Naamah's Blessing

watching as we journeyed farther down the river, abandoning him.
    And when the rain began to fall, it almost seemed appropriate—at least at first. But instead of tapering off by mid-day as it had in the past, it only rained harder and harder. The placid river began to swell, the current increasing until we were no longer paddling to propel our vessels, but merely to control them. The rain fell in sheets, blinding us and throwing a thick veil over the world.
    Through the downpour, I could dimly make out Eyahue’s canoe ahead of ours veering sharply to the left. In the prow, Bao loosed a shout of alarm at the sight of a nearly submerged boulder.
    “Left! Left, as hard as you can!” he yelled.
    Paddling madly, we managed to pass it, calling out warnings to the vessels behind us. Ahead of us, Eyahue pointed frantically toward the shore. It took all our strength to paddle hard enough to cut across the current.
    Alas, not everyone behind us was as fortunate.
    I was helping drag our canoe ashore when the cries went up on the river. Shielding my eyes against the rain with one hand, I saw that one of the vessels had struck the boulder and overturned. Free of its burden, the canoe shot away downriver, carried by the swift current, leaving four men struggling against it.
    Others were trying to help, but it was impossible to fight the current long enough to drag them into the canoes. Two of the men began swimming hard toward the shore, making slow headway. One was clinging to the boulder, and I could no longer see the fourth.
    Bao plunged into the river without hesitation, wading armpit-deep into the water and shouting encouragement to the swimmers. How he kept his footing in the current, I couldn’t imagine. All I knew was that it terrified me.
    “Your husband is a madman,” Balthasar muttered before going after him, picking his way with obvious difficulty.
    Together, they managed to help the exhausted swimmers to shore, and I do not think those men would have made it to safety without them.
    “Who’s left out there?” Balthasar gasped.
    The L’Agnacite Jean Grenville coughed and retched and spat out river water. “De Montague’s on the rock,” he said hoarsely. “Didn’t see what happened to Longchamps.”
    One by one, the remaining canoes reached the shore. The downpour continued unabated. In the middle of the rising river, Mathieu de Montague wrapped his arms around a boulder that would soon be wholly submerged.
    “Can we reach him on foot?” Bao asked Jean Grenville.
    He shook his head. “Too deep.”
    Balthasar pushed the sodden hair from his eyes. “Can he swim? If he can’t, in another ten minutes, he’ll be swept away.”
    Jean gave a weary nod. “A little, I think. Just not well.”
    “We’ll get as close as we can,” Bao said decisively. “Link arms, make a chain. It’s our only chance.”
    I watched with my heart in my throat as ten of our strongest men put Bao’s plan into action, clasping each other’s wrists and plunging into the raging water in a long chain, a bit downriver of where Mathieu clung to his increasingly tenuous perch, straining to keep his head above water.
    Our redoubtable Jaguar Knight Temilotzin anchored the chain, his feet planted firmly on the shore.
    Of course, Bao led it.
    Once again, he waded up to his armpits in the fierce current. Balthasar maintained a hard grip on Bao’s left wrist, his other hand clasped around Brice de Bretel’s wrist. Bao reached out his right hand in Mathieu de Montague’s direction.
    Between the hissing rain and the torrent of the river, I couldn’t hear what Bao shouted to the lad, but Mathieu shook his head in terrified refusal. The rain fell harder and the river rose further.
    Bao shouted at him again.
    Whatever he’d shouted, it didn’t matter. A fresh surge of water dislodged Mathieu from his rock. Paddling dog-wise, his neck craned at an awkward angle, he made his way toward Bao’s extended right hand.
    Ah, gods!
    It was close, so close. Peering through the rain, I saw Mathieu sputter and put out his hand with only a few feet between them. Bao lunged for him and came up short, his empty fingers grasping at air. The entire chain of men lurched forward, staggering in the current, every last one of them in danger of losing their footing and being swept away.
    On the shore, Temilotzin grunted and heaved backward, stabilizing the chain.
    Bao made one last desperate lunge in vain, his effort curtailed by Balthasar Shahrizai’s