Empyrion II: The Siege of Dome by Stephen Lawhead

bottom splattered over everything, depressions sunk ankle-deep in the forest floor.
    The creatures that wreaked the destruction, he saw, must be the very lords of the Blue Forest. He stood alone looking at the gaping holes in the earth, the roots dangling in the air, the broken tree limbs strewn over the battlefield, and felt his bowels squirm inside him. There were creatures abroad in this world that dwarfed anything he could imagine. This realization made him feel small and vulnerable.
    A weapon! He mouthed the word to himself and understood its meaning. He would find a suitable weapon, and then he would be safe. Other creatures would fear, but he would not.
    He turned at once and began walking back to his hidden pool. Tomorrow he would begin searching for his weapon. And then ... and then he would hunt down one of the great creatures and prove himself a forest lord.
    It had been three minutes, Treet estimated, since he had entered the tank. He still dangled from the harness, but could no longer feel it. In fact, he could not feel anything: all sensory stimulation had ceased. He could will his arms and legs and hands to move, but whether they moved as directed, he couldn't tell. It felt as if he no longer had a body at all, that he was a mind adrift, cut off from all physical attributes—except hunger, which still gnawed at him, more insistently now than ever.
    Approaching four minutes, Treet began to worry. Surely they would pull him up soon. What good would it do to drown him? And if that's what they intended, why go to all the trouble to truss him up like a turkey? Nothing made sense. But, rational or not, he would have to breathe soon. His lungs were beginning to ache.
    Come on, pull me up! thought Treet desperately. Pull me up!
    He fought down the impulse to swim for the surface. Thrashing around in the water would use up air too fast, and he could not be certain of swimming in the right direction—he might just as easily swim to the bottom of the tank as the top. It was best just to remain calm and wait. Wait.
    Treet put his mind to work, concentrating on his keeper, holding the man's squat image on his mental screen, willing him to punch the button that would bring the harness up.
    Push the button! Treet screamed mentally, putting every atom of his will behind it. Push the button—NOW!
    The ache had become a burning, searing flame. His lungs felt as if they would burst.
    Ordinarily he would expel some of the air, and this would allow him to stay submerged a little longer. But with the wax mask plastered on his face, and the wax plug between his teeth, he could not exhale. The pressure in his lungs increased.
    He reached out with his mind and attempted to touch the mind of his keeper. Push the button! he screamed with his brain. Push it, damn you!
    His lungs at the point of rupture, Treet knew that his captors had no intention of bringing him up. They intended letting him die. With this thought came a desperate plan: blow the mask off! Perhaps the force of his breath could tear the wax mask from his face; then he could see the surface and swim for it.
    With this thought came the decision to do it—the two were simultaneous. He had nothing to lose.
    The exhausted air burst from his mouth with as much force as he could put behind it. The result astonished him: the stream of air bubbles passed right through the mask! It was as if it wasn't there at all. His ears remained stoppered and the plug remained in his mouth, so the mask was still in place.
    Panic seized him and wrung him. I can't breathe! I'll suffocate!
    He thrashed his head from side to side in an effort to dislodge the mask, but could not tell if he were actually thrashing at all, or only imagining his thrashings. His lungs convulsed in agony.
    Air! I must have air!
    The vacuum in his lungs became too great. He could not hold back any longer. He had to inhale, even though the mask stayed on. His mind presented him with a picture of himself trying to suck