That was dangerous. Better say nothing. She tried to still the panic in her chest.
“You need some water, honey?” Rhiannon got up, tittering again. “Not that you haven’t probably had your fill of water. You look like a drowned rat.” She filled a glass from the sink, her back to Drew, and brought it over. “Drink this.”
Drew managed to lift her head and get up on one elbow in spite of the splitting pain in her head. She reached for the glass but her hand was shaking. Rhiannon obligingly held it for her. The water tasted good, if a little metallic. She handed back the glass, gasping a little.
“It was the sword that hit us, wasn’t it? Not the lighting.” Even her own voice sounded distant, drowned out by the singing in her ears.
“Oh, it surely was, honey.” Rhiannon looked jubliant. “That is one kick-ass Talisman. Of course it can only be used by the most powerful of magicians. But then, that would be me, wouldn’t it? Second to no one but Morgan.” Her grin was so self-satisfied, Drew wanted to smack her. “She’s going to be the most powerful person in the world, one day. And I’ll be right by her side.” Rhiannon leaned against the sink as The Purgatory’s motors churned on toward Jamaica, and drew another drag on her cigarette. The smoke was cloying in the close room.
“How did the Sword of Gwenydd get here?” she asked, to keep Rhiannon talking.
Rhiannon laughed. “That’s a good one. Apparently Queen Elizabeth wanted to get it out of England before the Spanish Armada showed up. So she sent one of her pirates, Sir Francis Drake, to hide it. Then he sailed back to burn the ships in the harbor at Cadiz. Delayed the Armada for a whole year.”
Why hadn’t they come back for the sword? Maybe they had lost the location of the island. Her thoughts were getting muddy. What was clear was that, while her parents believed they were part of the path that would change the world for the better, they weren’t the only ones with magic, and not everyone was apparently so anxious about the “better” part. “This Morgan person just wants power for herself?”
“Natch. And those who serve her, of course. Like you, potentially, if you’re a good little girl and your power comes in handy. Not everybody’s power turns out to be useful.” She frowned for a minute and a shadow of regret crossed her face, and was gone. Had Drew imagined it? “We might even go back for the reluctant Finder. Morgan can keep him in line.”
Hope sent a knot into Drew’s throat. “Michael? He’s alive?”
“Oh, he’s your One, isn’t he? Too bad he only wants his dead wife.” She flipped ash into a cereal bowl on the table. “He was alive with two guys after him, and wounded pretty bad. So who knows? I didn’t have time to track him down. Morgan needs this sword stat. If he’s alive when we get back, we’ll see if he can decide to be useful.”
Drew’s mind was making lazy loops. Michael was alive. But he was hurt. How could she get back to him? Her eyelids had gotten heavy. The singing in her ears was louder. She gasped in a little breath. “You drugged me!”
“But yes.” The titter sounded truly distant now. “Easier all the way around.”
And then Drew couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore.
*****
Michael was shaking as he took another stroke. The water wasn’t cold. This was the Caribbean. But he was weaker than he’d thought. Tristram, swimming beside him, had that blank look of the desperately tired. The white arch of the hull was maybe thirty yards now. It was floating lower in the water than when they’d first seen it. The other Tremaine was nowhere in sight. Maybe he’d slipped off into the blue deep. In which case this was all for nothing.
Stroke, kick, breathe. Stroke, kick, breathe. You don’t leave a man who’s down. Code of the Force. He wasn’t Force any longer, but some things never leave you.
Tristram must have some powerful shoulders on him, since he couldn’t be helping himself much with his injured leg. Michael should talk. His thigh had long ago stopped feeling like it was on fire. Now it just felt numb. Maybe not so good.
Tristram started to lag. Uh-oh. “Turn on your back and float,” Michael yelled.
“You first,” Tristram dunked once then managed to get his forward motion going again.
Michael kept on swimming, but now he kept a wary eye on his partner. When Tris went under again, Michael stopped, gasping, and paddled over sluggishly. He reached under and grabbed an arm. Tristram popped to the surface, struggling against his grip.
“I’m good,” he panted.
