The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [53]
All around she heard frantic splashing and muted shouts from above. Water seeped into her mouth, bitter with silt. Her coat weighed her down, fouled her legs as she tried to swim. A hand caught her arm, rescuer or fellow victim, and she reached for it.
But the flesh she touched was nothing human and whatever held her was dragging her deeper.
She ripped off her mask and summoned a sickly white ghostlight that glowed through the murk. Black eyes paled to pearl in the sudden glare and the creature bared needle teeth in a silent hiss. No seductive siren, this—webbed hands and sea-wrack hair, a mouth twice as wide as a man’s. A finned tail like a sea serpent’s lashed the water, coiling around Isyllt’s legs.
A nakh. She groped for her knife but found only wet silk and scales. Already her chest burned and she fought to keep her mouth shut. Claws scored her flesh. Just take a breath, she thought, wild and reckless. The river will take the pain.
She rallied her scattered wits, abandoned the knife in favor of better weapons. Her ring blazed through her glove, shards of light aimed at the creature’s eyes. It recoiled, letting go of Isyllt’s arm.
It wasn’t alone—at least half a dozen sinuous monsters moved in the water, dragging down other hapless celebrants. Black ribbons of blood twisted on the current.
She kicked up, but the nakh recovered too quickly. Its wide hand closed on her ankle and jerked her down so hard that she nearly gasped. Air leaked from her nose and mouth and dark spots swirled across her eyes.
A splash broke the water above them, a burst of silver bubbles as someone dove into the canal. Isyllt kicked at the nakh, slammed her heel against the side of its head and wished for heavy boots. It snapped at her and she barely jerked her foot away in time to keep all her toes.
A voice carried through the water, clear and echoing with magic, though Isyllt didn’t understand the words. The nakh flinched and released her leg. Its kin let go of their prey as well. Another shout and they turned and glided down, vanishing into the darkness below.
Isyllt’s light faltered and died; the current had her now, pulling her on. Then someone grabbed her hand and she began to swim, clawing the water in desperation.
Her head broke the surface and she gasped a heartbeat too soon, swallowing a bitter mouthful. Someone else caught her, dragged her onto stone steps and let her collapse in a sodden, coughing heap.
She raked her hair from her face, blinked grit from her eyes. Adam stood beside her, still mostly dry. The current had carried them away from the plaza, but she could still hear the screams and sobbing.
“Who went into the water?” she asked.
“Zhirin. She’s still in there.”
As he spoke, the choppy surface of the canal bulged, and the girl rose, water and magic sluicing off her in shining streams. The water cradled her, carried her to the steps.
Isyllt pushed herself up and winced; her ankle ached where the nakh had yanked on it. “How did you do that?”
Zhirin smiled. “I am the river’s daughter.” For a moment her voice was changed—older, deeper. Isyllt shivered.
“What happened to the nakh?”
“I sent them away, back to the bay.” She shook her head, and the echo of the river vanished. “They should never have been here—the inner canals are warded.”
“Not any longer, it seems. The Dai Tranh knows its business.”
Footsteps approached, and she turned to see the fox running toward them. “Do explosions always attend you?” He lifted off his mask, revealing sweat-sheened tawny skin and tangled curls. The man from the fabric shop. Kohl smeared around his eyes, trailing black tears down his cheek.
“Not usually. I think the city has a sense of humor.” As if in answer, the clouds opened with a sigh and warm rain misted down. At least the city wouldn’t burn.
“If this keeps up, one might suspect a connection.”
Isyllt’s eyes narrowed. “One might say the same to you.”
His smile stretched, wry and crooked. “One might. I only wanted to make sure you didn’t drown.” He bowed, his coat glittering