This River Awakens by Steven Erikson Read Free Book Online Page B

moved closer and tried to pull a branch from the knotted pile. After a moment I stopped. ‘Any beavers left here?’ I asked Lynk, who’d followed behind me.
    He shrugged. ‘Sure. Probably hibernating or something.’
    There was no wind. The air smelled faintly of smoke, reminding me of bus exhaust. Looking down on the lodge, I wondered at the sudden reverence I felt for it, and for the animals inside. Still asleep, while the world melted around them, thick-furred and curled up and lying in the warm darkness, huddled together beneath the season that buried their home in snow. Waiting, easily waiting.
    ‘Everything’s waiting,’ I said.
    ‘What?’
    I gazed at Lynk, met eyes that might have been a mirror of mine when I had baited Carl. I scowled against a sudden chill in the pit of my stomach. We’re all waiting.
    After a few moments, Lynk turned away. He crouched down and scooped up a handful of mud. He rolled it into a ball.
    Roland and Carl were standing now, looking out over the river. On the far bank squatted a factory of some kind. Towering smokestacks bled greasy smoke that drifted down over the river.
    ‘What kind of place is that?’
    Lynk said, ‘Oil refinery.’
    The smoke I’d smelled earlier had come from there – the bus exhaust that for me was the city. Finding it out here was disappointing. The factory was an intruder, crouching there in its own foul breath.
    Carl had left his stick standing upright in the mud at the water’s edge. Its dull-grey shaft threw a worm-like shadow up the bank; already the current had wrapped swamp-grass around it. Slowly, the stick toppled.
    ‘What’re we waiting for?’ I asked, the words coming out harsh.
    The look I turned on Roland must have been a glare, but he only ran one of his thick hands through his straw-coloured hair. ‘Nothing,’ he said.
    I nodded sharply, his answer striking me as profound.
    Lynk threw his mud ball into the river. ‘Wait till summer,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll bring my pellet rifle out here and we’ll shoot beavers. Hah! Fuckin’ drill them!’
    ‘Leave them alone,’ I said.
    His grin got wider.
    ‘We’ll shoot at the yachts,’ I continued, ‘unless you’re chicken shit, Lynk.’
    Another jump of Lynk’s shoulders was his only immediate reply.
    ‘We’d get in trouble,’ Roland said, frowning at me.
    ‘Hey,’ I laughed. ‘What’re they going to do, beach their yachts and chase us on foot? Forget it.’
    ‘Fuckin’ right I’ll shoot the pricks,’ Lynk said, clearing his throat and spitting.
    We swung away from the river and made our way inland once again. ‘Let’s head over to the school,’ Roland said. ‘You ain’t seen it yet close up, right, Owen?’
    Lynk laughed. ‘I know why you want to go there, Roland.’ He turned to me. ‘Jennifer and her friends usually hang out there, smoking cigarettes.’ He raised his hands as if cupping breasts. ‘Sandy’ll be there, right, Roland?’
    The farmboy just smiled and pushed ahead of us on the trail.
    ‘Who’s Sandy?’ I asked.
    Lynk nodded at Roland’s back. ‘He’s in love with her.’
    Roland drawled, ‘In the bag, Lynk.’
    ‘Hah!’
    ‘Up your ass.’
    Lynk and I shared a grin, even though inside I struggled against a surge of envy. For a brief moment I hated Roland. For his height, his looks. Then the feeling faded, leaving me with nothing but a fierce, desperate yearning.
    Carl walked behind us. He hadn’t said a word since we’d left the river. I ignored him, though the scene in the boat cycled through my mind, shifting from comical to macabre then back again as I replayed it in detail – the rage on Carl’s face, the spinning thread of spit, the large, thick yellow teeth bared by lips pulled back. It was as if Carl had cast off a mask, revealed his true self. A creature springing from its corner, lashing out with weakly thrown fists and blunt fangs.
    We came to the boat yards once again, passing between two hangars and then crossing the rail