“Yeah, well, I need a rest.” Michael rolled over on his back, hauling Tristram over too. They lay there, bobbing on the waves and gasping for maybe a minute.
Tristram righted himself. “Okay. Now I’m good.”
Michael didn’t waste strength answering. They struck out. When they reached the fiberglass hull, it was barely sticking out of the water. Michael heaved himself up on it, by kind of walking up the slope of the mostly submerged keel. There was half a boat under the water. The ragged edge was just visible about twenty feet down. Air must have been trapped in the cabins. It was a miracle it was still floating. Kemble was spread-eagled, face down, on the far side. Blood soaked his clothes. Michael plunked down, gasping, and reached a hand to Tristram, who scrambled up the smooth fiberglass, dragging his bad leg.
The hull sank lower. Did they have to all be such big guys?
When Tristram saw his brother, he came to life and scrambled over the keel. The shift of weight sent the hull rocking. It sank perceptibly. “Kemble.” His voice almost broke. He sat beside his brother and gently turned him over.
To Michael’s surprise, the guy’s eyelids fluttered open. “Hey, Tris,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t think you made it.”
“Back at you.” Tristram ripped Kemble’s shirt. Kemble’s torso had cuts all over it. He looked like a victim of shrapnel like the ones Michael had seen in Afghanistan. Tristram looked up at Michael, pain etched into his expression.
“I’ve seen worse,” Michael said. True. But it was beginning to dawn on him that they were a long way from shore on a sinking boat with a badly injured guy when they weren’t in great shape either.
Michael’s comment drew Kemble’s attention. “Redmond?” he asked, blinking slowly. “What are you doing here?”
“Dowser to you,” Tristram said to his brother. “Father says we need him to find Drew.”
“Drew’s lost?”
Tristram’s face got a look even more glowering. “Damn bitch with the sword took her.”
“Then we’d better get going.” Kemble tried to sit up. Luckily Tristram was there. He caught his brother in his arms when he started to black out.
“Whoa, there,” Tristram said. He looked at Michael, concern and question in his eyes.
“We can float him back to the island. But we need a few minutes rest.”
Tris glanced pointedly to the hull. It was sinking visibly now.
Michael nodded. He was finally getting his breath. But his leg was kind of a swollen dead log on his hip. He and Tristram were matched bookends, and about as useful in this situation. Which was deteriorating.
“We’ll take what time we can.” Michael dragged himself up above Kemble. Tristram followed suit and they pulled Kemble up as far as they could. Sitting on the edge of the keel, Michael stared back toward the island. It looked so close. But it might be too far away to do them any good. Getting Drew back seemed impossible.
Tristram said, “Wish my mother was here.”
That was surprising coming from such a tough guy. “Uh, okay.”
“Well not here,” he amended. “She’s not a great swimmer. But on the island.” He looked at Michael. “Drew tell you she was a Healer?”
Oh, yeah. “That would come in handy about now.”
“Costs her though. Senior goes crazy worrying about her. She does it anyway. Heals sick kids in Children’s Hospitals around LA as often as she can store up the energy.”
“Still seems strange, all this magic shit.”
“Yea
h. I didn’t believe it. I knew about the Parents. But I didn’t think it was for me.”
“Past tense, I see.”
“Yeah. I found Maggie.” He said her name reverently. He glanced over to Michael, suddenly wary. “Hear you got your Finding from a wife who died.”
“That how it happens?”
“Yeah. When you meet your one true love. That’s when the power activates.”
That would be true. He’d only realized he was psychic after meeting Alice.
Tristram looked like he was about to say more, but thought better of it. The hull wheezed and sank lower. Bubbles started bursting up through the water.
“You rested enough, old man?” Tristram asked Michael. He pulled Kemble up.
Michael took a big breath. “Island isn’t getting any closer.”
“And this sucker’s sinking fast.”
Michael slid into the water. “Push him off, I’ll catch him.”
Tristram looked worried, but he pushed Kemble off the hull. “Swim to Dowser,” he ordered. Kemble flailed weakly and Michael caught his arm and pulled.
