I have caused this, he thought. It is because I tried to open the light chamber door that we were driven from the lighthouse into the storm.
But the storm… How had it come upon them so quickly—so quickly!
His heart gave a great thud. Cold certainty settled upon him like a shroud.
The Shadow Lord had found them at Bone Point and seized his chance. He had summoned up the storm. He had sent the wind racing from beyond the mountains to sweep them away.
Away from the land. Away from Deltora. So that…
Horror stabbed Lief as he realised that while his face and hands were icy cold, the Belt around his waist was warming. It was growing hot—hot as fire.
The memory of his father’s gentle voice filled his mind.
It is death to take the gems beyond Deltora’s borders…
Even for me, Lief thought wildly. Even for Adin’s heir. For there is older magic than the Belt of Deltora—older magic than the dream of Adin. The ancient magic that bonds the gems, and the dragons, and the land…
And the Shadow Lord knows it.
The Belt was scorching his flesh. It was as if every one of the gems was a red hot coal.
Prin could feel it. She had begun to gasp and whimper. Her wings were faltering. And still the wind swept them on, on.
Lief looked down. Surging grey water. White-capped waves.
The tide is coming in…
He knew what he had to do. He could not afford to think. He had to act now. Now!
He heaved himself up and over the edge of Prin’s pouch. And with her cry of shock ringing in his ears, he plunged down, down, into the sea.
He hit the freezing water and went under. For a few terrifying moments he sank, blind, deaf, his arms flailing helplessly Then, his lungs almost bursting, he managed to claw his way up.
As his head broke through the surface a dark shape splashed into the waves beside him. He looked up just in time to see Ailsa, her pouch empty, swept away by the howling wind.
‘Barda!’ he shouted, and choked on a mouthful of salty water.
Barda’s head bobbed up beside him, sleek and dripping. Barda’s arm reached for him urgently.
Lief shook his head. ‘I am all right!’ he gasped. ‘I did not fall. I had to jump. But you—’
‘You jumped?’ Barda bellowed, drawing back his hand and treading water furiously. ‘Are you mad, boy? Why—?’
“The Belt…’ Lief’s voice failed him. His body was racked with cold, and at the same time burning with heat. Steam was rising from the icy water around him.
Barda’s eyes widened as he understood. Rapidly he looked around him.
‘There!’ he shouted. ‘Lief—this way!’
Lief turned in the water. Through the dimness he saw the narrow, pale shape of the lighthouse in the distance, and the white froth of waves pounding on the shore. With Barda beside him he struck out, trying not to panic, trying to ride the tide towards the land.
‘Jasmine!’ he spluttered. ‘Where—?’
‘We both saw you fall,’ Barda panted. ‘Jasmine could do nothing, because she cannot swim. She is still up there somewhere, with the Kin. Worried out of her life, no doubt.’
Lief looked up. He could see nothing but racing clouds. The Kin, and Jasmine, had been swept further out to sea.
They will be safe, he promised himself. Much safer than if I was with them. The Shadow Lord seems to know my every move, so by now he must know that I jumped into the sea. He will let the wind die, for why would he spend his power to no purpose? Then the Kin will be able to fly back to land.
The Belt was cooling. He could feel it. He knew that this meant that he had managed to move a little closer to shore.
The relief was intense. But his teeth were chattering. His arms and legs were aching and numbed with cold. More and more often his head slipped below the surface of the surging water.
A wave surged over him. Again he went under. Again he forced his head up to the air, his throat aching. He could no longer see the shore. There was a mist in front of his streaming, stinging eyes.
This cannot go on much longer, he thought grimly. But still he pushed towards the sound of the shore, trying to ignore the aching numbness of his legs and arms. He was determined to get as close to land as he could before cold and exhaustion finally overcame him.
Almost certainly he and Barda would be dead by the time the tide tossed them up on the rocks, or onto the sand of the little bay beside the lighthouse. But the Belt would be found.
He could hear Barda splashing heavily at his shoulder, and his heart smote him.
Barda had watched over him almost all his life. At first he had not even been aware of that steadfast protection. Then he had often resisted and resented it. Lately, he had come to take it for granted that whatever he did, Barda would always be by his side.
But Barda has his own life, Lief thought. Or at least—he had a right to it.
A picture of Lindal flashed into his mind—Lindal, standing tall and straight by the gates of Broome, the palms of her hands pressed to Barda’s in long, wordless farewell.
Barda could have found happiness, after all the years of struggle, Lief thought. Instead, he will die with me in this cruel sea.
‘I am sorry, Barda,’ he choked. ‘I am so—’
And at that moment, his bare foot kicked against something hard.
Stunned, he turned in the water. And through the mist that filmed his eyes he saw, looming dark above him, the side of a ship.
For an instant he stared, unable to believe his eyes. How could a ship have come upon them so silently? How could he have missed seeing it, even in this strange, misty dimness?
He shouted to Barda, then hailed the ship at the top of his lungs. Barda was soon calling with him. But no light appeared above them, and there was no answering call.
Long oars hung from small dark holes ranged along the ship’s side just above the waterline. Gasping, Lief reached for the oar closest to him. But even as his fingers closed on the wet, splintery wood, he knew it would be of little use. The oar was too low to be used as a step to the deck. And the hole it poked through was far too small to admit anything bigger than a rat.
‘Keep shouting, Lief!’ gasped Barda, moving up beside him. ‘We must make them hear us.’
Then Lief felt something brush against his free hand. His fingers closed around thick, wet rope. And as he looked up again he saw with amazed joy a rope ladder trailing over the side of the ship, its base disappearing beneath the foam.
‘Barda!’ he croaked.
‘I see it!’ he heard Barda pant behind him. ‘Go! I am with you!’
Lief seized the ladder in both hands, found a rung with his feet and, gritting his chattering teeth, began hauling himself upward.
He had climbed only about halfway to the deck before he realised that there was something strange about the ship.
It was riding very low in the water, and instead of tossing from side to side in the swell, as he would have expected, it was gliding as smoothly as a fish. This made his climb easier, but a sense of foreboding was growing within him as he forced his aching body on.
As he neared the top of the ladder he paused, his scalp prickling. He could not rid himself of the feeling that he was being watched. Yet he could see no glimmer of light above him. He could hear no voices. The only sounds were the creaking of the timbers and, now and again, a faint, mouse-like squeaking.
He glanced quickly from side to side and noticed, very near to his right shoulder, the remains of some painted words.
The ship’s name, Lief thought. So we must be at the front of the ship—the bow. He peered at the name, trying to read it.
So much of the paint had flaked off that Lief could make no sense of the fragments that remained. Yet somehow he felt that he should have been able to. There was something about the pattern made by those last flakes of paint that was familiar. Something he had seen before…