Then his head and shoulders bob up, an arm groping through the roaring water. He’s nothing but dark shapes amid the glinting moonlight.
The rain-swollen current drags him downstream. It looks as if he’s trying to pull himself toward the shore, but I can’t tell if he’s making any progress against the rush of the water. Kenneth’s heave landed him right in the middle where the river is deepest.
My heart batters the base of my throat, panic shattering the shock of Kenneth’s death. I hurl myself toward the end of the bridge with no thought in my head but getting to Salvatore.
I careen off the bridge and along the riverbank. My feet slip and squish as I try to hurry along the soaked ground and flattened grass.
A sudden swell dunks Salvatore again. He stays under long enough that my pulse turns into a hammer before he claws to the surface. His head drifts vaguely as if he’s still dazed from hitting the railing.
I throw a stream of ephemera toward him, gathering everything I can from the darkened landscape around me. An ache of fatigue splinters through my joints—I’ve already expelled more energy than I thought I’d need to while I was luring and then fighting Kenneth.
I can’t let Salvatore drown. Not when he only jumped into the fight to try to saveme.
With all the strength and focus I can summon, I propel him toward the shore. One yank, and another, and another.
The river’s current wears against my efforts. My breath starts rasping, and not only because of my hasty scramble along the bank.
Salvatore has drifted a little closer to my side of the river. But his head is dipping forward, his face smacking into the water.
Is he losing consciousness?
With a fresh jolt of panic, I shove another pulse of magic toward him. It tips him so at least his head is lying back against the water, his mouth and nose clear other than the lapping of the rippling surface.
The ache prickles through my skull and down my spine. Ignoring the discomfort, I pull Salvatore toward the shore again and again.
Where’s a helpful naiad when you need one?
I lose sight of him briefly as I have to clamber through a clump of dense saplings right next to the river. When I burst out on the other side, the view up ahead gives me a flicker of hope.
In the rainstorm, a tree has fallen over, part of its expansive trunk stretching into the river. If I can draw Salvatore just a few more feet, he should be able to grab one of the branches.
If he’s aware enough to recognize the opportunity.
Swallowing the metallic tang of fear that’s coated my mouth, I haul at the ephemera I’ve wrapped around him. Sweat dribbles down my back beneath my already damp shirt, chilled by the night air. The exhausted ache sharpens into a lance prodding my eye sockets.
Teeth gritted, I compel the magic toward this side of the river one more time—and Salvatore bumps into one of the thinner top branches.
He’s at least conscious enough to reach out and grasp the wet bark. The current jostles him against the tapered trunk, and it sways with his weight.
How long will it hold?
I sprint the last several feet to the fallen tree.
I’m only a couple of paces from the trunk when the slick ground and my throbbing joints conspire to trip me up. My feet flip out from under me, and I land on my ass with a smack of pain up my tailbone.
Suppressing a whimper, I half scoot, half slide over the edge of the bank. The first plunge into the cold water shocks a good portion of the pain right out of me.
Engorged by a full day of hard rain, the river comes up to my waist after just the first couple of steps. The current pummels me, trying to flatten me against the trunk.
Several of the branches have already cracked off. I grip their stumps, shoving myself through the water toward Salvatore.
Halfway to him, I can’t touch the bottom of the river anymore. I switch to kicking while holding on to the tree to make sure I’m not caught up in the current.
My shoulder bangs against the trunk more than once, hard enough that I can feel the bruises forming, but I keep going. My steadying manta murmurs through my head.
I have all I need. I have all I need.
By the time I’m close enough to touch Salvatore, my fingers are tingling with pins and needles. I can’t tell whether it’s an effect of the energy I’ve expended or the frigid water—maybe a mix of both.
