In a world of steamships and Progress, no one who sails due south across the Wild Sea ever returns.
No one knows why.
Dale Mortensen intends to solve the mystery. With the help of an old sailor and a reformed playboy searching for his missing sweetheart, he locates a captain and crew ambitious—not to mention crazy—enough to undertake the journey across the Wild Sea.
The Infinity and her crew sail south, but the truth of what really lies on the other side of the horizon is more amazing—and terrifying—than anything they can imagine.
It’s the adventure of a lifetime—and it may just get Dale and his friends killed.
Find out how this Young Adult steampunk adventure unfolds chapter-by-chapter every Thursday! Click here to start from the beginning. Or if you want to read it at your own pace, buy the ebook for $6.99 from Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords or Sony, or get it as a trade paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Book Depository.
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HORIZON
E. R. PASKEY
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
IT WAS DIFFICULT TO SEE THROUGH THE murky water, but Dale dimly made out Raphael and Mountebank locked in a struggle with several…creatures. He could not see them well enough to determine what they were, but his mind automatically jumped to the only logical solution. Streamers.
He wished Riley had gotten around to showing him those drawings just so he had some idea of what he was up against.
He swam toward the knot of struggling humans and Streamers, clutching the knife in one hand and the rope in the other. Air. They need air. He had to get both Raphael and Elena’s father back up to the surface for at least a breath of air before they drowned and all of this effort was for naught.
As he drew closer, he saw that the Streamers were ghostly creatures, gliding around the two humans they had trapped with a dexterity that could only come from possessing fish tails. He frowned in the water; there were far too many arms involved.
Warned by the ripples in the water around them, one of the Streamers turned as he approached. It had large, bulbous eyes, and long, thin ribbons of fin streamed from the back of its head, the shape of which vaguely reminded Dale of a lamp fish. The Streamer opened its mouth in a snarl, revealing a mouth full of jagged rows of teeth. Four webbed hands reached for Dale, intent on dragging him down to the depths of the river—
—and retreated when he slashed viciously at them with the knife. The Streamer howled in the water—a sound that reminded Dale of a horrifying version of whale song—and darted sideways, trailing fluorescent blood through the water.
This drew the attention of the other Streamers; they paused in their assault of Raphael and Mr. Mountebank to reassess the situation. Dale took advantage of those precious few seconds to close the remaining distance between him and his friends and stab the closest Streamer, which was chewing on Raphael’s shoulder on their way down to the bottom. Raphael was fighting it off as best he could without losing his grip on his future father-in-law.
Dale ripped the Streamer’s side open before punching it in the face as hard as he could. This Streamer, too, let out an awful screech that seemed to vibrate the very water around them, and fell away. Dale grabbed Raphael’s shoulder with the hand that had the rope looped around it and kicked up toward the surface of the river as hard as he could. As Raphael still had a good grip on Mr. Mountebank, this towed the older man up with them.
The three of them had just enough time to gasp for breath before the Streamers attacked again.
Webbed hands closed around Dale’s ankles, yanking him back beneath the water, and needle-sharp teeth chomped down on his leg. He almost shouted in pain, but managed to grit his teeth and keep his mouth closed. Another Streamer darted toward him, its mouth a gaping maw. He slashed at its chest and throat with his knife and it fell away with a ghastly cry.
Raphael and Mr. Mountebank were both bleeding freely now; their darker blood mixed with that of the Streamers’ in the water. Sensing Mr. Mountebank was the weakest of the three humans, two more Streamers latched onto him. Webbed fingers pried him away from Raphael, and when the younger man tried to fight them off, they savagely attacked him.
Dale’s chest was burning now; he badly needed oxygen. He kicked another Streamer in the face and shot up to the surface long enough to suck in a deep breath. A plan. We need a plan. He dove back down in time to see Raphael struggling to reach Mr. Mountebank, who was being dragged into the river depths by no less than three Streamers.