“Hold my waist,” he yelled, as he rolled to his back. Tris dove off the hull, trying to get as much distance as he could. Kemble grabbed Michael’s waist, and Michael kicked backward. The hull slipped beneath the water. A huge bubble of air broke the surface, roiling the water as the hull started down. Michael felt the tug downward even as the water around them flashed waves over them. His head went under. Kemble was a dead weight, pulling him down. Michael fought upward even as the shadow of the wreckage sank into darkness below them.
Above him a shadow against the sunlit water turned into an arm, reaching down. Tristram grabbed the waist of his cargo pants and pulled.
In a moment all three men were gasping on the surface as they bobbed in the sunlight.
“Shit, howdy,” Tristram coughed.
“That was close,” Michael sputtered.
“Kemble, you okay?” Tristram had his brother by the shoulders and was physically holding him above the waterline as the waves lifted them.
“Yeah,” Kemble said, weakly. “Can we make it?”
“Yes we can,” Tristram said as though there was no doubt. He glanced to Michael. There was doubt all right. “You roll over and float. We’ll tow you.”
Kemble didn’t waste strength on protests. He just rolled over on his back.
“Your job is to hold onto our waistbands, one in each hand. Can you do that?”
“Yeah.” Kemble got a determined look around his mouth that Michael had seen on his father. No wonder Drew said Tristram called him the Prince of Wales.
“All right then. We rest a lot.”
But thirty minutes later Michael and Tristram were spent. Kemble couldn’t hold on, so they were trying to tow him by his waistband.
“Time to toss in the towel,” Kemble almost whispered.
“Not happening,” Tristram gasped. But he knew as well as Michael that they’d made little progress in the last minutes. The island seemed unreachable. Could they really drown half a mile from shore?
“Let me go,” Kemble demanded weakly. “Your only chance.”
“No dice,” Michael sputtered.
Kemble pushed weakly at his brother. “Let go, damn you.”
“If I have to knock you out, I will,” Tristram said. Kemble slipped under before Michael grabbed him and hauled him up.
“Give it up,” Michael gasped. “Delta Force never leaves a man behind.” His head was buzzing. He couldn’t think. He wouldn’t let Kemble sacrifice himself, but they were all going down, and it wouldn’t be long.
Tristram looked around. “You hear that?”
“What?”
“That sound.”
The buzzing in his head was getting louder. A swell lifted them again. Michael caught a glimpse of orange. Orange?
“Hey!” Tristram yelled, with new energy. “Hey, over here.”
Michael gripped Kemble with one hand and waved the other as a swell rolled under them again. A boat. It was a boat and it was passing them about forty yards out.
“Over here,” Michael yelled, his throat raw. Tristram shouted too. The guy in the boat was searching the horizon. Tris and Michael redoubled their efforts.
“Senior!” Tris shouted.
Brian Tremaine turned, saw them, and brought the day-glow orange launch around. Michael had never seen anything so welcome in his life.
“He was right,” Tristram gasped. “There was a launch on The Hail Mary.”
“That’s the name of your sailboat?” Michael was sputtering salt water.
Brian cut the motor as he drew near. “Almost missed you.” He looked horrified.
“That would have been a shame,” Michael managed.
Brian shot him an incredulous half grin as he leaned over the side to grab Kemble, who looked like he’d faded into unconsciousness. As Brian pulled Kemble over the big round inflated side of the launch, he sobered.
Nobody said anything while Brian got first Tristram, then Michael, into the launch. They lay in the bottom, gasping. Having something solid between him and all that salt water seemed like a miracle to Michael.
When Michael could lift his head, he saw Brian checking Kemble. “He’s pretty cut up. Lost blood,” Brian said.
“I think Dowser’s running on empty, too,” Tristram panted.
“Like you’re a bundle of energy.” Michael pulled himself up to lean on the side of the launch. “Where’d you get this thing?” he asked Brian.
“Lodged in some rocks just outside the surf line way down the beach. Thank God it’s orange.” Brian pulled the throttle on the little motor and the launch took off. “Explosion must have kicked off the inflator or it would have sunk like a stone,” he yelled over the noise of the motor. “Now if it only had enough gas to actually get us anywhere.” He tapped the tank. It thudded hollowly.
