and have to hop aside again for fear that the shattered ground beneath me will collapse like the last.

I can't stop myself hurrying now. I'm dizzy from the heat and I'm worried other spike-rays will follow their companion's example. The bank isn't far. A few solid-looking plates give me good landing spots, and I've got the measure of the tipping. Moving at reckless speed – although progress is still slow – I cover the second half of the river, buoyed by my own momentum.

The plates at the river's edge are a little more broken up, so I slow down again for them; but finally, with a last jump, my feet hit solid ground. I collapse amid the tough lichens, hugging the earth, and then scramble up the slope, away from the heat.

When the temperature is bearable again, I look back. Feyn is almost two thirds across, and by his face he's as frightened as I was. Nereith is behind him, making his way steadily. If we'd been carrying packs or wearing armour none of us would have stood a chance. Even the sword that Nereith wanted to take from the dead guard might have made a fatal difference. Suddenly I realise why this river makes such an effective moat for the fort.

But I've done it. I was right. I've got out, and I can get them out. As long as they don't stumble now…

I'm so fixed on watching Feyn that I don't see the spike-ray come for him until it's too late. It flies low over the surface of the river, and by the time I notice it I doubt my shout will help. But Feyn reacts fast to the warning, and with blind trust. Without even knowing where the danger is coming from, he throws himself forward. The spike-ray swings past him like an axe, its tail stabbing. Feyn arches his back with a yell as it scores across his ribs.

My hand goes to my mouth. He staggers forward, and for an instant I think he's going to fall, but then his head seems to clear. He checks for other spike-rays, and he's back on track again.

I don't take my eyes off him the rest of the way, demanding that he make it, as if by sheer force of will I can make his steps light and keep him from plunging in. Only when I see he's within reach of the shore do I allow myself a breath of relief.

I head downstream to meet him; he's been swept a little further by the current than I was.

I bundle him up the slope, my hands coming away red with blood. His thin shirt has been sliced through and there's a long lash across his ribs, but when I pull off his shirt and examine it, I realise it's not bad at all. Some blood, already dry in the heat, but little real damage. It'll heal as long as there's no poison.

'Does it burn?' I ask him, feeling around the wound for a barb that might have detached. 'How do you feel?'

'I feel weak,' he said. 'The heat…' He turns over so he's sitting on the slope of the riverbank, and in his expression I can read all the terror of the past few minutes. I have my chants, he has his philosophies, but in the end we're both the same and we're both scared rigid.

I kneel down next to him and put my arms around him, gathering his head into my collarbone. A moment later, I feel him return the hug, hard, as if clutching me is the only thing to stop him from being swept away. I can smell the bitter oil on his skin, feel his pulse through his forehead and wrists.

I miss my son. I miss him so badly.

'Hoy!' calls Nereith, and I hear him crunching up the riverbank from downriver. He crouches down next to us, panting, and grins. 'Where's my hug?'

I can't help laughing, because if I didn't I'd start to cry and I don't have time for that shit right now. Nereith is watching the spike-rays, but they've lost interest. We look back across the river, where Farakza glowers in the dark of the cavern, its shinehouse a beacon of pale light.

Nereith slaps me gently on the shoulder. 'Good job.'

A slow clang rings out from Farakza's bell tower, pulsing over us.

'End of shift,' I say quietly.

But the bell rings again, and again, and my heart and guts begin to squeeze tight. Not yet, not yet!

When Nereith speaks, he's saying what we all know. 'That's not the end of the shift,' he says. 'That's an alarm.'