Age of Swords (The Legends of the First Empire #2)

The Whipples had farmed two fields near the forest, down in the valley by a stand of birch trees. They had six children, none of whom survived to adulthood. But back then, two of the Whipple children still lived, Morton and Allison.

Aria, Sarah, and the Whipples had joined Persephone on a trip to Dreary Lake on a warm winter’s day. The snow had stopped, and the ice fishermen reported there were patches where the winds had swept the surface of the lake clear. The group had it in their heads to go sliding. When they arrived, they found the rumors were indeed true. The icy surface of the frozen lake was mostly clear and buttercream smooth. They ran and slid, dived and shoved, plowing one another into the banks of wet snow.

Before long, they were soaked from sweat and ice melt. Morton made a boastful roar, beat his chest, and ran off in an attempt to best Aria’s longest slide. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of going the wrong way. He probably didn’t think he’d go so far—none of them did—and they watched in horror as Morton Whipple slipped right into the hole cut by the ice fishermen. He disappeared with a barely noticeable plunk.

The surface of the ice was glassy, warmed by the day’s sun. Persephone could see Morton’s face looking up, his fingers and palms pressed white against the underside of the ice. Allison Whipple, who herself was only two years away from drowning in the White Oak River, pounded the surface, trying to break it. Four inches thick, the frozen lake didn’t notice her tiny fists. Morton’s mouth was open. Persephone remembered that. She couldn’t understand why at the time. Later she realized that between the water and the ice there was a thin layer of air he was breathing. He was also moving. The lake was fed by streams that flowed down from the hills, and the water spilled out again at the southern end into the White Oak River. In the summer, you could feel the current; in the spring, it was dangerous; in the winter, deadly. Of course, no one ever went swimming in the winter, not until Morton Whipple fell through the ice.

Persephone had seen Morton’s face looking up at her through that glassy veil for months afterward, and the nightmares returned that spring when hunters found most of his body down in the gorge. In Persephone’s dreams, their roles were switched. She’d press her cheek against the cold surface, sucking air with fish lips while being dragged along. Aria and Sarah would run ahead, scrape a window in the snow so they could watch her float by, and then they’d dash off again to repeat the process. All the while Persephone could hear the dull thumps of Allison’s little fists hitting the ice, turning them bloody.

The nightmare had finally come true, but instead of being trapped by ice, Persephone was under solid stone. Allison wasn’t there; neither was Aria or Sarah. They were all dead. Maybe everyone else was, too. As far as Persephone could tell, she was alone.

Her fingers desperately searched for cracks or nibs to stop her drift, but the surface had been worn smooth by the water and there was nothing to grab. Even if she could have halted her passage, she had no idea what good that would do. Her only hope was that the current might take her someplace better than where she was, someplace she could crawl out.

As with all nightmares, things got worse rather than better.

The little gap between her and the rock disappeared. Terrified, Persephone was forced underwater. With the current still pulling her along, she prayed that the gap would return. It didn’t. Instead, she was sucked down. Deeper and deeper she was pulled, jerked, tugged, and throttled. Just when she thought she would certainly drown, she popped up again. The ceiling was still there, but she found a greater gap, a full head’s worth.

Thank you, Mari! Thank you, Mari! Thank you, Mari!

Persephone bobbed along the water’s surface, one hand still holding the glowstone, the other sliding fingertips along the slick ceiling. She was moving faster, speeding up. The stone overhead flew by until her fingertips numbed to the sensation. She held the stone out before her, hoping to spot any hanging rocks so she could duck or dodge them.

She felt herself falling again, this time through the air. For several seconds she plummeted. She almost screamed, but managed to hold it back, knowing she was likely to hit water again.

Her anticipation was realized as she plunged into another pool. Persephone swam several frantic strokes in a random direction perpendicular to the current. Her only hope was to find dry land where she could get out of the water. She was in a cavern and could hear the roar of falling water gushing and echoing. Just as she was growing tired, just as she felt hopelessness creeping in, something grabbed hold of her wrist.

Persephone jerked back, but couldn’t break free. She did scream then.

“It’s okay! It’s me.”

Persephone brought up the light and saw Brin’s face.

“Brin!”

The girl pulled Persephone to a rock ledge where the two scrambled out of the water. The moment they were clear, Persephone wrapped both arms around the girl and squeezed tight. “Oh, Brin! You’re all right.”

Brin shivered. The air was colder where they were now, and both of them were soaked. Persephone inspected the girl with the glowstone, and found a cut near the top of her head that bled. “You’re hurt!”

“So are you,” Brin said. Reaching out she touched Persephone’s forehead and drew back bloody fingers.

A cry cut through the water’s rush. Persephone cupped the gem and searched around. They were in a small, narrow chamber that had been carved out by the underground river. Black, water-polished stone had been smoothed into wavy patterns and eddy holes. At one end was the waterfall that spilled into the chamber through a hole in the ceiling. The other end of the chamber narrowed into a drain. Searching the surface of the pool, Persephone spotted two bobbing heads.

“Hold this.” Persephone gave Brin the glowing stone as she waded back into the pool to help Moya and Roan find the shore.

As she did, Arion, Suri, and Minna splashed down, and not long after came the three dwarfs, one after the other. They made a chain of hands and safely fished everyone out of the pool and up on the rock.

For several minutes, no one said a word. Few could as they coughed, spat, and labored to breathe. Whether from fear or the cold, everyone was shaking.

“I can’t believe we survived that,” Moya said. She was still breathing hard, her head hanging, hair dripping.

Brin nodded. “I thought I had died five different times, starting when that thing woke me. That was the raow, wasn’t it?”

The others waited for Suri to answer, but she didn’t. The mystic stood away from the rest, facing the waterfall.

“Yes,” Persephone said. “We think so.”

Brin shivered.

“Anyone else bang their head on the rock?” Moya asked, and was answered with a round of moans.