Slashing wildly around him with the knife, Dale swam over to Raphael and wrapped the rope around him several times. He knotted it quickly and tugged on it twice before punching another Streamer closing in on them. He knew Hawk and Corwin would reel Raphael up to the surface. He then swam after Mr. Mountebank, whose struggles were becoming weaker and weaker with every passing second.
Deprived of all but one of their prizes, and with many of their number nursing serious injuries, the Streamers decided to cut their losses. They retreated into the depths, towing Mr. Mountebank along with them, and Dale simply could not keep up. Elena’s father vanished into the murky river waters, his body now quite limp, and Dale knew he had only seconds to get back to the surface before he, too, drowned.
Grief and anger welled up inside him, along with a flare of panicked desperation. His lungs burned; his need for air was so intense that it was all he could do to keep himself from opening his mouth and inhaling a lungful of deadly water. He fought his way up through the water as fast as he could, his strokes becoming more and more claw-like with every second. Black spots danced before his eyes.
I’m not going to make it.
Even as the thought crossed his mind, Dale’s frantic, questing fingers touched air. His head broke through the water and he dragged in breath after breath of damp air. The burning in his chest subsided, leaving behind a sharp ache. Treading water, he gained his bearings—he was much farther out in the river than he had been the last time he surfaced—and struck out for the deck.
“Dale!” Hawk snatched up the rope, quickly coiled it, and threw it as far as it would go. The end plopped into the water two yards from Dale.
He had nearly reached it when he felt a ripple in the water. That was all the warning he had before several webbed hands wrapped around him and yanked him underwater again. In the chaos, Dale lost his grip on the knife.
As he went down for the third time, Dale realized one thing—he had been attacked by a lone Streamer. It had him in a bear hug with all four arms, and was swimming toward the river bottom for all it was worth. His blood almost coagulated in his veins. It knows I need oxygen to breathe. It’s deliberately trying to drown me.
The Streamer was also wary of the knife—and had purposefully targeted his knife hand to knock it away from him.
Dale clenched his jaw. I am not dying tonight. Not after everything they had gone through to get to this point.
As far as Dale could tell, the Streamer was a large male, but he was still physically bigger. There are advantages to being six and a half feet tall. He forced himself to go limp in the Streamer’s deadly embrace, hoping to throw the Streamer off and lull it into a brief state of false security, before he flexed his muscles and broke the Streamer’s hold on him.
The Streamer’s tail gave it a considerable advantage over Dale’s two legs when it came to swimming…but when it came to fighting? It can’t do this. Twisting, Dale grabbed two of the Streamer’s arms in a vice grip and kicked it in the tail with one of his legs.
The creature emitted a terrible, vibrating screech that hurt his ears, but Dale gritted his teeth—and continued to hold his breath. He let go of one arm long enough to grab a handful of the ribbons of fin flowing out of the back of its head and yank as hard as he could. The Streamer screeched again and tried to bite him, but Dale punched it in the nose and it reared back.
Can’t stay down much longer. He kicked at the Streamer with all his might and broke away, immediately heading back up to the surface.
For a few terrifying seconds, Dale fully expected the Streamer to attack him again, but nothing happened. Good. It’s given up.
That did not, however, mean that it would not return in a moment with friends. He kicked harder, forcing his tiring, aching muscles to propel him through the water faster. Come on, come on!
Breaking through the water again, he looked around to see where he was. He was closer to the deck this time, but much farther down from his friends than he had been before.
“Dale!”
Hawk’s shout drew Dale’s eyes left in time for him to see a rope hit the water in front of him. With a profound sense of gratitude, he grabbed it and began to pull himself in hand-over-hand, still kicking to propel himself through the water. Hawk and Corwin were both reeling him in from their end.
