Chapter Thirteen: Upriver | Part 8
Thirtyx barely felt himself hit the water. The rapids in his ears, the sting of cold liquid in his nostrils, and the tumbling of his body provided a sensory overload that nearly knocked him out. Instead, he remained fully conscious as one seal after another rammed into him, batting him back and forth like a ball on a playground. The air had long since been knocked from his lungs, which expanded against his will in a vain attempt to find oxygen.
No one heard him coughing and spluttering just below the surface. Another hit brought his head above water. His arms flailed out of pure instinct to keep him upright, a move that awarded him time to purge the water from his nose and mouth. He only managed one clear breath before he was knocked back under, but this time, he knew which way was up.
He resurfaced quickly and heard raucous cheering from those in the boats, coupled with elated barks from the Selkies. They continued onward while the current pushed Thirtyx back. Somewhere in the distance, Seerla still shouted his name.
Though he could breathe for now, the rapids shoved him in much the same way as the Selkies, pulling him undertow at random intervals. His body was fatigued and terribly sore. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could fight the water, but the banks around him were steep and not conducive to climbing. Could he float on his back?
White caps surged over his face. He spent precious energy coughing and struggling to right himself. He’d never make it back to the lake like this, and if by some miracle he did, he wouldn’t have the strength to swim across. He had two choices: find a way out of the river…
Or exhaust himself and drown.
He spotted a lower, less steep area of riverbank in a curve ahead. It was still too high for him to climb without leverage, but a large rock jutted up beside it. If he could pull himself onto the rock, he might make it. And if he couldn’t, he might not have the energy for another try.
The swirling foam at the base of the rock suggested the current was pushing in that direction. Thirtyx stopped flailing. He let the waters take him where they liked—his fate was up to the Twins now. He held his breath as he entered the riverbend, and it left his body as a frantic gasp of relief as he drifted toward the rock.
He summoned every remaining shard of strength to grapple the boulder. He wedged his legs against it to buy time while his hands fought for purchase. By the grace of the Twins, he found two handholds with which he pulled himself out of the water, free at last from the treacherous current.
Thirtyx slumped against the rock and sucked in deep, beautiful gulps of air. Until that moment, he hadn’t imagined Veriths could draw energy from anger. But a wave of adrenaline, fueled by the purest, most unfettered rage he’d ever felt, propelled his arms around the boulder until he faced dry land. From there, he sprang off with a feral battle cry and managed to dig his fingers into the damp clay of the bank.
They could have killed him with that stunt.
No, they wanted to kill him.
They tried to kill him.
He clawed his way forward, bit by bit, until his entire body lay sprawled on the ground. But instead of relishing in this newfound respite, he clenched his fists around the clay and let out a furious shriek.
His hands pounded the earth. His feet kicked divots into the ground. As he inhaled for another primal scream, he imagined his classmates’ taunting and laughter if they could see him here, throwing a deranged temper tantrum. He didn’t care.
They couldn’t see him because they left him here to die.
Ten years of bottling it up, of pretending he didn’t care about the mistreatment, expelled itself from his body in shouts and kicks and punches until at last he lay still, trembling from a mix of exertion and cold.
What in the twin hells was he supposed to do next?
Calley Jones 