Heart of Danger by Fleur Beale Page A

struggling to get my balance when the water sucked back, threatening to take me with it. I fell forward, bending double to dig in with fingers as well as feet until it fell away. Then I was upright and racing along the stretch of clear sand. The next wave swelled, gathering to hurl itself up the beach. This time I got out of the way before it grabbed me.
    It was like evading a savage beast that I could run from only when it turned its back. The beach wasn’t all clear sand either. There were falls of rock to scramble over, huge boulders to dodge, and patches of small stones and pebbles.
    But the tide was going out, and further along it became easier to go more quickly. I ran past caves, disturbed sea birds that rose above me, shrieking. I wished I had wings.
    Hera! I’m coming.
    Once, a rock fell from the cliff to crash on the sand ahead of me. The waves thundered and clawed at the beach. They were still high on the sand when I saw the way ahead blocked by a wide river mouth. Was this as far as the beach route went? How long had it taken me to come this far? I checked the sky. Judging by the sun, it was still some time before midday.
    I’d seen no sign of a tunnel. It had to be somewhere close. I shut down on the panic, cleared my mind and began walking back the way I’d come. My steps veered up towards the base of the cliffs and away from the sea. I didn’t try to think, to reason or to question, just kept going where my mind led me until I saw in front of me a darkly gaping hole in the cliff. I stepped inside. The floor sloped steeply upwards. It probably wasn’t safe – large chunks of rock had fallen from the walls and ceiling. But I clambered over them. I could see the other end. I would get there.
    The track that led away from the tunnel was choked with bushes. I couldn’t see where it led, or even whether I’d be able to find a way through it. Thorns tore at my clothes and skin as I pushed through the heavy undergrowth.
    Before long, though, the path became clearer, allowing me to move at a jog. I thought about the river that had blocked the way along the beach. Was it the Mokau? If it wasn’t, then I’d have to cross it, and quickly.
    I followed the path, catching glimpses now and again of the river to my left. I felt utterly alone. If animals had made the track I was on, I hoped they were sheep rather than wild pigs or cattle. Rounding a bend, I spotted the remains of an old settlement. The houses were wooden and the weather had stripped them of paint. The track looked to go right through the middle of them.
    It would be like walking with ghosts. I shook my head. More foolishness.
    I began to run. I passed the first few houses, keeping my eyes on the way ahead. Even so I noticed the gardens, cultivated in careful rows the way we’d done on Taris. If the people who lived here were Hera’s kidnappers, then I’d walked freely into the middle of them.
    I jogged on, driven by the pressure to find her in time. I still couldn’t see anyone – there was no smoke from the chimneys, nothing to show that people lived here. Except for the gardens.
    The last few houses were just skeletons – had most likely been plundered for materials to mend the others. I stopped for a moment to have a drink from the bottle Ginevra had packed.
    Was this the place where Hera was? I stilled my mind, searching for answers. I had to go further.
    I set out again, hoping that there would be a bridge sturdy enough for me to cross. The path I was on wound upwards and I wished the scrub wasn’t so thick. I couldn’t tell if I was on an old road that would lead me north, or if this was just a random pathway. I pushed on.
    I came round a corner into an open space only to stop dead, horror nailing me to the spot. I’d found the villagers. There was a crowd of them all carrying branches or logs to a pile of wood in the middle of the clearing. They grouped together, staring at me. They looked feral, hair untrimmed and clothing bunched