Maia

Maia woke instantly. The first thing of which she was conscious was the wet. She was wet through from head to foot-hair, ears, eyelids, hands, sandals. She was lying in a soaking wet hollow the shape of her body. For some reason, however, the rain no longer seemed to be blowing in upon her, though she could hear it beating on the planking above her head.

Something was wrong. That jerk; she'd felt that all right- that was what had woken her. But they were not aground; they were at the full extent of a rope, as she could feel by the wavering of the boat. What in Cran's name was going on?

Without stopping to put on her tunic or cloak, she elbowed her way out into the little well astern and stood up, facing forward. Immediately she felt the rain full in her face. So they must be pointing upstream.

"Anda-Nokomis, what's happened?"

"We'd stopped for a rest, Maia. We had both anchors down, and I think the stern one must have pulled out."

Quickly she turned, found the stern anchor rope in the dark and pulled on it. At least the anchor had not carried away. It was still on the other end, though not touching bottom.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"I can't say: three or four hours, perhaps."

"And the river's been rising all the time," she said.

"That's why the anchor came adrift: likely it never had a proper grip of the bottom to start with. We must raise the other one and then turn her downstream again."

Yet try as they would, they could not pull up the bow anchor. All three of them hauled until they had actually dragged the heavy boat two or three feet upstream against the current, but still the anchor would not budge.

At length Zen-Kurel stood back, panting, and at once the boat drifted back downstream and fetched up at the full extent of the rope.

"We'll have to cut it, Maia."

"No!" she said. "Not till I've been down to have a go at freeing it."

Zen-Kurel took her by the wrist. "Maia, I won't allow it."

She turned on him with icy anger. "Will you please let me go?" He did so. "Thank you. Now listen. If I know anything about it, it's probably hooked itself under a log or something o' that. If I do manage to clear it, you'll feel the jerk as the boat lifts, 'cos she's down by the bow now: that's on account of the river rising. Then she'll start to drift, and you'll have to pull me back. Not too sharp, though, or you'll catch me with the anchor like a fish on a hook."

"Shouldn't we drop the other anchor first?" asked Anda-Nokomis.

"No," answered Maia decisively. "We're not risking this happening twice. You shouldn't have anchored at all, Anda-Nokomis: not in this current, with the river rising. You should've tied up to the bank."

Without another word she slipped off her sandals, leaned well out over the bow, gripped the taut rope with both hands, took a deep breath and went overside.

At once she felt the strength of the current. It fairly jerked at her arms. Her hair streamed backwards and she could feel the flow over her shoulders and along the length of her back. Lose the rope and you're done for! Hand over hand, down and down. Eyes shut, free hand feeling ahead. Pain across the forehead and under the eyes. I'll get the basting thing up if it kills me! She found the shank of the anchor and felt soft, water-soaked twigs brushing against her face and shoulders like a swarm of long-legged insects. Then-ah! just as she'd supposed-a thick branch; absolutely unyielding, yes, and therefore sticking out from a sunken tree-trunk, probably,

but no need to find out about that. One fluke of the anchor neatly under it, snug as fingers round the handle of a basket. Hadn't even pierced the wood. O Cran, I can't hold my breath any longer! I can't! Push it down by the shank, turn it away from you-I'm drowning, drowning, I can't hold my breath: let it out then, girl, but once you do there's no more-it's clear, it'sfree!

She almost lost hold of the rope as the anchor leapt upward, jerked by the buoyancy of the released boat above. With the last remnant of her consciousness she got both hands to it and felt them pulling her up. Give me air, O Cran, just give me some air and I'll never ask for any least thing else, ever again!

Her head and shoulders came clear of the surface and she drew in her breath. It was over. She could breathe.

They gripped her under the arms and dragged her aboard. For a good half minute she lay prone on the planking, vomiting water and drawing one breath after another.

At length she stood up.

"What's happening? Who's got the tiller?"

"I have," answered Bayub-Otal from the stern. "I've turned us downstream and I'm keeping as near in to the bank as I can."

"You're too brave for your own good, Maia," said Zen-Kurel. "Please don't try anything else like that."