Free Mine to Tarnish by Janeal Falor Page A

edge, going in the direction the river is flowing, cradling my injury to my chest. That has to be the safer way to go. But will it lead to where Charles is? What if I’m wrong? I glance back and search again. Nothing.
    I press on, scanning both sides of the river for any sign of him. The sun creeps further down in the sky, a growing reminder that every moment that passes is one more moment for the warlocks to discover me. It doesn’t matter. I can’t give up looking for him. But I’ve walked so much. He can’t be this far down, can he? My instinct says no. I must have chosen the wrong way.
    It’s hard to turn back, hard to move toward the warlocks, but I force myself to anyway. Charles has given me so much help. He must be somewhere along here. My steps are faster now, my eyes still scanning the rocks, tree riddled banks, and rowboat bits strewn about. Suddenly I stop. Something doesn't look quite right. My pulse pounds with hope. There’s a brown tree fallen on the other bank, except for a stripe of brown that isn’t the same as the rest around it. It’s more uniform in color and smoother.
    I think it might be… Is it…? I hurry backward, not taking my eyes from the spot across the river. There’s a spot of white above the brown, a spot that looks very much like that back of Charles’s bald head. It is him!
    But he’s not moving. I have to get to him. He has to be all right.
    The river is swift through here, but I have to cross it. If I slip in…Can't think about that. I glance upstream. No sign of warlocks. The spells would probably be the first sign of them anyway.
    “Charles!”
    No response.
    I call his name several more times, but either the rush of the river is drowning me out or he’s still unconscious or—
    No. It’s only that it’s loud through here and he’s unconscious. Nevertheless, I step into the river. It’s coldness tugs at my skirts, trying to pull me back into its clutches. I scan out a path of rocks and the dead tree Charles is lying next to. I have to make it, and I have make it now.
    The water tugs harder on my skirts, the threat to yank me downstream growing. Charles is still not moving. I call his name, but the response is as lacking as before. Please don't let him be hurt.
    I tug my skirts up and drape them gently over my arm with the hurt wrist and use the other hand to hold on to the rocks as I cross. The water still tugs at me, but without my skirts to pull on, it’s not as fierce. It's a few inches above my knees. The rocks are slippery. I focus on my grip, taking one step at a time and Charles in my mind pressing me forward.
    When I reach the other side, I use the fallen tree to help pull me through the last few steps and rush to Charles.
    As soon as I’m at his side, I fall in the mud next to him and put my hand on his back. Nothing. My chest tightens, the burn behind my eyes strengthening. But then, beneath my hand, his back moves. Slowly, but he’s breathing.
    The burn behind my eyes spills out, splashing tears all over him. I found him, and he’s alive. At least he’s already wet. Except he may be breathing, but he's not awake. I have to help, only I don’t know what to do.
    “ Charles.” I tap his shoulder. Nothing. “Charles.” I shake his shoulder.
    He stirs but doesn’t wake. I rock back, wondering what to do. Why isn’t he waking up? I check him over for wounds, but there’s nothing visible. If there’s something else I’m supposed to do, I don’t know what it is. I wish I was strong enough to move him. It feels too exposed here. He may be fairly hard to see, but I’m clearly visible, and the memory of that hex numbing me is strong.
    This isn’t helping. I stand and search around a little, yet don’t stray far. I don’t even know what I’m looking for, but there has to be something to help. Lots of rocks and trees, though the ground is rougher here, grittier. Even away from the beach, the dirt is more rocky than compact. Charles groans. I hurry