A moment later, the two men heaved Dale up out of the river and he collapsed gratefully on the deck, breathing heavily. Raphael lay a few feet away, being tended to by both Naya and Elena. His shirt had been shredded, revealing bleeding, lacerated skin on his shoulders and arms where the Streamers had started eating him. He raised his head, however, to fix dark, pleading eyes on Dale. “Dale, is he—”
One look from Dale and he fell silent, his mouth twisting with pain and grief.
“Mr. Mortensen,” said Elena shakily. Her green eyes were wide and fearful in the darkness. “Where is my father?”
“I—” Dale coughed up a little water. “I’m sorry, Miss Elena.” He grimaced, feeling the ache in his chest intensify. “I couldn’t—save him.”
A sob caught in her throat. “They’re eating him alive!”
Dale shook his head. For a split-second, he debated saying anything, but honesty and exhaustion won out. “He drowned while I was trying to get to him.”
Covering her mouth with the hand that was not pressing down on one of Raphael’s wounds, Elena bowed her head. Then she swallowed heavily and straightened to look up at Hawk and Corwin. “We must get Raphael to a doctor.”
Dale nodded wearily and let his head fall back against the wooden planks of the deck. The next thing he knew, Naya filled his field of vision as she dropped to her knees beside him.
“Dale, are you all right?” There were tears in her voice, matching the tears in her dark eyes.
He tried to smile. “I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.” Her hands fluttered over him, gently pulling back lacerated cloth to reveal the injuries beneath.
“I’ll live.”
Something wet splattered on his cheek. A teardrop. “When you went under the water…” A sob caught in Naya’s throat. “I was so frightened.”
Dale mustered the energy to bring a hand up to cup the back of her neck, burying his fingers in her curly hair. “I’ll be all right.” He stared up at her; even in the darkness he could see how much she cared for him. Before, he had almost convinced himself it was true, but now he knew for certain. She loves me.
Hawk’s voice washed over all of them like a bucket of freezing water. “We’ve got to get out of here before somebody comes to investigate the ruckus,” he said sharply. “I don’t suppose you propped the door open, Miss Azlynn?”
“I did.” Naya shuddered. “I may have temporarily lost my mind, but I’m not stupid.”
Now that he had time to think of it, Dale was frankly amazed no one had yet stuck their heads out of a window—or that Sivak had not had someone keeping an eye on them…just to make sure the Streamers did in fact eat them. With Naya’s help, he carefully sat up and then lumbered to his feet. He stood there on the deck, swaying slightly.
Corwin and Hawk, meanwhile, were getting Raphael to his feet. It would take both of them to get him out of here; his injuries were too severe for him to keep himself upright. He was still muttering broken apologies to Elena, who was unsuccessfully trying to shush him.
They made a strange procession, working their way down the deck toward the door. When they reached it, they found that the door was shut—and apparently locked.
Naya paled dramatically. “I don’t understand.” Fear lent a sharp edge to her voice. “I jammed a piece of wood under the door to keep it open!”
It figures. Dale shook his head. “Somebody must have come along and shut it.”
“And ignored the sounds of us fighting for our lives?” Hawk checked his boots and made a low, frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “I can’t open it. Took my lock picks when they jumped us.”
“We’d best figure it out fast,” said Corwin grimly. “Avarez is bleeding out.”
“It is not that bad,” protested Raphael, but no one save Elena paid any attention to him.
“I’ve had an idea.” Corwin nodded to Hawk. “We need to get to another door.”
“Up or down?” replied Hawk.
“Doesn’t matter.”
They chose to head down, away from the blood-soaked planks of this portion of the deck. When they reached the next door, Corwin said, “Help me put him down.” He and Hawk lowered Raphael down to the deck and then Corwin approached the door and began to pound on it.
Dale held his breath, staring at the door hard enough to bore holes through it. Please, someone hear him. Come to the door. It occurred to him that a fearful individual might well suppose that Streamers had somehow found their way to the door and were battering away at it for all they were worth, but he hoped not. Hear us, he demanded silently. Open the door.
