The navigator by Eoin McNamee

her feet again, and all the time he felt the cold dread stealing over him, weighing down his limbs so that it was an effort to lift his feet.
    Suddenly, Owen and Cati broke free into a clearing that seemed to lead down to the river. Owen turned. Less than fifty meters away he saw the two Harsh and stopped. The force of their presence dragged at him. Cati sank to her knees as Owen turned toward them. The Harsh made no effort to move nearer. Icy vapor from the frozen ground at their feet curled round them, so they seemed to float in the air. Owen's gaze was drawn to the places where their faces should have been: the blank white spaces. But there seemed to be a mouth to whisper cruel and seductive words, and eyes that bored into him and demanded surrender.
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    In the distance, Owen heard a shout and knew that the defenders on the other side of the river had seen them. There was a crash and a burst of blue flame close to the river and then another one, but the Harsh did not stir. With one last desperate effort, Owen tore his gaze away. He reached down and caught Cati under the arms. Half dragging and half carrying her, he stumbled down the slope toward the river. Though he dared not look around, he knew that the Harsh had not moved. There was another burst of blue flame and Owen heard men's voices shouting encouragement to them. Even Cati seemed to hear and forced herself to run toward the river. They were just short of the water now and Owen realized they had to cover more ground upstream to reach the log crossing. He risked a glance backward--the Harsh had still not moved. They were almost clear.
    Suddenly he felt Cati slow and stop and sink to the ground once again with a moan. Two more Harsh stood less than a hundred meters ahead, blocking off all access to the log and approaching slowly.
    Owen looked round wildly. They couldn't go back, they couldn't go forward, and they couldn't stay where they were. There was only one way out. He went toward the low, ruined river wall and peered over it. The water below was black and deep, but at least it would carry them away from the Harsh. He dragged Cati toward the wall.
    The Harsh seemed to realize what he was doing and started to move faster. Owen lifted Cati onto the wall and looked down again. He felt sick. He knew that if he
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    dropped Cari into the water, she would not be able to look after herself. She was too lost in fear. He heard a shout from the trees across the way. The bearded man from the Convoke was sitting astride the branch of a tree, shouting, and Owen knew he was telling them to jump into the water. But even summoning up all his strength, even feeling the frost stealing through his jacket and into his flesh, even with his new friend whimpering in his arms, Owen could not do it. And somehow from the knowledge that he could not do it, he drew some strength. He reached to the ground and found a large branch. Turning his back on the river, and pushing Cati behind him, he stood to face the Harsh.
    Owen could feel the cold attention of the Harsh on him. And he heard a cold voice inside his head say a single word. Mortmain. Then, as he turned, one of the creatures opened the white maw where its mouth should have been and Owen was hit by a frozen blast of what felt like the coldest sleet he had ever experienced--sleet like frozen knives, cutting through his clothes with a noise like the howling of a terrible wind. Cati cried out. He flung the branch toward the Harsh and saw it turn in the air, freeze, and splinter into a thousand pieces, and then he was driven away from the river.
    Somehow Owen managed to turn his back to the blast and wrap his arms around Cati's cold shoulders as the blast grew fiercer. He gasped for air, but it seemed too cold to breathe. He knew then that all was lost. He felt deep calm settle over him. Then the blast stopped.
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    Owen lay on the ground panting for breath. It was seconds before he could turn his head to see what had happened. The Harsh