Unwritten Books 2 - Fathom Five by James Bow Page A

glowed, and then flew apart into a dozen sprites of light that drifted down out of sight.
    Then Fiona’s voice rang in his ears. “ Now it’s your turn, Peter. Come to the edge. ”
    Peter leaned out and looked down. The rock wall stretched below him fifty feet. What looked sheer from the ground was full of outcroppings and protrusions of stone from this perspective. Whitecapped waves lapped at a narrow stone beach.
    Vertigo tugged at him. He staggered back and gripped the wall as best he could with his hands and his back. His breath came in short, sharp gasps.
    But he could hear her voice in his head. “ Come ,” it whispered. “ See, the portal is opening. ”
    The compulsion to look returned. Keeping a hand on the wall, he leaned out and looked down. In the centre of the small cove, the water was bubbling and frothing, as though there was a ship beneath the waves, leaking air.
    “ Come home, Peter .”
    “Peter!”
    Peter whipped around. Rosemary was standing on the ledge with him, her face pale, and the knuckles of her right hand white where she gripped the rocks. She reached out with her left.
    Peter fumbled with his words. “Rosemary, how … go away. Leave me —”
    Rosemary took a step towards him. “Peter, please, you don’t need to do this!”
    “Get out of here,” Peter gasped. “I don’t want you to see me.”
    “I’m not leaving without you!”
    Peter looked down. His knees wobbled. He pitched back into the wall.
    “Rosemary, get out of here!” he yelled. “I have to do this.”
    “No, you don’t!”
    “She’s calling me, Rosemary! I have to go to her!”
    Rosemary shouted over him. “There are people you can talk to. There are other ways you can deal with this! For God’s sake, Peter, don’t jump!”
    Fiona’s voice rang in his ears. “ Don’t listen to her, Peter! ”
    Peter gulped air into his lungs. He pushed away from the rock face and straightened up.
    “Peter!” Rosemary was crying.
    The voice grew dark. “ Enough! Come, Peter! ”
    The vertigo grabbed his legs. He staggered forward, arms cartwheeling. He tilted, beyond his balance, beyond any hope of getting back. He screamed.
    Rosemary leapt forward, grabbing at him. She caught his arm. Peter’s stomach lurched as he saw her feet slip on the leaf-covered edge.
    “No!”
    Peter and Rosemary’s screams echoed as they fell the fifty feet into the water.

C HAPTER F IVE
U PON THE W ATERS
     
    R osemary floundered, struggling for air and light.
    She felt herself rising through the murk, towards a shimmering ceiling. Darkness pushed in on all sides.
    Rosemary rocketed out of the water. She barely had time to breathe before falling back in.
    She flailed and splashed, blind with spray. Hands clasped her arms and hauled her above the waves. The wind broke against her back, breathtakingly cold.
    “Peter!” she gasped.
    “Find your feet,” said a voice like a strict schoolteacher. “Put your feet down!”
    Rosemary found ground beneath her feet. She was waist deep in the cold water. A hand pressed against her back. “Now, walk,” said the stern voice.
    Rosemary tried. Then she bent double and threw up water. The voice sighed and pressed her forward, marching her to the shore.
    They left the water, and Rosemary collapsed onto a flat stone. She curled up into herself, retching.
    “You were a fool to follow us!” It was a woman’s voice, young and sweet as a girl’s, but with an edge of power and age. Rosemary rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. She sat up to stare.
    A woman-creature glared at her with shark’s eyes. She was tall and thin, wearing green robes. Her skin was like sea glass, and her red hair was long enough to cloak her. Hair and robes billowed in the wind. She looked as though the waves would break her, but they didn’t dare.
    “You wake at last.” The sea-woman sneered, baring white triangles of enamel. “Good.”
    “Who … who are you?”
    “Peter’s friend.”
    “Where is