The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [72]
“Step in time, gentlemen,” John yelled as he picked up his pace. Up ahead, Aven, Laura Glue, and Bert had nearly reached the nearby high ground, which, in just a few moments, would be an island.
The sound of the water was so deafening now that they could no longer hear the cries of their pursuers, but a stolen glance back told them that a number of Croatoans had indeed followed them out onto the sand.
The force of the water was pushing a wall of air before it that nearly knocked them off of their feet, and the spray from the foam had already soaked them to the skin before they reached the cluster of rocks where the other three were waiting anxiously.
John reached the rocks first, then Jack, and finally, the water crashing down at his heels, Charles. Just inches away, a flood of biblical proportions filled the expanse between them and Croatoan Island and as far as the eye could see.
The noise it brought was a sound of ragged beauty. The harmonies of a wall of water falling into a narrow space speak of chaos, and strength, and inevitability, and they are beautiful in their terrible splendor.
The Croatoans foolish enough to pursue them didn’t even have time to scream before being swept away, while on the opposite shore, Burton and the rest of their pursuers had been completely cut off by the thundering waves.
“Mustn’t we keep running?” Charles said to the others, who were watching the roiling waters rush by. “It’s going to settle in a few minutes, and they’ll just be after us again.”
Laura Glue giggled, shook her head, and pointed.
Out in the water was one of the Croatoans, who’d been identified at the council as Jinty. He was nearly seven feet tall, and his great stride had allowed him to far outpace the others, trapping him in the onrushing tide. But instead of pushing forward, he seemed to be frantically trying to get back to the dry shore where Burton and the rest had stopped.
He was mere yards from safety when a great beast, which resembled a porpoise the size of a London bus, snatched him between jaws filled with needlelike teeth.
“That’s jus’ one of the little ones,” said Laura Glue. “Until the tide goes out again tonight, no one’s going to be chasing us.”
In a flash the girl’s expression shifted from triumph to one of misery. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “I’ve lost my flower!”
Jack placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Laura Glue. We don’t need it anymore—not while we have you. You saved us again, didn’t you?”
He bent down and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “That, my dear girl, was a kiss,” he said.
Laura Glue blushed. “Jamie’s kisses are prettier to look at,” she said, smiling, “but that was okay too, f’r a Longbeard.”
The companions moved farther along the shoreline and began to explore the island the girl had led them to. It was not dissimilar to Croatoan Island, but it seemed…older. More ancient. The trees were more deciduous than evergreen, and they radiated a scent of antiquity, as if they’d always been there. As if they’d always be there.
But of all their reactions to this new topography, Aven’s was the most profound. In direct contrast to their surroundings, she actually seemed…younger.
And it was then that her father realized where they were.
“This is it,” Bert said, “isn’t it? This is Jamie and Peter’s Nether Land.”
“I think so,” said Aven, looking at Laura Glue, who was happily bobbing her head in agreement. “It feels right. I can’t say for certain until we’ve gone farther inland.”
“This way!” Laura Glue exclaimed, grabbing Aven and Jack by the hands. “Follow me! I know the way!”
With one last look across to the island where shortly before they’d been held as prisoners, the companions stepped into the broadleaf forest and disappeared into the Nether Land.
Laura Glue marched them through increasingly dense foliage, often taking pathways that seemed to the others to be illogically convoluted. But she insisted that the twists and turns and switchbacks were necessary, and Aven generally agreed.
“The Lost Boys have