The Lost Realm by J. D. Rinehart Page B

that.”

CHAPTER 7
    G ulph was surrounded by cold. It enveloped him, sucked him down, turned him over and over. He flung out his arms and legs, and the coldness resisted. He opened his mouth to yell, and the coldness rushed into him. The coldness was in his eyes, his nose, his ears. The coldness was everywhere, and he was lost inside it. . . .
    Water! It’s water!
    Gulph clamped his mouth shut and kicked out.
    Which way is up?
    He didn’t know. Perhaps he was swimming deeper within whatever pool he’d fallen into, swimming down to his death.
    His lungs were burning. Soon he would have to breathe.
    When I do, I’ll drown.
    Finally he broke the surface. Flinging back his head, he drew in a ragged breath. The cold water drained from his face, leaving him gasping in warm, humid air. He churned his legs, fighting to stay afloat.
    â€œTip your head back,” said a nearby voice. “Waggle your arms.”
    It was Jessamyn, treading water beside him with a small child’s easy grace. She looked fearful but determined.
    â€œMy mother says that legs want to float,” she added. “You just have to let them.”
    Gulph did as Jessamyn said, tilting back his head and waving his arms slowly just below the surface. To his surprise, his legs bobbed up. With almost no effort at all, he was floating on his back, staring straight up.
    What he saw took away what little breath he’d managed to gather.
    High above him was an immense arch of deep purple. It seemed to glow faintly. Within it, a thousand tiny pricks of light twinkled like stars. It was vast and beautiful, a breathtaking twilight sky.
    The sky? How can that be, when we’re so far underground?
    Then he saw it wasn’t the sky. It was the ceiling of a cavern, a gigantic chamber made of craggy purple rock. Rock that shone with an inner light.
    Not rock. Crystal!
    â€œGulph! My liege! Are you all right?”
    Ossilius swam up to him. Blood ran freely from a gash on his forehead. Gulph realized his own face was stinging; when he looked at his hands, he saw they were covered in scratches from the rockfall.
    Close behind Ossilius was Hetty, who was struggling to keep an unconscious Marcus afloat. The soldier’s head bobbed and he mumbled incoherently.
    â€œI’m fine,” Gulph told Ossilius. “Help him.”
    They clustered around Marcus, taking it in turns to support the soldier. The water lapped around them, tiny ripples sparkling in the purple glow of the crystal ceiling. To Gulph’s amazement, the water itself also seemed to be aglow.
    It’s silver!
    â€œWe have to get him to the shore,” said Hetty, as Marcus’s head dipped briefly under the water.
    â€œThere is no shore,” Ossilius replied.
    Gulph saw that he was right. No matter which way he looked, all he could see was an expanse of silvery liquid melting slowly into darkness.
    What now? he thought, panic rising.
    Jessamyn gave an excited squeal. “Look! A boat! Over there!”
    A slender vessel was gliding toward them through the eerie twilight. Two figures steered it with long paddles: a man and a woman, both dressed in flowing silk robes. Their faces were as pale as milk.
    â€œClimb aboard,” said the man as the boat drew up alongside them. “Be quick now.”
    Together they heaved Marcus into the boat, then clambered in one at a time. The man helped them, pausing occasionally to cast a wary gaze out across the water. The woman worked her paddle in silence, deftly keeping the narrow boat stable as its cargo steadily increased.
    Gulph was last aboard. He flopped down in the curving hull.
    â€œThank you,” he panted.
    â€œYou were lucky we were out here.” The man’s voice was low and soft. He nodded to the woman, and together they began to paddle the boat onward through the silvery water. The paddles made no splash, and no sound.
    â€œWhere are we?” asked Hetty.
    â€œCelestis,”