Eban

3 - Callum

Callum had never experienced a walk like this. Somehow he was breathing while underwater, taking a very slow stroll through the mud, plants and occasional fish carcass that made up the lake floor. Fish swam around him, every now and then coming in closer as their curiosity overcame their caution. Over the course of his walk he had gathered a swarm of the little creatures; they circled around him like the swirling clouds of a tropical storm. With every step Callum disturbed the ground, sending up a flurry of mud and algae, and the fish, with their tiny mouths open to catch every morsel, were taking advantage. He could feel their pleasure, see it in the way they swam, in their nudges, gentle but insistent, when he stopped.

Callum was grateful for their presence. Perhaps he should have been a bit more freaked out, but after everything that had happened, his mind was long past fear. Besides, their little silvery bodies brought pinpricks of hope and, when their scales caught the light just right, short flashes of iridescence brought a multitude of colours that reverberated through the eye of the storm.

The wonder of such an alien view helped him forget the worst of the pain and fear of the recent past, but he could not stop the nagging doubts for his immediate future. He had no idea where he was going or what he would find when he finally reached the bank of the lake. He had no idea how far the bank was or even if he was walking in a straight line. The shock of hitting the water had cost him his sense of direction. For all he knew, he was heading straight back to that mob of villagers.

And, if that was not enough, he had no idea how long his bubble of oxygen would last. Considering his luck, the bank and whatever surprises it might hold would never be something he would need to worry about.

All he could do was walk, hope, pray, and enjoy the view.

He was still underwater when his oxygen ran out. In the millisecond it took for his brain to register that the air was gone, he breathed in, water and the last few, precious molecules of air meeting and travelling together into his mouth. The taste of water closed his throat, the instinctive reaction fast enough to stop the mouthful becoming a lungful. Panic swelled in his chest, mirroring the increasingly urgent and horribly familiar pressure that was building in his lungs and throat.

Another building pressure was vying for his attention. This one was external, a series of nudges against his back. Fighting the panic, Callum turned his head. The fish no longer swarmed around him. They were all, to a scale, behind him, taking it in turns to swim gently into his back, to nudge him on.

If he had been alone, Callum would have given up in that moment. For all the determination that had gotten him this far, he knew giving up would be a release from everything. From the pain, from the fear, from the humiliation of the trial.

But giving up would prove the mob right. He would be the useless, cowardly creature they thought he was.

Giving up would mean never seeing the sunrise or sunset again. It would mean missing the sting of winter winds on his cheeks, or the burning summer sun on his back as he worked the fields. It would mean losing all that life had to offer, and Callum knew he was not truly ready for that.

Giving up would mean disappointing the fish that still nudged at him.

Callum took a step forward. The pressure at his back eased for a second, but returned the moment he paused again. The pressure in his lungs built.

One more step.

The fish urged him on for a second and third step.

The fourth, fifth and sixth step were the hardest of his life.

The seventh brought his eyes and nose out of the water.

The eighth cleared his mouth.

On the ninth, the fish stopped their encouragement.

The tenth, finally, brought him to a standstill as he realised that the water in his eyes was no longer from the lake, and the burning down his throat was from relief and cold air that he sucked in greedily.

The eleventh step was instinctive and propelled him backwards with a gasp that drove some of his precious oxygen from his lungs.

A head appeared inches from his own.

A young man, no, a boy – he could not have been more than sixteen – with dirty blond hair, freckles, and a smile he clearly thought was calming but really made Callum wonder what new trouble he was about to get in to, surfaced just in front of him.

Sent off-balance by his hasty step backwards, Callum braced himself for the fall. And fall he did, for a second, until strong hands caught and steadied him.

Craning his neck, Callum identified the owner of those hands. Another boy, this one with brown hair and a serious face. He did not smile, but there was something about him that put Callum at ease.

"Sorry about that," the first boy said. "You were faster than we thought."

"How..." Callum noticed the ripples the boy had left in his wake and the question died before he could fully voice it. The two boys must have dived in to the lake and stayed underwater before nearly swimming directly into Callum.

"You're alright," said the second boy, his voice deeper. He moved around Callum until the two boys were next to each other. The second stood. The first, Callum noticed, was treading water, although Callum already suspected that this might have been as much due to an inability to keep still as due to the depth of the water. "My name is Arran," the second boy continued, "And this is Cedric. We're here to help."

Callum stared at them. There had been too many surprises today. Right now, the thought of being rescued by two teenaged boys was as unexpected as any of them.

"Hold still," Arran said gently. "I'm going to cut you free."

Callum nodded as the boy moved behind him again. Arran's hands lightly touched Callum's shoulders and followed his arms down to his wrists. A pause, as one hand broke the contact, then the ropes started to grate against his skin. Callum's jaw clenched as the ropes rubbed against his already raw wrists. When they finally gave way to the pressure of the knife, his arms came free with a jerk that sent a hiss through his teeth. Gingerly, he rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness and pain caused by being too long in one awkward position. A moment later and his back cried its own relief as the burden of the wooden beam disappeared. Turning, he saw Arran swimming back to shore, one arm around the beam as he towed it with him.

"We can't risk it floating up or being washed ashore," Cedric said, answering Callum's unspoken question. "They'll know you're alive if they find it too quickly."

"Did you...Was it you who gave me the oxygen?" Callum asked.

Cedric shook his head. "No, that was Eban. He's waiting on the bank."

Callum followed Cedric's gaze. Arran, clearly a strong swimmer, had reached the bank and was now dragging the beam from the water with help from a third boy. From this distance, he did not look like much. Black hair, slim figure, he looked like any youth coming close to adulthood. But if he were the one who had performed the magic that had gifted Callum with oxygen...

"You coming?" Cedric asked. "I mean, if you'd prefer to stay in the lake, that's cool, but we have food."

Despite his exhaustion and the horror of the day, Callum found himself smiling. "Food sounds amazing."