WITH DAWN’S red glow filtering through the surface of the river, he descended once again into the green murk. The inflated bladders were in place. All that remained was to give himself over to the mercy of the water. And pray.
One last time, the river shoved him against the fuzzy covered lattice, the wide maw of the conduit drawing him in with staggering force. His heart thumped in his ears, but he pushed his fear aside and focused on the task of removing the rope from his middle. He fumbled with the knot, but it was too tight and too wet, and it wouldn’t loosen. He didn’t have the time to waste. Already his lungs were feeling the strain. With no other option, he instead worked the loop little by little down over his hips and buttocks and slipped it off his feet. He tied the end to the grate as best he could—then tugged on the rope.
Immediately the rope went taut, and the grate was pulled away from the opening. Gripping the slimy metal with two white-knuckled hands, he inched his way to the edge of the grate. He looped an arm through the hole at the end, circled his body around the edge, and put himself on the inside of it.
The force of the water tried to peel him off the grate. But with the full strength of his arms, he held firm. If he lost his grip without the skins, he was dead for sure. The metal edge beneath the green covering bit into the bend of his elbow.
Now the hard part.
With his one free hand, he turned his wrist around the eleven strands of twine that held the bloated waterskins in place. The balloons bounced and jockeyed about like nervous horses ready to start a race. Hunter wrapped two complete rotations around his wrist; then he tightened the eleven strands inside his fist.
Then he let go of the grate.
His body was thrown out horizontal. The rough jolt cut the twine into his wrist, pinching off the circulation in his hand, as the water pushed his legs straight out into the conduit. But the cluster of twine held to where it was tied. He slipped the knife from his thigh, and one by one, sliced through the strands holding it to the grate.
As soon as the last was severed, he shot through the conduit like a bullet through the barrel of a gun. With a heart-stopping lurch, he was instantly in motion, his body spinning and tumbling out of control. Blackness swallowed him. The moonstone around his neck pushed back at it weakly. His stomach leapt into his throat, and he felt the terrifying speed even though he saw nothing around him except the faint blurred impression of the conduit’s sides. His shoulder grazed the side. Stinging pain shot through his arm as if he were stung by a thousand bees.
He managed—somehow—to get control of his body again, force his body into a straight line. He oriented his feet out, locking his knees, as if going down a water slide. If there was anything blocking the way ahead, he wouldn’t see it coming—and going headfirst was a death sentence. He’d knock himself out.
It seemed like an eternity already, but only seconds had passed since he cut himself free. His lungs burned and begged for release. Longer, he thought. A little longer. He had make his air supply last. The leather balloons bounced and jostled above him, trying to reach the top of the conduit.
When his lungs could bear it no more, he pulled one of the balloons in closer. Timing it carefully, he emptied his lungs, pulled out the cork, and shoved the end into his mouth. Even so, a bubble of precious air escaped into the water before he circled his lips around the opening. The air, tasting a little stale and mildly of leather, rushed into his lungs. The skin flattened—his lungs took all of it. He felt he could take more, even. The contents didn’t add up to a full breath. He closed off his mouth, trapping the new air in, and cut the skin loose.
Ten remained.
The light from the moonstone seemed brighter now. But he knew that was only his eyes adjusting to the darkness. It cast a ghostly glow around him and reached out farther. Even so, there was little to see. The conduit walls sped past him in a blur.
The direction changed. He shifted suddenly right. His insides seemed to shift too, but at a delay. His body glided dangerously close to the wall. A sharper turn and he’d collide with it. Then he lunged left again. He was at the will of the water.
Too soon his lungs were begging for more air. He tried to wait, but the burning agony in his chest forced him to pull in another skin. He exhaled and drew in the fresh air like it was sweet wine. The relief was immediate, but not compete. He wanted more. He was tempted to use another, but he resisted. He had no idea how much farther he had to go.
Something whizzed by overhead. An opening? That meant there were more ways into the water supply. If there was one… there were likely more. If he could see one coming, he might be able stop himself, maybe haul himself up, take a breather, refill the skins….
But who was he kidding? He could barely see anything beyond the reach of his arm. He’d never see the opening in time. And there was no way he could fight the force of the water.
The conduit altered again. It threw him sharply left this time and he swerved toward the conduit wall. Two of the skins happened to land between him and the wall. They cushioned the impact, saving him from potential injury against the rough stone. With the speed he was going, he could have lost all the skin on his arm or shoulder. But something snagged. With a muffled pop, the skins ruptured. Air escaped into the water as one giant bubble and sprang to the top of the conduit, lost.
He was down to eight.
And then seven. Each time he pulled the air from skin, it seemed less and less sufficient now. His lungs wanted more. But he had to wait. He had no idea how much farther he had to go.
