Stranded in the Rapids

The next day unfolded in a pattern identical to the one preceding it. The forest stretched on endlessly in every direction, a monotonous sea of green with no shore in sight. Wells’s training felt much the same; Cirus remained perpetually dissatisfied with his magical progress, pushing him relentlessly, while Elrin’s nightly swordsmanship lessons only compounded his frustration.

Three more days bled into one another, each a mirror of the last. Throughout those grueling hours, Wells became certain of one thing: he was an abysmal swordsman. To Elrin’s growing consternation, he still hadn’t mastered a basic guard, despite them working for an hour or more each evening. By the end of every day, Wells was left exhausted, disheartened, and utterly dreading the inevitable training that awaited him.

On the second day, a change appeared on the horizon: mountains. They rose into the sky, their colossal forms dwarfing even the ancient trees of Holtwood, which were the tallest Wells had ever seen. The peaks were so high they pierced the cloud cover, their summits barely visible. From the boats, they still appeared to be at least a full day’s journey away.

“What are those mountains called?” Wells asked Anais as they rowed in tandem.

“Those are the Snowy Mountains,” Anais replied, “the highest range in western Remira. They mark the border of Elara. Once we are past them, we will be in the Burning Plains, far from any civilization.”

It was not until the fourth day that a pass through the formidable range became visible. As they drew closer that afternoon, Cirus pointed toward it. “That is the Centaur’s Passage,” he announced. “It is the route the centaurs first took when they migrated into Western Remira.”

As they neared the passage, the water grew turbulent, the current swelling to a deafening roar. Soon, the sound of rushing water made it nearly impossible to hear. Cirus ordered Wells to sit in the back while he and Anais fought the rapids. Behind them, Wells could see Elrin and Soren doing the same, their faces grim with concentration. The boats bucked and slammed against unseen rocks submerged in the churning water. On the shore, Isena and Aria watched, their forms tense with worry.

A large, jagged rock loomed directly ahead. Cirus and Anais paddled furiously, attempting to steer the boat clear. As they swerved, the vessel began to tilt at a dangerous angle. “Wells,” Cirus grunted, straining at his oar, “you must keep the boat from capsizing!”

Wells nodded and braced himself as the boat tipped even further to starboard. Closing his eyes, he focused his will, issuing a silent command for the boat to right itself. Magic surged from him, and with a sudden jolt, the vessel leveled out. Wells let out a breath of relief.

“We’re not clear yet,” Anais warned, pointing ahead. Two more rocks, larger than the one they had just avoided, jutted from the swirling torrent. The gap between them was perilously narrow, barely wide enough for a single boat, and they were closing on it too quickly to steer around.

“Right,” Cirus said, his knuckles white on the oar. “We might just make it.”

“It would be madness to try!” Anais yelled over the din. “We could wreck the boats!”

“What other choice do we have?” Cirus shot back. “There’s no time to weave a spell strong enough to lift us from the water!” He tightened his grip. “We have to go through.”

Anais gave a reluctant nod, and they began to paddle with all their might. Wells watched with rising dread, his fingers aching from how tightly he gripped the side of the boat. He bit his lip as the two men struggled to straighten their course for the opening. It rushed toward them with terrifying speed. As they finally shot through the gap, Wells felt he could have reached out and touched the slick, moss-covered rocks on either side. A moment later, Elrin and Soren’s boat followed, bumping into their stern but thankfully not knocking either vessel off course.

“Astalor’s hoof,” Cirus breathed. Directly in their path was another rock, bigger than any they had yet encountered. There was no way through it and no room to row around it.

“Elrin!” he bellowed over the thunderous current. “We have to beach them on the rock!”

“What?” Elrin called back in disbelief. “We can’t do that!”

“There’s no time to argue!” Cirus’s tone became harsh and absolute. “Just follow our lead!”

He glanced at Anais, who was about to object. “Don’t ask,” Cirus commanded. “There is no other option.”

Anais gave a curt, grim nod.

“We need to brace for impact,” Cirus announced. “We’ll have to try and create an air cushion.”

“I can help,” Wells offered from the back.

“No,” Cirus replied firmly. “Air magic is beyond your skill.”

Wells could only watch as Cirus and Anais raised their hands, balled them into fists, and aimed them at the massive rock. Their rings—one a brilliant topaz, the other a deep amethyst—flared to life. A moment later, a gust of wind shot from their hands. It struck the rock, creating a visible ripple against the wet stone, but did little else. The wind died. Cirus and Anais exchanged a panicked look.

“Damn it all,” Cirus swore. “It didn’t work.”

“What do we do?” Wells cried out.

“We have to—”

Cirus never finished his sentence. Elrin and Soren’s boat, caught in the same unforgiving current, collided violently with their stern, shoving them forward. Already moving at speed, their boat crashed headlong into the rock. The bow shattered on impact, and freezing water poured into the hull.

“Bail out!” Anais yelled. “To the rock!” The three of them scrambled onto the great stone’s sloping surface.

Seconds later, Elrin and Soren’s boat glanced off theirs and spun wildly in the current. Its side smashed against the rock, tearing a long, wide gash in the hull. They too leaped for the safety of the stone just as their vessel began to sink. Both wrecked boats battered against the rock a few more times before the ruthless current seized them and dragged them under the waves.

The five of them stood on the slick, damp rock in the middle of the raging river, watching as the last of their supplies vanished downstream.

“Great,” Wells said, the word feeling utterly inadequate. “We’re stuck.”