The Outcasts by John Flanagan Read Free Book Online Page B

when he was young. But he knew that most Skandians never bothered to learn. It seemed like a paradox when so many of them spent their lives in ships. But, as Thorn had told him, most of them felt that, in the event of a shipwreck, the ability to swim would only prolong the agony. In addition, the year-round cold of the Stormwhite Sea made swimming an unattractive proposition.
    Stig’s left foot slipped on the weed-covered shelf as the water surged in again, coming up to his waist. He quickly reached behind him and gripped the rough surface of the rock as the water surged out, trying to drag him with it. It was touch and go for a moment, then he recovered his balance and his footing.
    Hal realized that he’d been holding his breath. He released it now in a long sigh.
    Stig, secure once more, stretched out with the willow pole. The buoy was now within easy reach, but it was still dancing up and down as the waves passed under it. The hook at the end of the pole caught the loop of rope on top of the buoy, but then the buoy sank with a wave and the hook came loose. Again Stig tried, and again he just failed. Another wave struck the shelf, sending spray high into the air, then receded. The next wave was already lifting the buoy higher, and for a moment, as it met the outgoing wave, the buoy was still.
    Stig released his grip on the rock behind him and leaned out, both hands now on the pole. He sighted carefully, then passed the hook through the loop of sodden rope. But he was unprepared for the sudden drag as the buoy sank and he teetered precariously for a second or two. Then the incoming wave whumped into the shelf again. Solid water ran over the rock, then cascaded back into the ocean. The force of the outgoing water caught Stig, already off balance, by surprise. With a startled cry, he slipped from the shelf.

    On the cliff overhead, Hal watched, horrified, as the other boy fell awkwardly into the surging water. He heard Stig’s yell of alarm, cut off abruptly as the water closed over his head. Then Stig reappeared, several meters offshore, as the undertow dragged him away from safety. He thrashed the water, went under, then resurfaced.
    Hal realized that the air trapped in Stig’s sheepskin vest would keep him afloat for the time being. But it would soon become waterlogged and begin to drag the boy under. There was no time to lose. He leapt to his feet and raced along the cliff edge to the rope. He stripped down to his underwear, retaining his knife belt. Then, as an afterthought, he wrapped his discarded shirt around his hands, seized onto the rope and, facing back toward the cliff, dropped over the edge, fending off with his feet as he fell.
    The rope sizzled through his shirt, which began to smoke from the friction. But it protected his hands from being seared as he dropped through the air. In seconds, it seemed, he hit the rocks at the base of the cliff. His knees buckled and he fell awkwardly, bruising his hip. But he was up instantly, running to the spot where Stig had gone in.
    He saw Stig’s wooden bucket and grabbed it up. The lid was fastened securely, hinged at one side and held with a metal hasp at the other. He looped the rope handle over one arm, ran to the edge and paused. Stig was seven or eight meters away from the rocks, floundering helplessly. Already, the vest was becoming sodden and the trapped air was escaping from it. Hal saw the boy’s mouth open wide as he tried to scream, then choked helplessly as a wave slapped
    him in the face, filling his mouth with seawater. He could see that Stig was close to giving up. He had only seconds to act.
    He paused, waiting as a wave ran in, rising before him, about to slam into the rock face. Then he tossed the bucket into the water and went in after it, leaping as far as he could over the incoming wave.
    The shock of the icy water closing over his head hit him like the kick of a mule. It was all he could do not to gasp helplessly and swallow water while he was