Another opening whizzed by overhead. Fuck. If there was only some way he could catch the lip of it as he passed it… but the notion was ridiculous.
He happened to look in the direction he was traveling, toward his feet. Something was visible up ahead. Approaching quickly.
Fuck.
His feet struck an iron grate seconds after his mind registered it was there. The force of the impact made his entire body jolt. A shock wave reverberated through his ankles and legs, pain exploding as if he’d jumped from the top of a building. He was lucky he hadn’t shattered a bone. His jaw clenched to prevent the air from escaping his lungs. A fraction of a second later, his entire body was pressed up against the metal.
Another grate. The way was blocked. He was trapped.
Panic threatened to seize hold of him, but he choked it down. Stay calm, he told himself. You’re not going to die. You’re not going to die.
But a voice inside him was more realistic. If he didn’t find a solution, he would die.
The entire grate was covered in slimy debris. His hands fumbled around the circumference of the barrier, searching. His heart thundered in his ears and his lungs were already clamoring for more air. His fingers dragged over something different—roundish, cylindrical. A hinge.
That meant it was designed to open.
He made a frantic search on the opposite side. There had to be a release of some kind. His shaky hands touched and grasped at everything while the water pressed in around him to escape through the holes in the grate.
He found a metal peg wedged down through a hole.
He gripped it as tight as he could and tugged upward. It didn’t give at all. He tried to wiggle it.
Nothing.
He couldn’t wait any more. He needed air. He dragged in another skin and drained it of its contents. He had only six left now.
If he’d had his boots on, he could kick the damn thing, but his bare feet wouldn’t likely do much to loosen it. And the force of the water wouldn’t allow him the movement needed. He tried rattling the grate, hoping to initiate some movement, but it remained firm. He used the handle of the knife and tried to pound it up from the bottom. Still, the peg didn’t budge.
Frustration and panic overwhelmed him. He pounded on the flat metal of the lattice with the heel of his hand.
Something snapped.
One of the strips of metal broke free. The old metal, after years, perhaps centuries, of being submerged down here, had weakened. Hunter pounded on it more.
Another section snapped loose.
He gripped the slime-covered slat and started rocking it back and forth. At first nothing—but then he felt the metal of the lattice start to give.
Another broke free. Then another.
Using all the strength he had left, he shoved on it. Again and then again. The grate bent back. A little at first, but then more. And then a little more. The opening was getting larger.
He just had to push it back enough for him to slip through.
His lungs forced him to stop and take in another skin full of air. He now only had five left.
He resumed his desperate effort to bend the broken section back. The metal was stubborn. It moved—but in tiny incremental amounts. And his strength was flagging.
He used another skin. Four left.
The gap he made was still narrow, but he judged it large enough for him to pass through. Desperation forced him to give it a try. Fighting the current, he turned his body sideways and slid his head through first. The slats of metal squeezed against his thick torso. He shifted, inch by inch. It grew tighter around him.
He was going to wedge himself in and be killed for sure.
His stomach was in his throat. Jagged edges of metal cut into his skin as he cajoled his thick form farther through the opening. If he survived this, his skin would be a road map of scrapes and gashes.
And then he was through it. He felt a momentary hitch—two of the skins caught the sharp edges of the broken slats and ripped open. More of his air bubbled out and was gone.
Two left.
He had no choice but to use another of the skins. The exertion of getting through the grate had made his vision blacken around the edges. He was near the point of passing out. He grappled for the skin, emptied his lungs and gulped down the air from the bag.
And then there was only one.
The relief the air provided had shrunk to nearly nothing. Immediately after taking the air, his lungs were already wanting more. But he waited, holding out as long as he could.
Free of the grate, he picked up speed again quickly. It felt even faster this time, as if he was moving downhill. Maybe he was. He had no way of referencing that.
Then, suddenly, the walls of the conduit were gone. His body tumbled, and he plummeted in free fall. Sound crashed into his ears. The sound of a waterfall. He was no longer submerged. He was out of the water. His mouth opened and air that tasted like a cave rushed into his lungs. He didn’t care—the sensation of full lungs was euphoric.
This lasted for a second—then he was underwater again. Plunging. The sound of the cascading water cut off to become a muffled roar.
The hard force of the water was now gone. Except beneath him. He could feel the water trying to tug him down into dark depths. He clawed at the water to pull himself up, praying there was a surface.
He broke from the water. He tilted his head back, and while kicking and swooping his exhausted arms through the water to keep himself afloat, he took long satiating breaths until his heart rate recovered.
He’d done it. He made it through and was now inside the castle.
Naked. And with no idea where he was supposed to go to find Dax.
But he was inside. And still alive. It was a start.