Beside him, Naya was muttering the same thing under her breath. “Come on, open the door. Please.”
Dale glanced down at her curly hair, his heart swelling in spite of the danger in which they still found themselves. He wanted to know how she had found them, and what had made her brave such close proximity to the river, but they had no time for that. Later, he promised himself. He would have a chance to talk to her later.
For now, he did his best to support his own weight and pulled her closer to drop a kiss on her hair. “Thank you, Naya,” he murmured softly.
Her fingers tightened in the wet fabric of his shirt. “I was so frightened, Dale.”
“It’ll be all right now.” It would be—Dale intended to make certain of it. Dead certain.
Corwin continued to pound his fists against the heavily reinforced door. After a good five minutes, a deeply suspicious, if muffled, voice came from the other side. “Who’s out there? Who is it?”
“Let us in!” bellowed Corwin. “We’ve been trapped out here!”
“We?” questioned the muffled voice, sounding even more suspicious.
“My party and I were trapped out here. We have ladies with us. For God’s sake, man, open the door!”
The sounds of the door being unlocked and unbarred were sweet music to Dale’s ears.
Seconds later, the door was flung open and a dim swath of light illuminated the sopping wet group anxiously waiting to be let back into Rift City. A trio of men blocked the way, their hands curled into fists.
“Thank you,” said Corwin graciously. “We greatly appreciate your kindness.” He stepped back long enough to sling a supporting arm around Raphael before he and Hawk helped the other man through the door. Elena followed them, wringing her hands, while Dale and Naya brought up the rear.
“Blimey,” muttered one of the men. “What happened to you lot?”
“You look like you had a run-in with—” The second man could not bring himself to finish the sentence.
Dale suppressed a snort. “We did,” he said shortly.
Ahead of him, Corwin and Hawk shot each other alarmed looks.
As he stood there, bleeding and dripping wet, it occurred to Dale that perhaps the knowledge of what really happened to people who Disappeared ought to be broken to the rest of Rift City in a different way, but he was past caring. If not for Naya, they would be dead now—as dead as Elena’s father. He narrowed hazel eyes at the three men. “We found out what happens to people who Disappear.”
They all gaped at him.
“Dale—” began Hawk, but he fell silent as Dale continued speaking.
“If you want to know what happened, we’ll be happy to tell you, but we need some help first.” Dale nodded to Raphael, who looked torn between pain and bemusement.
For a moment, the trio of men could only gape at Dale and his companions. Then one of them—the man who had opened the door—turned to the others. “My brother Disappeared,” he said grimly. He turned back to Dale. “How can I help?”
“We need a doctor,” said Dale.
Hawk seemed to decide that if they were in for a penny, they might as well be in for a pound. “And we need to get word to the Revolution. It’s important.”
“The Revolution?” breathed the shortest of the three men.
“Aye,” answered Dale.
“You’re mad, the lot of you,” snapped the second man. “What’s the Revolution going to do against the Families, except bring down more suffering on our heads?”
The man who had opened the door rounded on him. “Run along home, then,” he said coolly. “Get out now while you can, but don’t you dare breathe a word of this to anyone. D’you hear me?”
The other man stared at him for a long moment before dropping his eyes, turning on his heel, and departing.
When he was out of earshot, the shortest man let out a low whistle. “We’d best be getting out of here, then. Hamish is a good man at heart, but his nerves are worse than my old granny’s.” He nodded to Dale’s group. “Name’s Flag.”
“And I’m Terry,” said the man who had opened the door. He looked apologetic. “I’d offer to take you to my house while we get a doctor, but, well, Hamish knows where I live.”
“It’s all right,” said Hawk. “I know a place.”
Find out how this Young Adult steampunk adventure unfolds chapter-by-chapter every Thursday! Or if you want to keep reading right now, buy the ebook for $6.99 from Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords or Sony, or get it as a trade paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Book Depository.
Copyright © 2013 E. R. Paskey