Eritopia

The Burning River

Beetle lit another match so they could see where they were. The ledge they were moving along was still narrow, but the water channel to their right was getting wider. Pressing close to the brick wall they inched forward. The stone path was slippery beneath feet and paws.Minutes went by.

The match fizzled out, but when eyes adjusted they could see a faint light ahead. It was dim – Not-Bear sensed it before the men – but soon the others noticed the change.

'It must be from the well in the Palace grounds,' Martin said. 'They drop a bucket down into the stream for water, then haul it up again. Perhaps we could get up there?'

'Makes no difference,' Beetle added. 'You'd still need to get across the 'edge.'

They sidled on. It was cold and the thin light did little to pierce the darkness.

'How many matches left?' Martin asked.

'A few,' Beetle replied. The stream gurgled next to him. When they found its outlet, would it be open to the sky?

Not-Bear could no longer smell the men behind them. He told Jod.

'They must have given up. I wonder what their plan is now?'

'It doesn't matter, we need to keep going.'

'Unless there's no way out after all, and they're going to trap us at the end,' Martin said.

'Then we'll fight them,' Not-Bear said. 'Men are no match for me.' He pawed the ground, licked his paws, shook his body and stretched his jaws.

'I'm glad you're on our side,' Beetle observed.

Not-Bear nodded. Over the last few days, he had been flexing his muscles, getting used to his body, testing sinews in his limbs and neck. In his mind, he was changing too, ever since the shock news from Gordon. He now felt the direction of the future, and of these people, somehow depended on him.

The underground river coursed next to them, slapping against the stone path. The ledge they trod on held firm as they felt their way along. They were all in a line: Beetle first; Jod and Not-Bear behind him; Martin at the rear.

Everything was calm until a fierce light exploded ahead of them.

'What the–?' exclaimed Beetle.

In seconds an incandescent blaze had lit the tunnel in a fiery glow. By its light, they could see the tall curved brick roof high above and the dripping wall on the far side of the stream.

A choking stench rushed towards them. Ahead, the river itself seemed to be on fire. Flames flickered on its surface as acrid smoke filled the space above.

Martin coughed, his hand over his mouth. 'They've tipped oil down the well and set it on fire!'

Flames engulfed the tunnel. The ledge they were walking on disappeared in the furnace. The smoke billowed down the tunnel toward them. Their eyes began to sting.

'We'll be burned alive!' Jod declared.

Martin realised the same. 'But we can't go back, they'll be waiting.'

'What do we do now?' Not-Bear shouted. His bravery seemed like nothing against the force of the flames.

'Can you all swim?' It was Jod who spoke. ' You, men from the city, can you?'

Yes, yes!' Martin nodded.

'If I have to,' Beetle affirmed. 'What are you suggesting?'

'Follow me,' Jod said as he sat down and slid off the ledge into the water.

The water came up to his chest. It was freezing and the shock jolted him. He waded out a bit further until the water lapped his chin. Standing on tiptoes he shouted to the others. 'It's the only way, the fire is sitting on top of the stream. We can swim under the water until we are past the flames.'

As the smoke billowed about them, first Martin, then Beetle slipped into the water. They moved out into the flow. Not-Bear was last, fear rising in him. Of course, he could swim, countless tussles with the otters on the Inside had schooled him. But did he like to swim? Absolutely not!

There was no alternative, though, so he stepped into the flow. He started to panic as water filled his mouth. He put his head under but came up straight away. The stench of oil on the water was making him retch, his sense of smell, so much more acute than the men, stifled him. Then he was aware of an arm around his neck and he rose, with a combination of frantic leg pushing and help from the arm. It was Martin's.

'Keep paddling, Wolf, for your life. Take a deep breath, and fill your lungs. We have to keep our heads under the flames and we can't be sure how long it will take to pass the fire. We can't afford to come up again.'

He plunged below the surface, and after a big breath, Not-Bear followed him. The flow helped them along, but the fire was soon above them. Not-Bear closed his eyes. Where was Jod? Martin was with him and they stayed together, Martin pulling while Not-Bear swam. His lungs were bursting, His eyes stung from the oil.

The fire above them raged but the water was cold. It was so clear, he could make out the shapes of stones and rubble below him. He could also see legs ahead, pushing in rhythm. Silence except for a pulsing sensation in his ears. Although he was moving there was no sense of motion. His lungs started to ache.

Flickers of light above. Slow motions of legs. The weight of Martin's arm on his neck, pulling. Detachment replaced fear, then a sense of wonder, of cool water, of light, and memories. Anger, light-headedness, and a strong desire to breathe in overcame him. To taste the water, to become what the river wanted him to be – peaceful, abandoned, detached.

Still the urge to breathe came, stronger now, to allow the water into his body, to finish everything.

Then, nothing.