“What did you feed it?” Balkis asked, staring.
“The brandywine the king of Piconye gave us,” Anthony said. “He spoke truly—it purified this water.” Then he sighed with regret. “Still, if I had let him hold the raft, I could have swum to the wall and gathered a fortune in jewels!”
“Then you would have come back to an empty raft,” Balkis told him, “for Panyat and I would have been in his belly, and you would have followed us—then the raft for dessert, like as not!”
Anthony shuddered and admitted, “Free jewels come at too high a price—this time, at least.”
Balkis wished he hadn't said “This time.”
Suddenly the raft sped faster.
“Seize hold of the ropes!” Anthony cried, and followed his own advice. “Has the monster wakened already and come to pull us to him?”
“No,” Panyat said, his voice faltering. “Can you not hear?”
They listened and heard a roaring, faint but swelling quickly.
“I know that sound!” Anthony cried. “I have heard it many times in my mountains! There are rapids ahead!”
“I did not know,” Panyat wailed. “The traders told me that people had sailed this river before, but they said nothing about rapids—or monsters!”
“Balkis, your staff, quickly!” Antfiohy jammed his feet back into his boots. “Use it to push us free from rocks on your side! I shall fend us off on this! Panyat, hold that torch high!”
Then the current turned and tossed the raft. Balkis saw a boulder looming out of the darkness and aimed the pole at it. A second later the pole lurched in her hands. It was all she could do to hold onto it, but the rock slid past them safely. Water dashed off its sides, splashing her from toe to collarbone, and she prayed Panyat's torch wouldn't be drowned. The raft jolted under her, and she knew Anthony had fended off a boulder on his side. Another huge stone came tearing at her, and again she pointed her staff like a knight tilting. Her aim was accurate, and the pole met the rock with a shock that seemed to vibrate through her, but she held fast to the pole, and the raft swung around the stone. A second later it shuddered from a blow to her left, and she cast an anxious glance at Anthony, but he was still whole, though his face was taut and pale with strain, and over the roar of the water she heard his waiclass="underline" “That boulder was alabaster!”
On through the maze they sped, bouncing from side to side, never quite striking a rock. Now and again Panyat's torch hissed and Balkis' heart nearly stopped, but always the light blazed up again, and Balkis' pulse with it.
Then, abruptly, with a last torrential roar, the stream tilted at a sharp angle. Balkis screamed, afraid she would slide off, that the raft would topple and spill her, and Anthony's arm closed around her waist—but the raft struck water with a huge splash, spray drenched them, and the raft leveled. It spun twice, and the brave, constant torch showed them a view of precious stones flowing above them, limestone pillars polished mirror-smooth by the passage of the waters—but no banks. As the raft stopped its spin, they were able to make out the sides of the channel by the winking of gems, but they seemed tiny with distance.
“That was only a stream,” Panyat said, voice shaking with wonder. “It has carried us into a proper river—an underground river!”
In spite of herself, Balkis looked about for Charon, the pale ferryman, then breathed a sigh of relief when she did not see him.
“We are safe, sweet one, safe and still together.” Anthony pressed her against him. “Do not tremble. After that ride, what could affright you?”
“Only my own silly imaginings,” Balkis told him, “only old wives' tales.” Of course, the wives in question were Greek, and very old indeed. “And I do not tremble, Anthony, I shiver.” Perhaps because of that, she did not try to pull away.
“We are soaked to the skin,” he agreed, and shivered in a sudden breeze. But it did not pass, it kept blowing, chilling them to the bone.
“What could make a wind in an underground tunnel?” Balkis moaned.
“A door to the outer world!” Anthony sat straight up. “Our journey ends already!”
“It has seemed quite long enough to me,” Balkis said, exhausted as well as chilled.
“The torch is nearly consumed!” Panyat wailed.
“Toss it into the river,” Anthony directed. “Do not take a chance on burning yourself.”
“But the light… !”
“Unless I am very wrong,” Anthony told him, “we will not be in darkness long.”
“You have been wrong before,” Balkis reminded him. Then honesty impelled her, and she admitted, “So have I.”
“We have no choice, unless we wish our friend to be burned. Cast the torch away with a blessing, Panyat—it has served us well.”
The Pytanian tossed the butt of the torch into the river. It sizzled and went out. For a while the darkness seemed total, and Balkis said, “Panyat, take my hand and press against me! Only all our bodies together will survive the cold!”
She felt the Pytanian press against her, his fingers clasping her arm, and she wished she had some light to see Anthony's face—would it show jealousy?
Almost it seemed that her wish had come true, for the darkness became less opaque. Wondering, she said, “I see the glint of gems above us!”
“I think there is light ahead,” Anthony said.
The breeze strengthened and the current bore them shivering onward. The light grew stronger, and they heard another roaring.
Panyat groaned. “Not more rapids!”
“No, this is a stronger sound.” Anthony tensed. “I think we come to a waterfall, my friends.”
“A waterfall!” Balkis cried. “How are we to survive?”
“Pole to the sides, if we can!” Anthony took his staff, probed, and cried, “I feel rock beneath! Pole, Balkis!”
She went to his side of the raft and pushed as he did, straining with every fiber—and the raft moved to the side, slowly, by inches, as the roaring grew louder and the current strengthened. Suddenly, that current spun them about, then cast them aside into much calmer water.
“Keep poling!” Anthony cried.
The light was strong enough now for them to see the side of the tunnel. Balkis poled with her last ounce of strength, and the raft floated across what looked to be a still pool to bump the rock at the side of the tunnel.
“It is a ledge!” Panyat cried, and threw the top half of his body onto the stone to hold the raft. “Quickly, my friends! Take your packs and step off!”
They did as he bade, Anthony handing Balkis across the gap, then she steadying him as he stepped across to her, then both leaning down to take Panyat's arms and pull him up as he stepped off the raft. It shot away from his foot as he did, though, floating out toward the middle of the channel.
“Go toward the roar,” Anthony called above the sound of the stream. “Go toward the light.” He turned to suit the action to the word, probing ahead with his staff—but Balkis noticed that he held to the wall and saw that hand go to his wallet. She realized he was taking any pebbles he could break loose. For his sake, she hoped they were gems and not limestone lumps.
The light brightened, the wind freshened, and a bright oblong appeared in front of them. Anthony led them toward it; it grew until they saw it was thirty feet across. There, Anthony stopped, calling, “Let our eyes adjust!”
“Spy out our route!” Balkis shouted over the roar of the water.
Anthony squinted, then nodded and beckoned as he set off. Balkis followed, heart in her mouth, hoping he had indeed seen clearly whether or not the ledge continued.
It did, and they came out into sunlight. She looked, and gasped, flattening herself back against the rock wall, for beneath her a cataract fell fifty feet into a churning, frothy pool. Panyat came up behind her, blinking, then stared with her as they watched their raft tilt over the edge and plunge down to lose itself in spray. Balkis shuddered, realizing that they could have been on it when it fell.