he?”
“Safe,” the sea-woman replied. “Do not concern yourself with him. Worry about yourself. You are halfway between your world and mine. I have stayed back to show you the way home.”
“Wait a minute; you pulled Peter off that cliff?” All she had seen was Peter holding hands with a thickening of the fog, but this felt like the same being. Maybe it could take whatever shape it wanted, like something worse than a shark-woman. Rosemary swallowed hard, then squared her shoulders, and faced up to her. “You can’t just take him away. That’s kidnapping!”
“I am taking him home. You need to go to your home. Look around you.”
The tone of her voice gave Rosemary no choice but to look around.
She was sitting on a rock at the base of a line of cliffs stretching along the shore of an endless lake. The world was bathed in perpetual twilight, with no sun or stars in the sky. The dome overhead was a smooth navy blue, broken only at the cliff tops where clouds hung as thick as the fog around Clarksbury.
“That pathway will take you home.” The seawoman pointed to a gully cut into the cliff. There was a fin growing along the back of her arm. “It is difficult terrain, but you should make it. Don’t look back, for the path will vanish behind you.”
Rosemary shivered in the steady wind. “I’m not leaving without Peter.”
The woman’s smile wasn’t sympathetic. “Suit yourself. Good luck. It is a cold wind.” She walked backwards into the lake. “This place echoes memories. Don’t be ensnared.”
“Hey!” Rosemary scrambled to her feet. “Come back here!”
The sea-woman cast up her arms and the lake rose.
The wave dodged around her and charged at Rosemary. She barely had time to clutch at her glasses before the wall of water smashed her into the cliff face. Rosemary struggled against the suck of the undertow. Stones cracked against her legs and arms. Her lungs begged for air once more. Finally, the water receded, leaving Rosemary clinging to the flat stone, gasping.
The woman was gone. The only sound was the roar of the waves, and the whistle of the wind.
When she recovered her senses, Rosemary pulled away from the shoreline. She sat on a stone and tried to dry her glasses with her sopping cardigan before she realized that was silly. Blood trickled from a cut on her knee, and her head ached. The wind was so cold it burned her skin. And somewhere a bell tolled.
“Well,” she said at last. “That went well.” She sat shivering as she took recent events apart and put them back together again, trying to think of what to do next.
Around her, the fog that had been at the top of the cliffs descended, wrapping around her. The rocks seemed to dissolve like candle wax.
That woman had pulled her out of a lake. Not the same lake they had fallen into, but a lake nonetheless. And the woman had stepped back into that lake before leaving. Then there was the path the woman wanted her to take, without Peter. The direct opposite to that path was the lake.
That settled it. She had to get across that lake.
But how? A boat?
The bell tolled again.
Wait a minute. Where is that bell coming from?
She looked around, holding herself against the cold, but she was surrounded by fog now. Waves rolled in from nothing and broke at her feet. But the sound of the bell was as plain as day. It echoed from the cliff face behind her, and it was getting closer.
Then black burst out from the white: a threemasted schooner in full sail, its prow already above her. Rosemary rolled away, yelling, and covered her head. The ship bucked like a wounded animal. Wood crunched against stone. Rigging fell around her, bombarding her with sound. There was a snap of ropes and the plosh of objects hitting water. The masts toppled with the sound of timber, and Rosemary heard the screams of men.
Then the screaming stopped. Rosemary chanced a look up, and then stumbled to her feet. She gaped.
There was no sign of the ship that had broken
“Safe,” the sea-woman replied. “Do not concern yourself with him. Worry about yourself. You are halfway between your world and mine. I have stayed back to show you the way home.”
“Wait a minute; you pulled Peter off that cliff?” All she had seen was Peter holding hands with a thickening of the fog, but this felt like the same being. Maybe it could take whatever shape it wanted, like something worse than a shark-woman. Rosemary swallowed hard, then squared her shoulders, and faced up to her. “You can’t just take him away. That’s kidnapping!”
“I am taking him home. You need to go to your home. Look around you.”
The tone of her voice gave Rosemary no choice but to look around.
She was sitting on a rock at the base of a line of cliffs stretching along the shore of an endless lake. The world was bathed in perpetual twilight, with no sun or stars in the sky. The dome overhead was a smooth navy blue, broken only at the cliff tops where clouds hung as thick as the fog around Clarksbury.
“That pathway will take you home.” The seawoman pointed to a gully cut into the cliff. There was a fin growing along the back of her arm. “It is difficult terrain, but you should make it. Don’t look back, for the path will vanish behind you.”
Rosemary shivered in the steady wind. “I’m not leaving without Peter.”
The woman’s smile wasn’t sympathetic. “Suit yourself. Good luck. It is a cold wind.” She walked backwards into the lake. “This place echoes memories. Don’t be ensnared.”
“Hey!” Rosemary scrambled to her feet. “Come back here!”
The sea-woman cast up her arms and the lake rose.
The wave dodged around her and charged at Rosemary. She barely had time to clutch at her glasses before the wall of water smashed her into the cliff face. Rosemary struggled against the suck of the undertow. Stones cracked against her legs and arms. Her lungs begged for air once more. Finally, the water receded, leaving Rosemary clinging to the flat stone, gasping.
The woman was gone. The only sound was the roar of the waves, and the whistle of the wind.
When she recovered her senses, Rosemary pulled away from the shoreline. She sat on a stone and tried to dry her glasses with her sopping cardigan before she realized that was silly. Blood trickled from a cut on her knee, and her head ached. The wind was so cold it burned her skin. And somewhere a bell tolled.
“Well,” she said at last. “That went well.” She sat shivering as she took recent events apart and put them back together again, trying to think of what to do next.
Around her, the fog that had been at the top of the cliffs descended, wrapping around her. The rocks seemed to dissolve like candle wax.
That woman had pulled her out of a lake. Not the same lake they had fallen into, but a lake nonetheless. And the woman had stepped back into that lake before leaving. Then there was the path the woman wanted her to take, without Peter. The direct opposite to that path was the lake.
That settled it. She had to get across that lake.
But how? A boat?
The bell tolled again.
Wait a minute. Where is that bell coming from?
She looked around, holding herself against the cold, but she was surrounded by fog now. Waves rolled in from nothing and broke at her feet. But the sound of the bell was as plain as day. It echoed from the cliff face behind her, and it was getting closer.
Then black burst out from the white: a threemasted schooner in full sail, its prow already above her. Rosemary rolled away, yelling, and covered her head. The ship bucked like a wounded animal. Wood crunched against stone. Rigging fell around her, bombarding her with sound. There was a snap of ropes and the plosh of objects hitting water. The masts toppled with the sound of timber, and Rosemary heard the screams of men.
Then the screaming stopped. Rosemary chanced a look up, and then stumbled to her feet. She gaped.
There was no sign of the ship that had broken
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