There were more willows behind the first one, seven in all, all grouped together in a little culvert carved out of the riverbank. While the water raced in the middle of the river, here just a few inches of it sailed in leisure. One tree stood deeper in the river than the others, the water rushing by the trunk a whole half a foot higher than the muck. Harper watched as with a wince Imrie dove her hand into the icy water and fished around.
“Here it is.”
Harper stared at her, and then stared at Imrie’s hand. A thick rope, water logged and slick, was tied around the base of the willow. From Imrie’s hand the other side dove back under the way, pointing directly across the river.
“What am I looking at?”
“Rope bridge.”
“Aren’t bridges supposed to be above the water?”
“Not when you don’t want anyone to find them,” Imrie said. “Smugglers use this to get stuff across the river without paying the king’s taxes.”
There were questions Harper knew she should be asking.
Why do you know that?
Who do you know?
Are you insane?
None of those questions would help them get across the river, so instead she gestured for the rope and took it in her hands. She bounced it a few times to test its weight, and slid her palms over it.
“It’s tied across the river?”
“One of the trees over there,” Imrie said, gesturing to the other bank.
“Is there a trick to it?”
“Not really. You see how the river here bends out on both sides? There’s some sort of stone formation here. Up there, under the bridge, the river’s deep. Here, it only comes up to the neck. You hold onto the rope, keep your feet underneath you, and pull.”
Harper looked across the river again, her eyes crawling up the slopes beyond. While the east side of the river was all cursed lands, the other side of the river was the beginning of the mountains. The slopes went up rapidly, covered with heavy cinnamon barked pines and blue firs. Somewhere, cutting between all those trees, was the trail they should have been on. All the way at the top, so high Imrie couldn’t see it beyond the treetops, was a meadow in the sky and the flowers they both wanted.
“Let’s do it.”
Harper pretended she didn’t notice the look of surprise on Imrie’s face and instead focused on keeping her heart from flying out of her chest.
Of course she didn’t want to rope crawl her way across a freezing cold river racing inches below her head. But Athanasia was at home, pale and barely breathing. And those men – men she thought she could trust – had managed to turn the whole expedition into a competition. She couldn’t turn back, and they couldn’t waste the time going up to the next bridge.
There was no other option.
“Get on this side, upriver of the rope. That way if you slip, the rope might catch you,” Imrie said, showing her. “Never let go of the rope completely. One hand, then the other. It’s going to be cold. So cold your heart is probably going to skip a few beats.”
Harper clapped her hands, startling Imrie. “Sorry. I have something for that! Hold on.”
She dove into her pockets, pulling a few things out as she spoke.
“Carrus seed oil. Dried pepper flakes. Cactus spines. All in a bit of ginger gum. Here.”
She held out the two little balls she had created on her palm. Imrie looked at both of them like they were going to come to life and stuff themselves in her nose, then looked at Harper.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Chew it,” Harper picked one up and popped it in her mouth. It crackled a little until the cactus spines softened. “It’ll keep you warm. I don’t get to make this often. Not a lot of need for it around here.”
Imrie only stared at her, with a single glance for the gumball. “Pass.”
“If the water is as cold as you say…”
“I’ll be fine.”
Harper shrugged and put the extra gumball back into one of her pockets. “Suit yourself.”
“Won’t all of your…supplies get wet?” Imrie asked, pointing at Harper’s pocketed skirts.
Harper smiled. “Oh, see, now that’s really interesting. It’s actually a bit of magic woken right into the fabric of the apron. You do that with an incantation, and just a touch of-”
“Never mind,” Imrie said, waving her hands in front of her. Harper tried to hide her disappointment. No one found green magic quite as interesting as Harper did. “Are you ready?”
Imrie tied her hair up on the top of her head. Harper checked her braid to make sure it was still secured. With a final, questioning look, Imrie picked up the rope and began walking into the river.
The flower. Think of the flower. Picture it in your mind and keep it there. Definitely do not think of the water racing past you, or the rocks down river you could smash into, or the logs coming from upstream. Don’t think of those things. Think of the shallsa flower.
Imrie was already up to her waist, both hands on the rope in front of her. Was it her imagination, or had her skin lost some color? Did her hair shake from the water rushing by, or was she shivering?
