Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [137]
That was a mistake.
I was fishing when we took the first casualty of our river journey. Calling on the skills of my youth, I’d gone a few dozen yards downstream with Bao, summoning the twilight once we were out of sight. Lying on my belly on a rocky promontory, I coaxed the bottom-dwelling whiskered fish into my hands, grabbing them and tossing them to Bao, who stuffed them deftly into a reed creel.
While immersed in the business of procuring food, we heard cries from the campsite behind us.
Bao and I exchanged a glance. “We’d better go,” he said.
I nodded, releasing the twilight. “Don’t forget the fish.”
When we reached the campsite, we found one of our men on the ground, his chest heaving as he struggled futilely for air—Eric Morand, a mercenary from Camlach province.
My own throat tightened. “What happened?”
“Went gathering firewood and got bitten by a snake.” Eyahue nodded at Temilotzin, who held up a headless, writhing length of crimson-banded serpent, his broad face dispassionate. “I told you, if it’s pretty to the eye, don’t touch it.”
I stared in horror at Eric Morand, who stared back at me with wide, stricken eyes. “Can’t we do something? Anything?”
Eyahue shook his head. “Nothing but give him the mercy blow,” he said gently. “Do you want it?”
Kneeling beside the Camaeline mercenary, I asked him if he wanted the mercy blow. “Can you blink?” I asked, tears streaming down my face. “If you can, blink once for yes.”
His eyes closed once, and opened.
I beckoned to Temilotzin, who stooped beside me. He placed one hand on Eric Morand’s brow with unexpected tenderness. With the other, he placed the tip of his obsidian dagger over his heart, driving it home with one efficient thrust.
Eric Morand went still forever.
A stark mood settled over the camp that evening. It was impossible to dig a grave in the dense, root-packed floor of the jungle, so we built a cairn instead, gathering stones and heaping them over our fallen comrade’s body. Once again, Septimus Rousse gave the invocation. This time, there were no fond jests.
No one had much of an appetite for the fish I’d caught, but we roasted them and ate them anyway, doling out a few bites for everyone, aware that we couldn’t afford to waste food. The cairn loomed in the gathering darkness, a harsh reminder of the day’s tragedy.
When we launched our canoes the next morning, I felt as though Eric Morand’s stricken gaze followed us from beneath the cairn, watching as we journeyed farther down the river, abandoning him.
And when the rain began to fall, it almost seemed appropriate—at least at first. But instead of tapering off by mid-day as it had in the past, it only rained harder and harder. The placid river began to swell, the current increasing until we were no longer paddling to propel our vessels, but merely to control them. The rain fell in sheets, blinding us and throwing a thick veil over the world.
Through the downpour, I could dimly make out Eyahue’s canoe ahead of ours veering sharply to the left. In the prow, Bao loosed a shout of alarm at the sight of a nearly submerged boulder.
“Left! Left, as hard as you can!” he yelled.
Paddling madly, we managed to pass it, calling out warnings to the vessels behind us. Ahead of us, Eyahue pointed frantically toward the shore. It took all our strength to paddle hard enough to cut across the current.
Alas, not everyone behind us was as fortunate.
I was helping drag our canoe ashore when the cries went up on the river. Shielding my eyes against the rain with one hand, I saw that one of the vessels had struck the boulder and overturned. Free of its burden, the canoe shot away downriver, carried by the swift current, leaving four men struggling against it.
Others were trying to help, but it was impossible to fight the current long enough to drag them into the canoes. Two of the men began swimming hard toward the shore, making slow