Lester - Icey River

I liked a good simple choice. I grabbed Meg’s hand. Together we jumped.

Ah, subterranean rivers. So cold. So fast. So very full of rocks.

You’d think all those jagged, spearlike stones in the water would have been eroded over time by the swift current, but no. They clubbed and clawed and stabbed me relentlessly as I sped by. We hurtled through darkness, spinning and somersaulting at the mercy of the river, my head going under and coming back out at random intervals. Somehow, I always picked the wrong moment to try breathing. Despite it all, I kept my grip on Meg’s hand.

I have no idea how long this water torture lasted. It seemed longer than most centuries I’d lived through—except perhaps the fourteenth CE, a horrible time to be alive. I was starting to wonder whether I would die of hypothermia, drowning, or blunt-force trauma when Meg’s grip tightened on mine. My arm was nearly wrenched out of its socket when we lurched to a stop. Some superhuman force hauled me out of the river like a dugong in a fishing net.

I landed on a slick stone ledge. I curled up, spluttering, shivering, miserable. I was dimly aware of Meg coughing and retching next to me. Someone’s pointy-toed shoe kicked me between the shoulder blades.

“Get up, get up!” Grr-Fred said. “No time to nap!”

***

The Tower of Nero, Chapter 19