The Spellcoats by Diana Wynne Jones Page B

night’s sleep tonight, or we’ll be as bad as he is.”
    â€œIt didn’t seem like being tired,” I said. I felt very foolish.
    â€œWell, it wasn’t Mother,” said Hern. “She’s dead, I admit I made the same mistake for a second, but don’t say a word to Robin, will you? You’ll only upset her.”
    I agreed to that. So many things upset Robin. We went back among the rushes and helped Robin get supper. Duck appeared when it was ready. Hern gave him a look in the firelight, but he did not say anything, and Duck sat down hugging the Lady and said nothing either.
    Gull would not eat. He lay in the boat, growing colder and colder, and would only say, “Why can’t we go on?” Robin heaped all our blankets around him, but he never grew warm. Nor would he eat in the morning. But at least he was quiet that night. Duck gave him the Lady without being asked, and we had hours of good sleep.
    We went on down the lake next day. By the middle of the morning we could see the high purple land standing right across our way, and we thought it was the end of the lake. But we could see no way for the River to flow out. Hern said that it must flow out, since the current in the middle of the lake was still strong. We agreed that we would eat lunch somewhere on the high purple shore and then look for the rest of the River. So as the land approached, Hern took down the sail, intending to row to the rocks on the shore. For all our knowledge of the River, we were fooled into doing that. The lake looked smooth and calm, and the rocks ahead were so vast that we did not see how fast we were moving until the sail was down. Then we saw we were not stopping. The crates and barrels and driftwood went with us at the same speed as before, and the mountain strode toward us.
    â€œOh good!” said Gull, lying in the bottom of the boat. “We’re really getting on.”
    â€œI shall hit him!” said Hern, with his mouth pulled like a grin. “I shall really hit him!” He lugged the oars aboard again, because they did nothing but turn us this way and that, and fell on the sail, trying to hoist it again.
    â€œDon’t do that!” Robin and I shrieked. The wind had gone, because we were right under the mountain, and the boat tipped horribly. Hern looked up to argue, but by then we were speeding straight at a huge cliff, and he put his arm over his head instead.
    It looked as if we were going to crash into that cliff. You think a great many things very quickly when you see death coming. I thought: It’s a bad thing, the way Gull wants to get on! Bad, bad! and at the same time I wondered why there were no great waves dashing on the rock ahead. The water was all smooth, stretched smooth and rapid, with only a few yellow bubbles at the edge.
    And then jerk. I thought my head had come off my neck. The boat turned in a wrench as the current turned, and we were thrown past the cliff into a narrow gap of roaring water.
    Here the rushing was as loud as the night the floods came, with echo upon echo shouting within that. The big walls of rock were so high on either side that there seemed almost no light, and the sky a ribbon high above. The look I snatched at it showed great trees growing in the sides of the rock, looking small as bushes. But I could not keep my eyes off the River. I could not have done as Hern did and taken the keel up. I hung on to the sides of the boat and stared at the foaming water. It was crushed and tormented into a small space with great rocks in it, which tattered it into riding waves, threw it in spouts, and spun it in glassy circles. Our boat spun and tossed and raced with it. One moment we were in the center, white under the light, and the next we were in black water at the sides of the gorge. Far down below in the black water, I could see ferns and grass growing, deep down on the sides of the cliff. I tried to shut my eyes—it was so deep—and