He tried again to shift position, moving cautiously this time, groping along the slippery, unyielding walls for leverage, for a hold that was never there; punished by pain every time his desperation grew and he struggled too hard. He tried for a foothold, somewhere in the cold, surging water below, but there was no foothold to be found.
He went on trying, for an hour, two, three, mindlessly; refusing to accept what a part of him had known from the beginning: that it was impossible. The digits changed on the watch strapped to his right wrist, more accessible and more clearly visible to him than anything else in the universe. Marking time … his time, running out. His entire body was trembling convulsively, but it seemed to have lost all sensation; even his battered, aching hands had grown numb with cold and restricted circulation. Only his mind was still clear, still registering every excruciating, humiliating second of his last moments of life. He could not get to his remote, and even if he could, there wasn’t enough time left now for Niburu to get here before he drowned. The cold, inexorable sea was lapping against his throat.
He groaned softly; his helpless hands made fists in the air above his head. Another sea swell rolled into his prison; for a moment water lapped his chin. Something graygreen and tentacled clung to his parka, groped his face with a pink, pulsing extrusion from its body, before it slid off him again. He shut his eyes, feeling his mouth begin to tremble…. Feeling something jar his dangling foot, jar it again. He swore and struggled, panicking, until pain shocked him into immobility
Something broke the water surface beside him. He jerked his head around, breathing in ragged gasps—tound the dark, impenetrable eyes of a mer staring back at him. He cried out again, in surprise, and the mer cocked its head It pushed its face toward him, snuffling at his exposed flesh, nudging him curiously.
“No—!” He swung his own head, hitting it in the face, his feet flailing under the water. “Get away from me! Goddamn you, don’t touch me, don’t touch me’”
The mer jerked back, startled, and disappeared under the water surface He felt it jar his legs once more, hard, and then nothing.
Alone again, he felt the sea swell kiss his chin with cold hunger, as if he were Death’s chosen lover, and Death was growing impatient. … He felt the stunning heat of his own tears spill out and down his face, tasted them as they ran into his mouth, salt water like the sea. He went on weeping, as the sea reached up to wash away his tears.
“Hello—”
The sound spiraled down to him, echoing from the walls of rock, some freakish turn on the crying of sea birds, or the distant voices of the mers. But he raised his face toward the sky far above him, gaping into the light. Another wave washed over his head, catching him unawares; he inhaled water, choking and coughing.
“… help you …”
This time he was sure he had heard it: a high, clear voice, speaking Tiamatan He shook his eyes clear, and now he could see what seemed to be a woman’s form, surreally limned with light, peering down at him from above. She seemed to be made of light, impossibly shining. The Tiamatans called the sea a goddess, the Mother, the Lady, who gives and who takes away…. “Help me,” he gasped, echoing her, in Trade, and then in Tiamatan. “Please help me. I’m sorry. Forgive me. Save me.…”
“I’m coming down,” she called. “I’m coming—” The radiant vision of a woman’s form took on sudden substantiality as she moved, blocking and unblocking the passage of light. He watched her bare feet, the strong muscles, the paleness of her legs, as she eased herself deftly down between the precarious walls of the cleft until she was kneeling on a shelf of rock just above his head, with the cold stone pressing her rainbow-lit shoulders. Her hair was silver, splintering light, as she leaned toward him, reaching out.
Another wave broke over his head, drenching him, filling his eyes and his mouth with water; he gagged and spat.
Her hands closed over his, he felt the contact of her flesh warm and firm against his own cold-deadened fingers. “It’s all right,” she said, and he became aware that he was sobbing again. “It’s all right, I’ll get you out. …” She reached down, one hand touched his face briefly.
“I’m stuck,” he said; his voice sounded like a stranger’s in his ears. “I’m stuck I can’t move—”
“If I take your hands, if I can pull you up, maybe you can reach the ledge ” She had hold of both his hands again; he clenched his teeth against the coming pain as he felt his arms stretch taut, as she slowly climbed to her feet on the narrow ledge She straightened, pulling harder, and he screamed as the agony in his shoulder suddenly became unbearable.
She dropped to her knees, releasing the pressure, still holding his hands. “You’re hurt—?”
He clung to her, his own grip tightening spasmodically. “I can’t do it….” He spat water, coughing, sucked in a long, deep breath of air that reeked of the sea. “Need… need a rope. In my backpack—”
He felt her shift, searching, reaching past his shoulder. “I can’t reach your backpack!”
“Oh, gods…” he moaned, not even sure what language he was speaking. “Not like this…”
“We’ll get you out,” she said fiercely. “We will! Silky—!” she called out, following the words with a series of strange trills and clicks.
The sounds were incomprehensible to him—and yet something stirred inside him, profoundly eager, ready to answer— He opened his eyes, only realizing then that he had closed them. He turned his head, following her gaze; jerked in startled surprise as he found the mer’s face beside him again in the pool. “No!” he cried. “No—”
“Let her help you!” the woman said, pulling him back with her voice. “We’re here to help you. Let us—!”
He looked up at her again, his eyes burning.
“You’re wedged in. She’s going to push you up from below, if she can. You understand? Hold on, be ready—”
He nodded, as the mer disappeared below the water surface. He felt something moving, beneath his feet, the mer butting experimentally at his legs, as it had before. Grimacing, he forced his legs to stay still, held his numb limbs rigid against the overwhelming need to fight off the contact. The mer’s body collided with his own, harder; jarring him from below. He cursed as the shock rattled his teeth, rattled all through his aching body. But he realized that he had felt something move—felt his body move, against the rocks.
The mer butted him again; its back heaved upward under his feet. Ready for it, this time, he stiffened his legs against the blow, giving it extra force, just as another swell came rolling into the cleft. He felt his body grate, slip against the rocks, and rise, suddenly buoyant, suddenly free.
He shouted in elation. The woman scrambled to drag him onto the ledge where she was crouching as the mer heaved him upward, ignominiously, from below.
He lay on the ledge taking long, shuddering breaths; feeling the solidness of stone supporting him now, safely above the level of the water, and no longer holding him in a deathgrip. He clung to it, his mind a singing emptiness, oblivious to the pain in his body, even to the woman who had saved him. She searched in his pack for the length of line, tied it around his waist, tied the other end around her own. At last, getting carefully to her feet, she helped him pull himself up until he was kneeling beside her. “Do you think you can climb? I can call for a rescue—”