That fool poet thought he couldn’t get into Etalpalli. Hmph!
The water rushed faster and faster, churning white foam and dangerous currents only inches away from Glomar’s Path. He must be nearing the gate, he thought. He had passed that way once before, and he knew what to expect. There the River’s waters fell in great, rushing torrent. There the mists of its wild careening billowed far below. There, with his heart in his throat and his courage grasped firmly in both hands, a man could stand on the brink and gaze upon the gate of the City of Wings.
Only a soul who wished to pass for the sake of another might enter. Glomar licked his lips and thought of Lady Gleamdren. Sweet Lady Gleamdren, who would be Eanrin’s fair quarry should Glomar fail. The captain gnashed his teeth. He could never let that happen! Gleamdren was too fine a gem to belong to that brute of a cat.
Within another few paces, Glomar beheld Cozamaloti Falls.
9
AT FIRST HER MIND crawled slowly out of the deep recesses of fading dreams, back into the waking world. Enchantments often cause pain as they break and fall away, especially spiteful enchantments like the River’s. They pulled at her, struggling to keep hold even as her body forced her to wake. A smashing whorl of colors and impressions filled her mind, allowing no coherent thought to take form. She was hot; she knew that much. A damp, soaking, dirty sort of hot, sweating from every pore.
Strange, for the last she remembered, she had been shivering.
Every limb was paralyzed and heavy, but her mind was returning to her. She wanted to wake. She did not want those dreams to pull her back down. So she fought the last fading shreds of the enchantment, mentally hurling herself against their hold. The more she struggled, the more she felt the damp and awful heat. But it was better than dreaming.
She strained again, and this time thought perhaps her body moved as well. At last she regained enough consciousness to open her eyes.
And found she was kissing a bullfrog.
Immediately, use of every limb surged back into her body. Her eyes flew wide; her arms flew wild. One hand struck the frog away, the other struck something or someone else. She heard a croak and a curse, and the next thing she knew, she was submerged in water. It closed over her head, stinging her eyes and filling her mouth. Thrashing madly, she pushed herself up again, coughing out a stream and pushing her hair out of her eyes.
For a frozen moment, she stared up into the face of a pale man with fiery gold hair and yellow eyes.
“Quite the clip in the jaw you just gave me, my girl! Come, now, let’s make up and be friends, shall we?”
In her haste to turn about and simultaneously scramble to her feet, she slipped and went under again, this time face first. Her hands and elbows sank into mud, and swamp weeds wrapped about her arms and tangled with the ropes still attached to her wrists. But her flight instinct was strong, and though exhaustion threatened to betray her, she shoved forward even before she brought her head to the surface again.
She heard a shout and a splash and felt someone’s hands grabbing at her shoulders. With an animal snarl she twisted away, writhing in the muck and kicking. She heard an “Oooof!” and a body landed partially on top of her. She pushed out from underneath, managed to gain her feet, and stood a dripping moment, poised to flee but without bearings.
Her gaze met that of the serpent.
ChuMana’s long neck rose from the dark water, her flat head looking down. A forked tongue flickered from a mouth that could have swallowed a small pig whole.
A bead of water fell from the girl’s nose.
Then she dropped like a stone, not asleep but in a dead faint.
Hri Sora awakened on the brink of a chasm.
She stared down into blackness, and her head whirled with that sickening sensation that was still so new to her: the fear of falling. All in an instant, she relived that plunge from the heavens . . . that moment when her wings were stripped from her and the mortal world dragged her down.
Then she wrenched herself back from the chasm and sat gasping, her feet inches from its edge.
Slowly, the flames in her head cooled and she was able to open her eyes and survey the world. She remembered her name, and she knew where she was this time. She felt Etalpalli pulsing with the pain of its wounds beneath her. And she remembered the Flowing Gold and her bargain with the Dark Father. What she could not remember was why she was here, on the rim of this drop.
On trembling limbs, she got to her feet and slowly spun about. The memories returned but without pain. She could not, at least at this moment, feel pain. She recalled the tomb of her brother. Poor Ttlanextu.
Heat filled her mouth at that thought. “He was weak,” she said aloud, her words burning the air. “He was weak, or he would never have succumbed to Cren Cru. I didn’t! It took more than that parasite to bring me down.”