Thinking, not doing.
Harper picked up the rope and took a deep breath, filling herself with all the air she could hold.
She walked into the river.
Even with the protection of the gumball, the iciness of the river tried to get into her, a breath away from caressing her skin. Lashing out at her over and over again, trying to find a weakness in the magic. She’d made the sister spell, the gumballs that protected against heat, too many times to count. They were a best seller at the apothecary. Surely, if she could make one so well, she could make the other.
A few more steps and the water came up above her ankles. Her socks were already soaked and-
Her boot slipped on the stone beneath her. Both feet went shooting downriver, desperate to follow the water. Water splashed up her entire right side, getting into her ear. The scream that had been forced out of her was washed away before she could make it.
The gumball popped out.
Ice replaced every bit of blood and nerve she had. Goosebumps broke out so fast on her arms it hurt. The world seemed to narrow to a pinpoint in front of her, and then widen so fast it made her dizzy. Her heart was beating like a syncopated drum.
The rope.
It was slick with water and mildew. The grip she had on it was strong enough to rival a miner’s vice. She was not so deep yet, and when she managed to get herself into a sitting position the water only climbed up to her shoulders. She was facing downriver, getting pushed into the rope. Her midsection burned from the pressure.
The sounds of the river were too loud. Imrie had heard nothing. She was halfway across now, the water rushing past just below her chin. As Harper watched, she lurched forward in slow, jerking bouts. Lunge. Pause. Lunge. Pause. Lunge. Pause.
The flower. Keep thinking of the flower.
Harper made herself take three deep breaths. She’d been knocked over from the strength of the water and the slickness of the rocks. Well, she could make at least one of those things work for her. Bracing herself against the rope, she stayed on her butt and pulled herself to the side. Now fully soaked, it felt like she was dragging along half a herd of sheep with her. Each pull only got her a few inches. Her arms were already aching. She could feel the sharp points of the rock tearing her skirt bottom. A sound, like, a chattering bird came to her. Eventually, she realized it was her teeth.
It only took eight pulls across the river stones before she was deep enough to try to stand again. She moved as slow as she could and as fast as she dared. Too fast, she’d slip again, and maybe this time go under. Too slow, and she’d freeze solid into a single shape, her joints unable to move. Her toes were already completely gone, nothing but nerveless weights filling the tips of her shoes. Eventually, without much more drama than there already was, Harper was standing again. The water deepened quickly now. In the space of four steps it went from just below her chest to cutting across her chin even as she held it up.
Harper was halfway across the river. Imrie was much farther. It looked like she had started coming up the other bank. The water was only up to her shoulders. If Imrie could do it, wearing all that leather, then Harper could, too. They would be out of this river in mere minutes. She could warm them up and dry them off (if Imrie let her) and they would be heading up the mountain path. They could be to Lantern Light by tonight, maybe, or at least early in the morning. All she had to do was keep pushing forward.
Down river, she could see where the banks narrowed, forcing the water to race and bubble past jutting stones. Rapids. Upriver, she could barely see where the bridge had once been standing, broken wood jutting out over water.
Something else.
What was that?
A bit of the bridge, that’s what it was. A large hunk of wood, it must have only just tumbled off the edges. It rolled along with the current, coming right for them.
No, not for them.
“Imrie, look out!”
Imrie turned her head to look back to Harper and saw it coming only a second before it slammed directly into her. However big Harper had thought it was, she was wrong. So wrong. The half-log must have come from the bridge base. It was the size of Imrie. Bigger. It pushed her down the river, over the rope, like she was nothing more than a clump of fabric.
And then she slumped down under the water.
“Imrie!”
In her head it was a scream. In reality it was barely a gasp, and the sound of it was whisked away by the rushing river.
Harper took a deep breath and dove under the rope, toward where Imrie had last been.
Her heart stopped, she was sure of it. The tips of her ears and her nose went numb and the rest of her head started buzzing. Opening her eyes underwater brought the worst pain. What else could she do? If she went under the river blind she was sure to hit a rock.
She swam across the water with open, unpracticed strokes. Athanasia had insisted she learn the basics in the river next to Moment’s Peace. Harper thought all of that had been a complete waste of time until this exact moment.
How fast am I going down the river? How far were those rocks?
