Blood of the Red

Chapter 35 - Ingold

Chapter 35 – Ingold

The icy water tore at his numb flesh. Ingold's fingers sought purchase on stone walls. The Crimbourne raced through its narrow channel, seeking to flush him from beneath the Rock. In the dark Ingold fought it. The cold waters seized him with sudden force, sweeping his feet away. The river bore Ingold back, turning him head over heels, tearing him over rocks. Without up or down Ingold struggled to find air. Hard-fought yards rushed by, hundreds of them. A jarring impact slammed what reserves remained to him from his lungs.

Air! Ingold hauled it into his aching chest. In the blind depths he couldn't tell whether he had fetched up against the same rock twice. The river had swept him back twice now and his strength was all but gone. The water sprayed Ingold's face as it broke around his chest. At most, eighteen inches stood between the surface and the roof of the tunnel. In places the air-gap narrowed to a hand's span. He had lost all sense of time. It felt as though he'd laboured for days, certainly it was many hours since he entered the water.

Once more Ingold advanced. Slowly, feet braced against the current, he edged forward. He dug deep, looking for the strength he needed, looking for the reasons to go on. In the darkness visions came easily. He saw Gartus; a silhouette against the fire. He saw Dain, standing on the deck of the Farland, hair blowing, caught in laugher. The water pressed him, stripping away heat, relentless. In the depths, beneath the immeasurable mass of the Rock, Ingold Stannith advanced.

Ingold saw his lost friend Jamus. He saw Jamus raise the Blood-Cup to his lips. Ingold no longer fought the water, he fought an invisible force. A force that barred his way as he raced to dash the cup from Jamus' hand. Ingold's thoughts played back and forth across the day he drunk of the Red. He saw his friend crossing the bridge that led to his death. Jamus had paused on the bridge, and looked out over the swift waters of the Crimbourne.

"I wonder where it goes," Jamus had said.

Ingold had leaned out over the stone parapet.

"No-one will ever know what the river sees," he quoted and shook his head.

Jamus had laughed. Ingold always remembered him laughing. He had an open face - you could see his generosity written there. Everyone loved Jamus. It was ever a wonder to Ingold that Karalynn had chosen him over his friend.

In the end the river did reveal its secrets to Jamus, for the Red Priests scattered the ashes of all the 'unworthy' from the bridge.

Ingold came to his senses with a start. He was shivering violently. The water raced around his calves, chuckling over its rocky bed. No memory of the journey remained. He could see nothing. For the longest while he stood and wondered where he was; what he was supposed to be doing. At last he looked up. The black turned grey overhead, and a dark bar divided the faint light. The bridge! Almost thirty years ... and he was back again.

He coughed and spat,

"That's a lot of water under the bridge."

Memory hit him like a fist. "Dain!" A new strength crept into Ingold's limbs. He splashed to the shore beneath the dark span of stone and started to climb.

Ingold hauled himself over the wall. He fell onto the bridge like a wet sack, and lay dripping in the light of a single torch. In time he struggled to his feet. He wrenched the torch from the claw-topped iron pole that held it. His white hand closed around the wood and suddenly it was all aflame. For a few moments intense heat soaked him. Fire devoured the wood quickly and soon the embers fell from his hands in a glowing orange shower. The warmth of it was in him now and Ingold could at least feel again. True, he could only feel pain, but it was a start. Agony sprouted in every extremity as life returned to fingers and toes. Away, down the corridor that led from the end of the bridge, a second light burned. Ingold made for it, a moth to the flame.