The closer we get to the waterfall, the softer the ground beneath my feet becomes; the uneven rock has been replaced with velvety mud. But the water is getting deeper and deeper, until it is up to Golmarr’s shoulders and lapping at my chin, and I have to cling to him to keep from falling under. The air is so saturated with mist that I can barely see anymore, and breathing is more like drinking. And then I notice something else. The water around my ankles is pulling me forward, dragging me toward the waterfall. I dig my feet into the ground, but they slide on the lake bottom. Frantic, I claw at Golmarr, grabbing his leather vest in my fists, but he is being pulled, too, and then I am under the water, and his vest is ripped from my grasp, and I am moving so fast that I cannot tell which way is up.
The water holds me tight. Rocks scrape my arms and legs, my clothes are suctioned to my skin, and my lungs ache to expand. Before my blinking eyes, the water changes from black, to gray, to bright gold. Without meaning to, without understanding how to move in the water, I am thrust up into the air. It is warm on my face, and so bright I can barely open my eyes. Something solid crashes into me, and I cling to it to keep from going back under.
Holding on to a stalagmite, gasping for air, I watch hundreds of tiny bubbles wash past me, away from the waterfall I just plunged under. I am in the middle of a massive, round lake. At one end is the dark, arched opening I came through. The rest of the lake is surrounded by fire that burns taller than I stand. The air is so hot that it hurts to breathe, and it is brighter than noonday. A deep, constant rumble fills the chamber, and I can’t tell if it is from the waterfall or from the raging fires.
Golmarr walks up to me, the lake sloshing around his ribs. His black hair is plastered to his scalp, and water is dripping down his face. He leans close and whispers, “Put your feet down. It isn’t too deep over here. But look.” He points to the farthest end of the lake, the direction all of the bubbles are moving, where the water is black. “Don’t go over there. It looks deep. I think this is the fire dragon’s lair,” he adds, his wary eyes scanning the fire. “Those flames are burning on solid rock. There is nothing to feed them, and there is no smoke.”
I examine the cave for any sign of the fire dragon and realize Golmarr is right. There is no smoke in the air. It is clean and crisp, and wavering from the heat. High above in the rock ceiling is a giant crack. On the other side of it, orange clouds are streaming across a purple sky. It is either sundown or sunrise, but I can’t decide which. “If this is its lair, where is its treasure? The mountains of gold and jewels? Where are the piles of bones and rusting armor?”
“I don’t know. But something lit the fire, and there’s still air in the cave, even with the fires blazing, so it is possible for it to live in here. Look over there.” He points to my left, and I follow the line of his finger. On the lakeshore there is only one place where fire isn’t blazing: a wide, sandy path situated between two towering piles of burning rock—the perfect escape route out of the water.
“It’s got to be a trap,” Golmarr says. “I think it wants us to come out of the water.”
“Why?”
“So it can kill us?” He says it like a question, and he looks at me. His hazel eyes are dark, his mouth pulled into a tight frown. “I really hoped we could have snuck out without meeting the fire dragon.”
“You have three arrows left. Can’t you shoot it?”
“My bowstring was ruined by the water.” He reaches out and lifts the dragon scale flask. Pulling an arrow from his dripping quiver, he scrapes the metal tip across the scale. It doesn’t leave so much as a scratch. “I don’t think an arrow is going to pierce the dragon’s scales…but I could shoot it in the eye. At least, if my bow hadn’t lost its spring I could have tried.” He reaches an arm around my waist, and my heart flurries against my ribs. His hand finds the small of my back, and my breath catches in my throat as I stare at his lips. And then he wiggles the hunting knife, still securely held in place by my waistband. “Do you remember what I said about wielding this?”
I nod. “Stab forward, or hold it with both hands and swing with all my might. No chopping.”
A touch of a smile turns one corner of his mouth up. “Right. And go for the weak spots—eyes, throat, underbelly.” He slides his sword from its sheath, and it dawns on me why he is reminding me how to fight.
I grip his water-stiffened leather vest in both my hands and stare right into his eyes. “You’re going to fight the fire dragon now, aren’t you?” He nods. Tears spring into my eyes. Pain cinches around my heart at the thought that this might be the last time I see him alive. “Please…” I have nothing to say. Please don’t die? Please kill it? Please don’t leave me here alone because the thought of living without you hurts? Instead, I throw my arms around his neck and, once more, hug him to me as tight as I can. His arms encircle me and hold me firmly against him. There is no please, so I say, “Thank you.” He lets me go and before he can stride away to fight the dragon, I touch a finger to my forehead and then cross it with my other finger. A slow, sad smile graces his mouth, and he nods at me.
And then, with his sword still clutched in his hand, he silently drops beneath the water’s surface, legs splayed out like a frog’s, and glides away.