He spoke as if to himself. ‘What is keeping them up there?’
Mark surprised him by answering, ‘Glue, nails, John the Baptist? Who knows? It’s probably some secretion that comes out of an orifice I don’t like imagining in a creature I don’t like imagining that hardens like epoxy and holds them fast for ever.’
‘But why?’
‘To comfort little baby epoxy-secreting monsters as they go to sleep in their cribs? Again, who knows? Let’s focus on getting ourselves out of here before it – or they – return.’ Mark swallowed hard and began poling towards shore. The Capina Fair had held together so far, but she was badly in need of repair, and they were all in desperate need of food and rest.
‘We can use the light to explore along the shoreline. With that much water coming in here, there has to be an outlet – or maybe we can find a tunnel to the surface.’ He cringed when a sickly crunch resounded from below as their raft struck the shore.
Two avens later, they had eaten, changed into dry clothing and used the stafflight to dry out the rest of their belongings. They explored a little along the shoreline; Mark and Brynne walked while Garec and Steven poled the Capina Fair through the shallows. It took them nearly half an aven to reach the end of the great charnel-house, and each was visibly relieved when they no longer heard the breaking of tiny hand and foot bones with every footfall.
Finally they found a recessed area in the stone wall, small but dry, and they agreed to take turns sleeping and standing guard in pairs. There was no wood to make a fire, so Steven brought the stafflight down to the ground, weakened its intensity and left it to burn like a campfire. As soon as he fell asleep, however, the flame went out.
‘Well, this is a pain,’ Garec grumbled. ‘Steven, wake up.’
Steven sat up with a start. ‘What? What is it?’
‘The fire’s out.’
‘Oh, hell and damnation. Okay. So that’s not going to work, is it? Let me think a minute.’ He stared down at the space between them and moments later a pleasant campfire, devoid of fuel, was burning brightly on the pebbly shore. He lay back down and rolled over in his blanket.
‘Just a moment, Steven,’ Garec warned. ‘It went out when you went to sleep, and since we can’t have you up all night – or day, or whatever it is now, we’ll need some wood.’ His voiced trailed off as he searched around them. ‘Mark, help me with this.’
The two men, not without difficulty, pulled a log from the Capina Fair ’s middle deck and placed it in the fire. Garec smiled at Steven. ‘Just stay awake long enough for this thing to dry out a bit on this end.’
‘I’ll do you one better, Garec,’ Steven replied and inhaled deeply as he stared at the saturated pine log. Steam began to rise from the trunk in great clouds as Steven heated it from within.
‘Hey, that’s hot,’ Garec yelped and dropped the log to rub his burned fingers on his tunic. Moments later the log was dry throughout, and one end was crackling sharply in the fire. Garec pondered the length of pine then shrugged. ‘I guess we’ll just slide more of it into the campfire as that end burns down. Thanks, Steven.’
Beside him, Mark said nothing as his exhausted friend fell back. Steven was asleep almost immediately.
Noticing Mark’s stare, Garec cast him an inquisitive look. ‘What is it?’ he whispered.
‘You didn’t see that?’ Mark was not confident he could believe his own eyes. He needed Garec to confirm his suspicions.
‘See what?’
Mark answered, more to himself, ‘A neon sign… OIL CHANGE, twenty-six dollars and ninety-nine cents.’
‘What?’
‘It happened that morning when he knocked that tree down as well – the morning you two almost killed each other.’
Garec’s face flushed. ‘I don’t understand. It’s magic; we’ve seen him use it before… many times.’
Mark didn’t respond, but instead motioned towards the far wall of their recessed camp.
‘So what?’ Garec was still confused. Finally something clicked and he realised what the foreigner was trying to tell him.
The hickory staff leaned against the wall. In his fatigue, Steven had dried the log and ignited the fire unaided.
THE BEACH CAMP
When Brexan woke, she felt warm and rested, somehow rejuvenated, although soaking wet. She shook the hazy semi-consciousness from her head and realised she was still neck-deep in the Ravenian Sea. Oddly, it was no longer cold – in fact, it felt quite warm, as warm as bathwater. Darkness was falling, but she could make out the Ronan coast; it looked closer now. Suddenly confused, she wondered how it could be that she was still alive, and how she could have come so far. She called out for Versen half-heartedly; the last thing she remembered was crying as he slipped beneath the waves. Treading water, she turned a circle, scanning the surface for any sign of him.
She nearly sank in shock when a voice called back, ‘Over here.’
Through the twilight, she saw him. His shaggy hair was matted down flat against his head, providing a frame for his bright green eyes, broad grin and chiselled features. He no longer looked pale, but robust and strong, fit enough to take up the fight against Malagon and his minions. Tears welled up in her eyes as she paddled furiously across the short distance separating them.
Throwing herself onto him, she wrapped her legs around his waist and cast her arms roughly about his neck. ‘I thought for certain I had lost you,’ she sobbed.
‘Brexan, I-’ Her weight forced his head beneath the surface and the last few words of his response were lost in an abrupt wellspring of bubbles.
‘Oh, demonpiss!’ Embarrassed, she let him go. ‘Sorry, I’m not trying to drown you now!’
Versen floated back to the surface and playfully spat a mouthful of salt water at her. ‘Good to see you again too.’ He reached for her, clasping his large hands firmly on her hips, and pulled her towards him. His stomach fluttered; adrenalin pumped through his veins as she pulled him even closer. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of seawater and warm woman. He dared not speak, for fear of making a fool of himself, his emotions were running so high.
Revelling in his touch, Brexan stroked her hands down his muscular shoulders and finally gave in to the passion that had been building from the moment he woke from his coma and told her, ‘I love you.’ She ran her tongue over his lips, tasting the saltwater, flicking the tip of it between his teeth until he was almost dizzy with desire. He growled softly and took possession of her mouth, plundering her sweetness with his tongue. The two of them were carelessly lost in the moment and explored each other, hands stroking, pressing, teasing, while their mouths locked together. Finally Brexan pushed him slightly and he released her. As they gasped for air, she wondered, ‘Are we dead?’
Brexan started to cry again. ‘I saw you go under. I tried so hard to hang on, but it was so cold, and you were so heavy.’
Versen hugged her to him tightly, marvelling at her courage and strength of will. ‘You did everything you could. It wasn’t your job to keep me afloat.’
‘But I saw you go under,’ she gulped as uncontrollable sobs racked her body. Now she clung to his neck as she relived that terrifying moment when she found herself cold and alone in the middle of the Ravenian Sea, too far from land to survive. ‘I gave up. I decided to die, and I was – I was afraid we’d just sink to the bottom and that it would be dark.’ She felt a fool, a little girl afraid of the dark, revealing her feelings in a flood of embarrassing confessions, but Versen interrupted her.
He kissed her again, gently this time, and calmly said, ‘Brexan, it’s all right now. I’m fine. We’re not dead.’
‘But how?’
‘You mean who.’
‘Who? I don’t understand.’
‘I think his name is O’Reilly, Gabriel O’Reilly.’ Versen groped for an explanation. ‘I think he knows Steven Taylor, the foreigner I told you about. He came looking for us – well, for me – when Mark told him we’d been separated at Seer’s Peak.’