Tales of Wind and Fire: Giver

Chapter 15

Bennu came up spluttering with cold, fighting the river. He was a strong swimmer, so he wasn't too worried. He'd grab that branch jutting from the bank. . . The next one, then.
Behind him, he heard Cybil shouting his name as she tore through the brambles, and Mystigan's urgent barks. It occurred to him that the brambles must be very thick, as Cybil and Mystigan were dropping further and further behind.
The river punched him in the back, smashing him limp as a wet leaf against a rock. He went under.
He kicked his way to the surface, and was shocked to see how far he'd been carried. He couldn't hear Cybil or Mystigan anymore, and the waterfall was sliding closer with astonishing speed, drowning all voices but its own.
His jerkin and leggings were dragging him down. The cold had deadened his limbs to sticks of bone and flesh, working without feeling to keep his head above the surface. He couldn't see anything except white-foam waves and a blur of willows. Then even that disappeared as he went under again.
It came to him quite clearly that he would be swept over the waterfall and killed.
No time for fear. Just a distant anger that it should end like this. Poor Mystigan. Who's going to look after him now? And poor Cybil. Let's hope she doesn't find the body, it'll be a mess.
Death boomed at him. A rainbow flashed through the spume and spray. . . Then the waves smoothed out like a skin and suddenly there was no more river in front, and it was hard to breathe as he went over. Death reached up and pulled him down, and it was shining smooth, like the moment of falling asleep. . .
Over and over he fell, water filling his mouth, his nose, his ears. The river swallowed him whole: he was inside it and it roared through him, this pounding power of water. Somehow he surfaced, gulping air. Then it pulled him down again into its swirling green depths.
The roar of the river faded. Lights flashed in his head. He sank. The water turned from blue to dark-green to black. He was languid and frozen past feeling. He longed to give up and sleep.
He became aware of a faint, bubbling laughter. Hair like green waterweed trailed across his throat. Cruel faces leered at him with merciless white eyes.
Come to us! Called the Faceless-ones of the river. Let your soul float free of that dull, heavy flesh!
He felt sick, as if his guts were being pulled loose.
See, see! Laughed the Faceless-ones. How swiftly his soul begin to drift free! How eagerly they come to us!
Bennu turned over and over like a dead fish. The Faceless-Ones were right. It would be easy to leave his body and let them roll him for ever in their cold embrace. . .
Mystigan's desperate yowl cut through to him.
Bennu opened his eyes. Silver bubbles streamed through the dark as the Faceless-Ones fled.
Again Mystigan called to him.
Mystigan needed him. There was something they had to do together.
Flailing his numb stick-limbs, he began to fight his way back towards the surface. The green grew brighter. The light drew him. . .
He'd nearly reached the Crystal Clear flow of the top side of the river when something made him look down— and he saw them. Far below, two blink white eyes staring up at him.
What were they? River pearls? The eyes of one of the FacelessOnes?
The prophecy. The riddle. "One of crystal clear flow."
His chest was bursting. If he didn't get air soon, he would die. But if he didn't swim down now and grasp those eyes—whatever they were— he would lose them forever.
He doubled over and kicked with all his might, pushing himself down.
The cold made his eyes ache, but he didn't dare shut them. Closer and closer he swam. . . He reached out towards the bottom— he grasped a handful of icy mud. He had them! No way to make sure— the mud was swirling thick around him, and he couldn't risk opening his fist in case they slipped free— but he could feel the weight of them dragging him down. He twisted round and kicked back towards the light.
But his strength was failing, and he rose with agonizing slowness, hampered by his sodden clothes. More lights flashed in his head. More watery laughter. Too late. Whispered the faceless-ones. You'll never reach the light now! Stay here with us, boy with the drifting soul. Stay here forever...
something grabbed his leg and pulled him down.
He kicked. Couldn't get free. Something was gripping his legging just above the ankle. He twisted round to wrench himself free, but the grip held tight. He tried to draw his katana from its sheath, but he'd tightened the strap around the hilt before starting the crossing, and he couldn't get it loose.
Anger boiled up inside him. Get away from me! he shouted inside his head. You can't have me— and you can't have the World Soul!
Fury lent him strength and he kicked out savagely. The grip on his leg broke. Something gave a gurgling howl and sank into darkness. Bennu shot upwards. He exploded from the water, gulping great chests of air. Through the glare of the sun he glimpsed a sheet of green river, and an overhang branch approaching him fast. With his free hand he reached for it—and missed. Pain exploded in his head.
He knew that he'd been knocked out. He could still feel the slap of the river, and hear his rasping breath—but his eyes were open and staring, and he couldn't see.
Panic seized him. Not blind, he thought. No, no please, not blind.