If Imrie hit those rocks head on without bracing she was going to break something.
One stroke. Two. Three four. Nothing but eddies of water slipped through her open fingers or brushed across her arms. Water and silt slid sideways past her.
Her lungs were burning. She shot up, gasping. She was far enough along to stand and keep her head above the water – that is, if the water had been still. The current was stronger at the bottom of the river, and it kept forcing her feet out from under her, taking away her balance. She swallowed river water and the cold shot through her insides.
Harper dove again, this time going as close to the river bottom as she could. The rocks had to be coming. She had seconds, and then the raging water was going to become confusing, faster, sharper. She was practically flailing under the water, searching for something, anything, any sign she had ever been in the water, any sign at-
Her right hand brushed against something. In the depths of the river, hovering above the stones, she found a hand. Then an arm. And then a face.
Imrie.
There was no celebrating, nor even relief. They still had to get out of the river and away from the rocks. Forget trying to get back to the rope. They had to get to the bank.
She got an arm under Imrie’s back and arms and pulled. It took all of her strength to get the two of them to the surface. She drank deeply of the air, not caring how much her lungs burned.
Imrie wasn’t breathing.
The mountain, where’s the mountain?
It was fully afternoon now, and the sun was behind the mountain. Long shadows reached. Alternating between pushing against the river bottom and kicking against the water, Harper moved toward the shadow, trying to find the source. It was getting hard to keep her own head above the water, let alone Imrie’s. She kept sliding down. She was getting heavier and heavier. The current was taking them downstream faster than she was taking them to shore. The water to her left was getting louder and louder as the rocks loomed. She braced herself.
If the rock she hit had had any sharp edges that probably would have been the end of them. A simple whap, splat, split, and done, with nothing but broken bones and trails of blood to speak for their existence.
But the rock she hit was flat. Worn smooth by the water. Her left arm smacked into it evenly, hard enough she knew it would bruise a deep purple all the way from her shoulder to her wrist. Once she was out of this freezing water and her nerves had come back to life, it was going to hurt like hell. For now, it was something to brace against.
The rock stretched all the way to the riverbank. Only a few feet away now. Still deep, still deep. She pushed forward, sliding her left arm against the stone. She had Imrie tucked under her right arm, face barely above the water. It was starting to drop around them, now only coming up to her chest, now her hips, now her knees. She had to drag Imrie out of the water, unable to lift her.
“Imrie, Imrie, stay with me,” she muttered, too quiet for her to hear even if she was still conscious. Which she wasn’t. She wasn’t breathing either.
Something curious happened.
All of the fear. The panic. The confusion. Everything melted away. Even her heart slowed, her breathing became tempered, the frozen nerves came back to life. It was like some sort of jam had been released from her mind, and for the first time ever she could think.
Inches away from the river, she knelt next to Imrie. Her movements became precise. She took off her apron and laid it flat next to her. Reached into her deepest pocket and found the willow branches she had broken off not twenty minutes ago. She started waving them over Imrie in slow, circular motions. Clockwise. There was an incantation, but words were a crutch for green mages. A crutch she didn’t need right now.
She could feel the magic. It was firelight on a warm night. Leafy shade in the middle of the day. Soothing songs hummed over the half-asleep. It built and built above her, following the willows, chasing it, wondering what was to happen next.
Then, the water. The water in Imrie’s clothes. Her hair. Her lungs. Swirling up. Toward the willow branches. Toward the magic. Imrie’s lips parted and river water, heavy and dirty, sprayed upward without ever coming down. In a matter of minutes she was dry as a bone while a heavy mass of water spun around itself two feet above.
A flick of the wrist and the willow branches sailed into the river. The water in the air followed, collapsing harmlessly back where it belonged.
Still, Imrie didn’t breathe.
Still, Harper found emotions strangely distant.
Both hands on the ground, she reached for the roots of the trees around her. Felt them linking to her, her soft fingers and their hard wood becoming one. Knowing all. Sharing all.
Harper stared at the part of Imrie’s chest that held the heart.
“Spark.”
Her heart beat. And beat. And beat.
Imrie gasped for air, jerking forward, clutching at her chest and her middle. Then fell back.
Unconscious. Breathing.
High Urban Fantasy Jazz 
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