Johan was up at once, waving to the cart driver, desperate to get his attention. From where they were sitting, the driver took no notice of him. He had moved to the side of the cart and was ready to hop down when he ran out of time.
The big animal lost the headgear in one of its head-rocking motions, casting the old blanket to the ground.
It immediately had a very pained expression on its face, its mouth open in what Johan could only assume was a cry of fear and discomfort. It thrashed back and forth, ramming its head against the cart and then away, pulling its rope taut repeatedly.
The motions finally got the attention of the driver and his daughter. They were trying to figure out the best plan of action when the folme gave a huge yank on its rope, snapping it.
It fell back and listed to one side, hitting another cart that was traveling behind the one it had been tied to. The cart was thrown off to the left of the road at the jolt and began sliding down a small embankment the road rested on. The driver tried in vain to steer back, and had managed to get the right wheels back on the road when the beleaguered folme hit again, ramming its head against the cart once more in an attempt to shut out the horrible noise. With the last hit, the cart tumbled, throwing the driver, passengers, and all cargo it carried down the hill.
By this point most of the caravan had been alerted to the peril by rear-flanking Riders. The carts were all being brought to a stop and many curious and horrified travelers looked back to see what had happened.
The pained folme was battering the cart it had been tied to and had smashed it closer to the edge of the road and toward the Thunder Head. It reared back and was in the midst of charging with all of its considerable might when the mustached driver gave a powerful whip to the reigns, causing the team tied to the cart to wrench forward with a burst of speed. The action caused the folme to miss and stagger across the remainder of the road to the edge of the lake, where it had no choice but to succumb to its mass and heave over the edge and into the tumultuous water below with a silent splash.
The driver’s quick thinking had unexpected consequences. The sudden rush forward caused the young girl at his side to tumble backwards, over the boxes and bags of supplies they carried, and on to the lip of the cart. No one rode with them, so no one was there to stop her as she twirled like a dancer on the edge, a look of terror on her face for a moment as she looked about for help that wasn’t there, then off and into the lake not far from where the folme who had led the way was now thrashing madly to escape its fate.
Johan watched the whole scene as if it played in slow motion. Helplessly he watched the folme topple headlong into the Thunder Head, then the girl and her picturesque movements followed moments before she turned and met his eyes as she went backwards.
The driver was back at once, and he looked over the side of the supplies into the lake. When Johan saw the man begin pulling off his boots and shirt, his paralysis was broken instantly. The man was going to go in after her, a trip guaranteed to bring his own death in the dark water. A heroic death, but a death all the same. That could not happen.
Johan looked around, spying a piece of spare rope. He bent down and grabbed it by the matched ends, got back up, and turned to Stroan.
His sudden movements had gotten Stroan’s attention. By the time Stroan had begun his shout of “No!” at the top of his lungs (a useless action, even so close) Johan was already moving forward, bounding like a cat from his own cart to the one beside him. In a blur, his hand whipped back, tossing a free end of the rope to Stroan while he catapulted himself off the other side, wrapping the end he carried around his wrist twice and into his hand before he hit the water feet-first.
It would barely be a perceivable moment that could measure the time it took for Johan to go from hero to fool in his own mind. He hit with such a force that he went right past his intended target and beyond, to the deep abyss below.
The forces at work in the lake were amazing. It grabbed a hold of him at once and tossed him about with no rhyme or reason. Johan had no concept of up or down, and the blurry images his brain could process did nothing to help the matter. He was lost in such a short period of time that he could only feel helplessness; all heroism he had possessed a moment before on the cart was gone like a candle getting snuffed out.
The first tug on his arm hit, threatening to pull away the safety line he’d nearly forgotten about in the muddle of fear and confusion. Instinct caused him to clamp his hand down, grabbing the rope as it pulled back again. Had he not grabbed when he did, it easily would have been lost.
Soon his body jackknifed upwards, and with another tug he broke the surface, gasping for the air the fear had pushed out of him.
The pain hit him like he’d been shot. At first, he thought a powerful blow had struck him in the head, and his free hand reached up to see if he was alright. It was then he noticed his doughy earplugs had been either
