Lisa Smedman - Heirs of Prophecy

She heard a flutter of wings behind her as Goldheart flew away. Nervous, she listened for movement in the forest but heard nothing.

With the realization that she was out in the open where she might be spotted by an elf patrol, Larajin decided not to tarry any longer. Touching the locket that hung at her wrist with fingers that were still wet from the lake, she began to pray. First a prayer to Sune, to make her footsteps as light as a lover’s sigh, then a prayer to Hanali Celanil, asking her to make the waters of the lake as firm as a marriage bed.

A nearby splash startled her, but when she looked up, she saw it had only been a fish breaking the surface near where she squatted. The smell of Hanali’s Heart rose from the ripples. Encouraged by the thought that the elf goddess was also listening to her prayers, Larajin quickly pulled off her boots. She stood, and placed her bare foot tentatively on the surface of the lake, testing its resistance.

Before she could step out onto the surface, however, a tickling in her nose and throat made her cough. It felt as if Sune’s warm glow was drying her throat and as if Hanali Celanil’s fragrance was cloying her nostrils to the point where it made her eyes water. Frightened, Larajin found her breathing becoming fast and shallow. That definitely wasn’t part of the spell she’d been trying to cast-what were the goddesses doing?

Telling herself to have faith-the signs of the goddesses’ blessings were all around her-Larajin took a step out onto the lake, but instead of finding solid footing, her foot plunged beneath the surface. Unbalanced, she tumbled into the water.

The fall saved her life. In the same moment that she tumbled forward, an arrow whistled overhead, so close that it plucked at her hair, giving it a painful yank. Had her spell worked, allowing her to step out onto the water’s surface, the arrow would have buried itself in her back. As it was, it cut into the water next to her with a vicious splash.

Breaking the surface, Larajin saw an elf standing next to the forked oak tree-a forest elf, his face shadowed with tattoos, with a powerful short bow in his hand. It must have been his scent that Goldheart had caught just before she growled and flew away.

All of these thoughts flashed through Larajin’s mind in a heartbeat. Meanwhile the elf, in a motion nearly too swift to follow, swept a hand to his quiver and plucked an arrow from it, then nocked it against the bowstring. Seeing an easy target, he took his time, sighting down the length of the arrow.

Larajin did the only thing she could, forcing her body back under the water with a powerful stroke of her hands. The arrow thwooshed down into the water a mere palm’s breadth from her as she turned and swam, keeping below the surface. Then another arrow, and another arrow cut the surface, questing for her.

Forcing herself deeper, she stroked away from the spot where the elf archer stood. As long as she stayed below the surface, the water would slow the arrows, preventing them from reaching her, but with bright moonlight illuminating the lake, the elf would have no trouble spotting her when she resurfaced. With only one meager gasp of air in her lungs, she knew she’d never be able to put enough distance between herself and the archer.

Even so, she resolved to try. She swam on, gradually releasing the air in her lungs, trying to conserve it for as long as possible. Sparkles appeared before her eyes, and a dizziness gripped her, but still she swam on. If she broke the surface at the last possible moment, then immediately dived again, perhaps the elf wouldn’t spot her. But not yet-not just yet…

Larajin swam and swam-and continued to swim long past the moment she should have been gasping for air. That was when she noticed the glow around her nose and mouth and felt the cool trickle of water down her nose and throat.

At first she assumed that the pressure of the water was forcing lake water into her nostrils, but instead of the harsh burning that usually caused, she felt a cool, soothing relief. In wonder, she opened her mouth and swallowed some of the water-and was immediately rewarded with a burst of energy that strengthened her muscles and cleared away the sparkles in her head. With a growing sense of wonder, she blew the water out again-and inhaled.

She was breathing water!

With a laugh that released the few tiny bubbles of air that had been in her lungs, Larajin gave thanks to the goddesses for their blessing. She had prayed for a spell to walk on water, but they had responded instead with what she truly needed: a spell that would save her life.

Swimming was easier than walking, especially with the strength that breathing water gave her. With sure, clean strokes, Larajin headed toward the distant shimmer of moonlight on water-the spot where the bases of the crystalline towers broke the surface.

As she swam, she wondered where Leifander was. Had he said or done something after meeting the patrol that caused them to suspect he had human blood in his veins? Had the same archer who was just shooting at Larajin already taken Leifander’s life?

Realizing that she did not have the answers, Larajin pushed these morbid thoughts firmly out of her mind. There had to be some other explanation for Leifander not having met her, she told herself. But when she thought of one, it was just as unpalatable.

Perhaps, she thought, Leifander had been lying when he said he’d help her try to fulfill Somnilthra’s prophecy and end the war. Leifander could easily pass for a full-blooded elf. The patrol would have received him with open arms, not with a flight of arrows. Had he abandoned Larajin and their quest?

There was no use in thinking about that now. Instead, Larajin had to focus on the task at hand, locating Somnilthra and somehow awakening her.

With smooth, sure strokes, she swam toward the crystalline towers.

Soon the base of one of the towers loomed ahead in the water, shimmering like a crystal, its edges distorted by ripples. As Larajin swam nearer, the water grew colder, eventually reaching the chill temperature of glacial runoff. She shivered and felt her skin prickle with goosebumps.

The lake water was too dark for her to see any details, even with her excellent night vision; for that she would have to break the surface. She hesitated a moment just beneath the surface of the lake, wondering if the transition back to breathing air would be painful-if she would cough and sputter like a drowning person, with a fierce ache in her chest. She summoned her courage and thrust her head above the water.

Miraculously, the lake water she’d drawn into her lungs a moment before turned to air, and she was breathing again. With her first exhalation, she whispered a prayer to the goddesses. Still treading water, she craned her neck to stare up at the closest of the four towers.

Paddling closer, she touched its slippery, cold surface. She pressed a hand to it and felt it give slightly, as if melting back. The towers were just as they had appeared: cold spires of ice, as slippery as inverted icicles. Inside each of them, high above the surface of the lake, Larajin could see dark shapes entombed in the ice-the bodies of elves.

Fortunately, the towers were cracked and craggy, as rough as a freshly splintered rock face, with plenty of handholds and footholds. Climbing shouldn’t be too difficult-but which tower to choose?

Shivering, Larajin realized she’d have to make up her mind soon, or she’d be too chilled to climb. Deciding at last, she chose the tower that had been the last to rise and swam to it. This tower was the smallest of the four, with just four bodies entombed inside it, and thus probably the most recent. If it had indeed grown like an icicle, from base to point, Somnilthra would be lying in repose near its craggy tip. She would probably be the last dark figure, nearly two hundred paces above the surface of the lake.