“Out of the frying pan,” Michael muttered.
He was startled when Tristram started to laugh.
*****
Drew rolled her head, trying to rid herself of the dreams that wouldn’t seem to go away. This time it was bright lights and people shouting. She was moving through the crowd as though she was levitating. Rhiannon’s face was a clown mask of sadness. St. Claire was shouting orders.
“Out of the way. Let us to the plane.”
She stared up and saw one of those rolling stands that held an IV bag with clear liquid in it. Light refracted through the liquid into a rainbow of pretty colors that ran down the tube and into her arm. Drugs, like colored magic.
How she wished that Michael were here in this dream. He’d been in many others. She’d seen him swimming. Not happy swimming though. Desperate, exhausted swimming. She’d seen him in the back seat of a car. And Tristram was there too. She’d seen him on a gurney with an IV stand just like hers.
She tried to sit up, but there was a strap across her chest. She struggled. Rhiannon’s exaggerated face seemed to be made of liquid wax as she said, “There, there, honey. We’ll get you home safely.” The words echoed and banged around in Drew’s head.
“No,” she said. “Don’t want to go with you.…”
Rhiannon reached up and turned a little knob on the packet of rainbow liquid. The slide of liquid into her arm turned bright purple.
Drew felt herself winking out like a light.
*****
Michael sat with his back against the big palm, knife at the ready. He was starting to shake with chills and night was coming on. When they had first come ashore, Brian had bound up Kemble’s wounds. He’d cut Tristram’s jeans leg off above his swollen knee. And he’d tied up Michael’s thigh, which was beginning to bloat and redden ominously. Then he’d taken one of the knives they’d gotten from the dead thugs and disappeared into the jungle. Michael had built a fire using driftwood they’d limped around gathering above the tide line, and he’d used a flask they found on one of the dead bodies to bring water up from the stream. Now Tristram sat wi
th his leg up on a mound of sand. Kemble lay in a heavy sleep.
“Why’d you laugh, Tristram, when your father said the boat didn’t have enough gas to get anywhere? I didn’t think that was especially funny.”
“Call me Tris,” he growled. “Only Senior calls me Tristram. He and Mother.”
“Done. But why the laugh?”
“Because I can make the engine run. Senior was just messing with you.”
“That’s your power. Uh, magic, I mean.”
“Yep.” He looked up at Michael. “Like yours is Finding.”
Michael cleared his throat. Better not to mention Drew. “I ... heard something about that.”
“I’ll bet you did. Drew said she tied you to a bed for a couple of days while you detoxed.” He grunted a laugh. “Drew is a force of nature, like Mother.”
Michael gave a wistful smile. “Pretty much, yeah.”
Tris frowned at Michael. “She wasn’t so good when we found her.”
Michael didn’t think he’d enjoy being on the receiving end of Tris’s disapproval. “I was trying to keep her out of all this.”
“By humiliating her? Shit. She’d been crying her eyes out.”
Michael swallowed. “I had to be sure Rhiannon would discount her.”
“So that bitch could get a powerful sword and you could get your wife back. Great.”
Michael was ashamed of himself. More than when he’d been a drunkard. Not as much as when he’d killed Alice. He stared at the fire. “Didn’t work out like I planned.”
A rustling from the jungle signaled Brian’s return. A bucket of water sloshed at his side. He held his bulging shirt tied at the corners. The man looked exhausted. Michael managed to push himself up and limp painfully over to relieve Brian of some of his burdens.
“Where’d you get the bucket?”
“I did several kinds of scavenging.”
Brian knelt by the fire and untied the corners of his shirt. He had a breadfruit and a ripe jackfruit. The jackfruit smelled like Juicy Fruit gum. They’d eat at least. “Tris, cut these open,” Michael said, tossing them over. “Save the jackfruit seeds. When you boil them they’re like potatoes.” Michael handed Tris his knife and knelt to fill the flask with water.
He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin) Page 23
