Despite the clumsiness of their rudimentary vessel, travel along the river was easier and safer than trying to fight their way north through the forest. Steven’s engineering plan had worked and water rarely splashed up between the Capina Fair’ s floorboards. They took advantage of the long days raftbound to clean and rewrap wounds, to massage sprained muscles, organise supplies and, especially, to discuss their plans for finding Sallax and getting to Praga and tracking down Kantu. For the first time since they had arrived so precipitously in Eldarn, Mark and Steven felt properly rested.
They also used the time to mourn. Six of their colleagues had been killed or lost since the battle at Riverend Palace, but commemorating those deaths had been a luxury they could not afford. Now, as the river ran slowly towards Orindale and the sun shone down, the Ronans had the opportunity to remember the lives and loves they had left behind. The sun warmed their backs and comforted their souls as Brynne and Garec cried for Namont, Mika and Jerond, for Gilmour’s passing, Versen’s disappearance, and for Sallax’s fall from grace. They comforted one another and renewed their vows to see the journey through to its end.
Steven was worried for Hannah, and although the journey was going well, it did little to boost his sagging spirits. Sitting alone one afternoon as the current carried the Capina Fair around a wide bend in the river, he looked closely at his reflection in the water. Gaunt, bearded and brooding, he almost didn’t recognise himself. He was overcome by the desire to recapture some of that ignorant innocence he had enjoyed when he was nothing more than a small-town assistant bank manager. He grimaced: that wasn’t going to happen – but at least he could do something about his appearance. He still wore his tattered tweed jacket pulled over the tunic he had stolen back in Estrad, and his jeans were filthy. His hair was long and matted, and his cheeks had sunken somewhat since food became a daily struggle.
‘I am a mess,’ he commented to no one.
‘Well, you were never much to look at anyway,’ Mark responded dryly.
Steven jumped. ‘Bastard. I didn’t see you there. Give me your knife, will you?’
‘You have a knife.’
‘Yours is sharper.’
Mark handed Steven the hunting knife. ‘Careful where you point that thing. Just having it is a felony in New Jersey.’
Accepting the blade, Steven looked at it for a moment, wondering how to do this so he didn’t make matters worse. He shrugged – that wouldn’t be possible – and grabbed a fistful of hair, slashing it carefully in as straight a line as he could manage. ‘There,’ he said and tossed the stringy remains into the current, ‘that’s a good start.’
‘Yikes,’ Mark exclaimed, ‘that was quick!’
‘Now for a shave.’
It wasn’t long before Steven was looking much more like he had on his arrival in Eldarn. Stripping to his boxers, he washed his clothes in the river and laid them out on deck to dry, then took the tweed jacket, beat it against one of the logs like a carpet and used a dampened cloth to scrub it as clean as it would get.
Seeing what a difference these ablutions were making, Mark followed Steven’s lead and shaved his beard as well.
Running a hand over the smooth skin of his jaw, he admitted, ‘That feels better. Of course, I prefer a bit of hot lather and some aftershave, but given the circumstances, a razor-sharp hunting knife doesn’t do too badly.’
Steven considered his reflection in the water again. ‘I needed that. I’m not sure why, but I needed to feel like we might some day be able to go back.’
Mark was serious. ‘But you don’t want to go back.’
‘Not yet, no. But some day we have to. Some day we will. I need to know we can.’
‘I hate to be the one to tell you this, but a shave and some clean clothes are not enough to make the transition back. This place has changed you – us – for ever.’
‘Yes, I know, but this was something, right? This must count for something.’
‘You need to find Hannah.’
‘I do, and I need this sodding raft to move faster.’ He punctuated his frustration with a hard slap on the river’s surface. In response, the icy water splashed up and doused him thoroughly.
‘Now you’ve done it! You’re soaking wet, pissed off, and floating along an uncharted river in your underwear. I can’t imagine any woman, never mind Hannah, ever falling for anyone else.’ He turned to Brynne, who was sitting watching the exchange. ‘What do you think, Brynne?’
‘All women go for that pitiful, wet-puppy look. Makes me want to take him home and warm him up a bit.’
‘You see?’ Mark poked fun, ‘my own girlfriend, and right in front of me as well. Before I know it she’ll be suggesting a threesome.’
‘All right, all right,’ Steven smiled. ‘Enough out of you.’ Standing up, he stretched, then dived headfirst into the river. Surfacing nearby, he screamed, ‘Mother of all things unholy!’
Garec called, ‘Steven, come back aboard. You’ll catch a deadly cold. Remember, if we lose you, we’ll have to entrust that stick of yours to Mark or Brynne – so come out quickly, before all Eldarn is lost.’
Brynne cuffed him hard on the side of his head.
‘It’s fine,’ Steven called, ‘I’ll swim along for a while. It’s not so bad once you’re in.’
Mark continued poling the Capina Fair downstream while Steven swam vigorously alongside. The exercise felt good, and he revelled in the familiarity of a hard workout. Passing the raft, he swam ahead, pushed along by the current.
He decided to wait for the others before swimming on. Treading water, Steven drew a deep breath, then submerged. Kicking towards the bottom, he could make out smooth stones, ancient, disintegrating trees, and large rocks in myriad formations dotting the sandy brown bottom. It was a new world to explore, a gloomy world half in and half out of light, a world of angry amalgams of rocks, dirt and branches, a forlorn universe trapped in silence and devoid of colour.
He swam towards an underground mass of boulders and trees, a behemoth creation, but his lungs began to burn so he resurfaced for another breath.
‘There he is,’ he heard Brynne say, her voice bouncing thinly along the surface. The Capina Fair was closer now. Steven waved at them, then dived back for another visit to the bottom.
Kneeling once again before the stone formation, Steven watched hundreds of strangely shaped fish darting back and forth between its nooks and cavities. He ran his hands along the riverbed, disturbing a cloud of mud which swirled up momentarily and blocked his view. As it cleared, he saw something, and narrowed his eyes, trying to see more clearly. Then it was there again, coming slowly into focus as the current carried the silty cloud away. Still kneeling, Steven found his hope renewed and, suddenly confident, he kicked back towards the surface and the broken beams of refracted sunlight.
Panic struck almost immediately. Something was holding him down.
‘He’s been under there a long time.’ Garec tried not to sound nervous as he clambered to his feet for a better view. He scanned the river’s surface, looking for bubbles or other disruptions that might indicate Steven’s whereabouts. Leaves, several small branches and a rotten log floated by silently, en route to the Ravenian Sea. Garec noted trees growing on the far banks were reflected in hazy green, gold, and brown, a forest palette, blurry along the river’s edge.
‘He’s a good athlete,’ Mark said. ‘I coach swimming, and I wish I had his lungs.’
‘Still.’ Garec’s voice was flat as he squinted against the sun’s glare. ‘I don’t like this. It feels wrong.’