Adarna

Chapter 15

Robin was floating. He had never quite known what to expect from death. Whether people dissipated back into the nature from which they came, soul scattered like a dandelion on the wind, ready to settle down and grow into new life later on. Whether, as some believed, the gods plucked their favourites from the earth and wrapped them in a coat of constellations, pouring their burning godly drink down their throats to wash away mortality. Whether those who Kaselennon—ruler of the sea, of the horizon, of boundaries—deemed too crooked and tainted were truly turned into beasts that reflected their true nature and banished to the depths.

Whatever he had expected from death, he had not expected it to hurt in the way it did. Every part of him was numb, but his bones and soul ached like they were being torn apart and slotted back together all wrong. He also didn't expect to still need to breathe. He felt his lungs expand with effort as something dug into his back. He scrunched his eyebrows, trying to pull his mind back from the dreamlike daze that had ensnared it. He was cold. And wet. And there surely must have been a reason for that, but he could not think of it just then, so really how important was it?

The air smelled of salt. Well, that wasn't promising. Had he drawn enough of Kaselennon's attention to be condemned to drowning forevermore? The god had certainly shown his displeasure for him while he was alive. But no, that wasn't right. He wasn't underwater anymore. He had been, for a while. Hadn't he? Cold water lapped at the edges of his feet, weaving beneath the rocks and pebbles underneath him. With difficulty, he forced his eyes open, and was met with a blinding light.

Oh, no. That burned. It was better to retreat, back into the darkness he had come from. But the light followed him, brandishing a bright red glow from behind his eyelids as he shut them. Sounds met him next. The distant crash of waves, the nearer bubble of water in a rock pool. Murmurs nearby, of voices he thought he should recognise, but could not grasp. Seagulls screamed overhead. Robin wanted to block the sound out. It was far too loud, far too alive. Somethings clacked just next to his ear. A scuttle of carapace over rock, shhk, shhk, shhk, as something made its way past him. A tentative claw pinched his earlobe, sending a sharp pain through him, clearing his head and re-awakening his mind to the other aches all over his body.

He gasped, his eyes flashing open again. He craned his neck to the side to meet the gaze of a small red crab. It waved its claws enthusiastically at him before deciding he was too big and one fraction too alive to be worth the effort of trying to eat. It scuttled on its way. His vision blurred as his eyes watered against the sun, but slowly he pieced together the sight in front of him. Bodies lay all around, in varying states of consciousness. Driftwood lined the shore, along with—surprisingly—a couple of battered lifeboats.

A few paces away, sitting on a small rock cliff above a pool of seawater was Dinta-as-Dinta, disguise removed. She was a mess, her hair long and tangled, sticking up at odd angles, and new bruises blooming all along her skin, accompanied by a nasty gash on her forehead. Her mismatched eyes stared blankly ahead, and her mouth moved as if she were talking to an unseen individual.

He could not see Finn, but he tried to convince himself that the other boy was just out of sight, perfectly safe. At last, he was forced to refocus on his own condition. He would rather not have, if given the option. There was nothing quite as terrible as having to come face-to-face with the damaged self. He took stock, testing to see whether he could move each of his limbs. His spine seemed in tact, thankfully, but he suspected that his collar bone, a couple of ribs, and possibly his right thigh had not been so lucky. It was hard to tell where his pain was coming from. His body seemed to be under the general consensus that the answer to that question was everywhere. His stomach screamed as he tried to sit up, so he slumped back down in the most graceful manner he was able to. In other words, he recoiled at the sheer intensity of the pain, his vision flashing white hot from it, and fell back onto the ground in a way that had his head knocking against a rather sharp stone. Just great.