Read Online Talus and the Frozen King by Graham Edwards - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Graham Edwards
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yells.
'Rope!' says the stranger.
Bran sees it: one end of a rope thrashes in the waves. The other end is tied to Keyli's boat. If he could only grab the rope, he might be able to pull her back to the shore. Pull the woman he loves to safety.
He glances behind him. There is nobody else around. The dunes are a blank and the mountains don't care.
Bran crouches, nearly loses his footing on a treacherous, weed-covered rock. The rope dances just out of reach in the foaming water. He stretches for it with both his good, strong hands.
He misses.
The stranger leaps past him. The stranger jumps into the churning waves, sinking instantly up to his shoulders. He seizes the rope and hurls it at Bran.
Bran catches the rope. It's coarse and sodden. Keyli is still screaming. The sea picks up the boat and flips it over. Keyli flies from it into the water.
'Keyli!' Bran shouts.
Her white hands emerge from the waves and cling to the upturned boat. It's a good boat - Bran made it himself. But the storm is tearing it apart.
The stranger tries to pull himself back on to the rocks. His hands keep slipping on the weed and his bald head keeps going under. Bran grips the rope and starts to pull. The sea tries to suck the rope out of his hands, but Bran is strong, both his hands are strong, and he's pulling with all his heart, and the weight of all his life behind him, and the weight of all his life to come.
At first the boat resists. Bran howls and pulls and eventually the boat begins to come, and Keyli comes with it. Bran sees her face in agonising glimpses, now white in the water, now eclipsed by the cruel swell. He sees her hands, each slender finger making its own good grip on the sealskin hull of the boat. She's holding tight, and so is he. He's strong enough to do this, everything's going to be all right.
'Do all you can,' says the stranger. His voice is filled with water. His head sinks beneath the waves and doesn't come up.
Bran screams and pulls. If only he can be quick enough, he can save both Keyli and the man who came to his aid. He wedges his feet into the deepest crevice he can find and pulls.
It's then that the stars stop flying and begin to fall ...
'Enough!' Bran shouted. He clamped his hands hard to his ears, took a tottering step back towards the cairn's entrance. Incredibly, the sound of the twin storms—both the one outside the cairn and the one inside his head—faded completely away. Bran stood, shaking, unbelieving, lost inside a bubble of sudden silence. What trickery was this?
Cautiously, he took a single step forwards. The thunder rumbled again; the echoes of his own shouting returned.
When he took a step back, the sounds died away to nothing.
Bran forced himself to relax. Talus had told him of such things, though he'd never actually encountered them. Builders so clever they could make chambers that turned sound into alternating stripes of fury and calm. Here was the proof of it.
Gradually Bran's heartbeat slowed. He often dreamed about Keyli's death—had dreamed about it a lot lately, in fact. Never had he relived it so intensely as he just had in the cairn. This was a place of death.
Maybe the whole island was.
He waited while the dread drained away. Slowly, his memories of that awful night—of the storm and the fire-filled sky—sank back down into their hiding place. Now that he understood what made the sound act the way it did, it had no power over him. It was just noise.
He stepped forward through the alternating bands of sound and silence towards the little doorway awaiting him at the end of the cairn. As he advanced, he found himself thinking back to the story Talus had told in the arena. The tale of the feathered giant was odd—not one Bran had heard before. He couldn't decide if it was meant to be happy or sad. He supposed it was both.
He reached the end of the cairn. The ceiling was incredibly low here, forcing him to crawl.
He raised his good hand—it was trembling—to the little
'Rope!' says the stranger.
Bran sees it: one end of a rope thrashes in the waves. The other end is tied to Keyli's boat. If he could only grab the rope, he might be able to pull her back to the shore. Pull the woman he loves to safety.
He glances behind him. There is nobody else around. The dunes are a blank and the mountains don't care.
Bran crouches, nearly loses his footing on a treacherous, weed-covered rock. The rope dances just out of reach in the foaming water. He stretches for it with both his good, strong hands.
He misses.
The stranger leaps past him. The stranger jumps into the churning waves, sinking instantly up to his shoulders. He seizes the rope and hurls it at Bran.
Bran catches the rope. It's coarse and sodden. Keyli is still screaming. The sea picks up the boat and flips it over. Keyli flies from it into the water.
'Keyli!' Bran shouts.
Her white hands emerge from the waves and cling to the upturned boat. It's a good boat - Bran made it himself. But the storm is tearing it apart.
The stranger tries to pull himself back on to the rocks. His hands keep slipping on the weed and his bald head keeps going under. Bran grips the rope and starts to pull. The sea tries to suck the rope out of his hands, but Bran is strong, both his hands are strong, and he's pulling with all his heart, and the weight of all his life behind him, and the weight of all his life to come.
At first the boat resists. Bran howls and pulls and eventually the boat begins to come, and Keyli comes with it. Bran sees her face in agonising glimpses, now white in the water, now eclipsed by the cruel swell. He sees her hands, each slender finger making its own good grip on the sealskin hull of the boat. She's holding tight, and so is he. He's strong enough to do this, everything's going to be all right.
'Do all you can,' says the stranger. His voice is filled with water. His head sinks beneath the waves and doesn't come up.
Bran screams and pulls. If only he can be quick enough, he can save both Keyli and the man who came to his aid. He wedges his feet into the deepest crevice he can find and pulls.
It's then that the stars stop flying and begin to fall ...
'Enough!' Bran shouted. He clamped his hands hard to his ears, took a tottering step back towards the cairn's entrance. Incredibly, the sound of the twin storms—both the one outside the cairn and the one inside his head—faded completely away. Bran stood, shaking, unbelieving, lost inside a bubble of sudden silence. What trickery was this?
Cautiously, he took a single step forwards. The thunder rumbled again; the echoes of his own shouting returned.
When he took a step back, the sounds died away to nothing.
Bran forced himself to relax. Talus had told him of such things, though he'd never actually encountered them. Builders so clever they could make chambers that turned sound into alternating stripes of fury and calm. Here was the proof of it.
Gradually Bran's heartbeat slowed. He often dreamed about Keyli's death—had dreamed about it a lot lately, in fact. Never had he relived it so intensely as he just had in the cairn. This was a place of death.
Maybe the whole island was.
He waited while the dread drained away. Slowly, his memories of that awful night—of the storm and the fire-filled sky—sank back down into their hiding place. Now that he understood what made the sound act the way it did, it had no power over him. It was just noise.
He stepped forward through the alternating bands of sound and silence towards the little doorway awaiting him at the end of the cairn. As he advanced, he found himself thinking back to the story Talus had told in the arena. The tale of the feathered giant was odd—not one Bran had heard before. He couldn't decide if it was meant to be happy or sad. He supposed it was both.
He reached the end of the cairn. The ceiling was incredibly low here, forcing him to crawl.
He raised his good hand—it was trembling—to the little
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