OK, Mud Boy. Into the water.
Artemis did not argue or question; there was no time for that. He could only assume that, like many animals, trolls were not lovers of water. He ran towards the river, feeling the ground below his feet vibrate with a hundred feet and fists. The howling had started again too, but it had a different tone, more reckless, mindless and brutal, as if whatever control the trolls had had was now gone.
Artemis hustled to catch up to Holly. She was ahead of him, lithe and limber, bending low to scoop up one of the fake plastic logs from a campfire. Artemis did the same, tucking it under his arm. They could be in the water for a long time.
Holly dived in, gracefully arcing through the air before entering the water with barely a splash. Artemis stumbled after her. All this running for ones life was not what he was built for. His brain was big, but his limbs were slight which was exactly the opposite of what you needed when trolls were at your heels.
The water was lukewarm, yet the mouthful Artemis inadvertently swallowed tasted remarkably sweet. No pollutants, he supposed, using that small portion of his brain that was still thinking rationally. Something tagged his ankle, slicing through sock and flesh. Then he kicked into the river, and he was clear. A trail of hot blood lingered for a moment, before being whipped away by the current.
Holly was treading water in the centre of the river. Her auburn hair stood up in slick spikes.
Are you hurt? she asked.
Artemis shook his head. No breath for words.
Holly noticed his ankle, which was trailing behind him. Blood, and I dont have a drop of magic left to heal you. That blood is almost as bad as pheromones. We have to get out of here.
On the bank, the trolls were literally hopping mad. They head-butted the ground repeatedly, drumming their fists in complex rhythms.
Mating ritual, explained Holly. I think they like us.
The current was strong out in the centre of the river and it drew the pair quickly downstream. The trolls followed along, some hurling small missiles into the water. One clipped Hollys plastic log, almost dislodging her.
She spat out a mouthful of water. We need a plan, Artemis. Thats jour department. I got us this far.
Oh yes, well done, you, said Artemis, having apparently recovered his sense of sarcasm. He raked wet strands of hair from his face and cast his eyes around, beyond the melee on the waterline. The Temple was huge, throwing an elongated, multi-pronged shadow across the desert area. The interior was wide open, with no obvious shelter from the trolls. The only deserted spot was the temple roof.
Can trolls climb? he spluttered.
Holly followed his gaze. Yes, if they have to, like big monkeys. But only if they have to.
Artemis frowned. If only I could remember, he said. If only I knew what I know.
Holly kicked over to him and grasped his collar. They swirled in the white water, bubbles and froth squeezing between their logs.
If only is no good, Mud Boy. We need a plan before the filter.
The filter?
This is an artificial river. Its filtered through a central tank.
A bulb went on in Artemiss brain. A central tank. Thats our way out.
Well be killed! I have no idea how long well be underwater.
Artemis took one last look around, measuring, calculating. Given the present circumstances, there is no other option.
Up ahead, the currents began to circle, pulling in any rubbish picked up from the banks. A small whirlpool formed in the middle of the river. The sight of it seemed to calm the trolls. They gave up on the butting and banging and settled down to watch. Some, who would later prove to be the clever ones, moved along the bank.
We follow the current, shouted Artemis over the hiss. We follow it and hope.
Thats it? Thats your brilliant plan? Hollys suit crackled as the water wormed its way into the circuits.
Its not so much a plan as a lifesaving strategy, retorted Artemis. He might have said more, but the river interrupted him, snatching him away from his elfin companion into the whirlpool.
He felt about as significant as a twi? in the face of such power. If he tried to resist the water, it would slap the air from his lungs like a bully slapping his victim. Artemiss chest was compressed; even when his gasping mouth was above water, he could not force adequate amounts of air into his lungs. His brain was starved of oxygen. He couldnt think straight. Everything was curved: the swirl of his body, the sweep of the water. White circles on blue ones on green ones. His feet dancing little Mobius-strip patterns below his body. Riverdance. Ha ha.
Holly was in front of him, pinioning the two logs between them. A makeshift raft. She shouted something, but it was lost. There was only water now. Water and confusion.