Chapter Six:

M'cha, you're right. Imogen and Thom are acting very childish. Just for the record, Imogen and Thom are both seventeen and the twins are fifteen. As for the "hate is akin to love," I don't know! It could go either way. One thing is certain, they can't hate each other forever, because how long could someone logically live in a house with a person he or she hated?

Jip: Aaah! Plot hole! Numair found out from an old reference book, for the record. I don't know how I could have neglected to include that. I actually did write that in one of my copies, so this isn't just spur-of-the-moment invention.

In this chapter Imogen does something very, very stupid. And no, I don't own this.

It was late April and, wonder of wonders, it was hot. Not just pleasantly warm but terribly, grillingly, scorchingly hot. To Imogen, native of the moderate climate of Victoria, British Columbia, it felt as though a furnace had been set up in the middle of Pirate's Swoop.

Yes, Imogen was still at Pirate's Swoop. After Numair's announcement that she could never go back home, she had tried to look at things objectively. It was necessary to make the best life possible for herself in Tortall, and that meant staying where she was happy. Alanna and her family obviously liked Imogen, and Imogen liked them. Numair had kindly extended an invitation for Imogen to travel to the palace with him, but Imogen turned it down. She didn't think she could live in a city for very long, much less a palace.

She was even learning to live with Thom. They had discovered a very good way to avoid all major injuries – ignore each other whenever possible. Their highly volatile arguments had become few and far between, but were liable to flare up without any warning, such as right now.

The subject was, as usual, Imogen's Gift or lack thereof. Master Numair had searched her for any sign of magical ability and proclaimed that she had truthsense to a very advanced degree, but no other unusual ability. Thom insisted this made her a mage, and Imogen just as stubbornly insisted it did not. Deep down inside Imogen knew that Thom was at least partly right, but she stuck to her opinion like glue. Imogen knew she was being childish, but clinging to her Giftless state was like clinging to the last shred of her Earthly heritage. She felt that to admit she had even a partial Gift would be to forsake Earth forever.

"For the last time, I don't have the Gift," Imogen shrieked, her eyes blazing.

"You do, you do, you're just being stubborn," Thom said through gritted teeth. "Admit it, you're afraid of the Gift."

"I am not!" Imogen protested, all the more vehement because it was true. "I am not afraid of your precious Gift. I just don't have it."

Thom threw up his hands. "You're impossible," he sighed, storming off.

Imogen glared after him. *Why does he care if I have the Gift or not?* She wondered, confused. Then she spun around. "Argh," she moaned. "It's too hot to think. I need to go for a walk."

Experience had taught Imogen that Pirate's Swoop was a rather stifling home in hot weather. The inhabitants usually spent the summer months outside whenever possible. Most went swimming in the cove. However, Imogen wasn't a very strong swimmer, and there could be a fierce undertow in the cove, so she usually contented herself with dumping buckets of water over her head and dangling her feet in the water. She had claimed a special rock near the south side of the cove as her favorite seat.

That was where Imogen went to cool of after her battle with Thom. Like the rest of the manor house, she went barefoot, so she had no aversion to getting her feet wet. Flopping down on the rock, she sighed heavily. Thom was being such an exasperating idiot. Why couldn't he just leave her in peace?

Imogen closed her eyes against the glare of the sun. The air was heavy, still, and hot, pressing down on her like a lead weight. In the distance she could hear the sounds drifting from the Swoop. No matter how hot it was, life had to go on.

Half-asleep, Imogen rolled over, forgetting her precarious position perched on the rock. With a tremendous splash and a terrified shriek she rolled right off the rock and into the deep sapphire water, knocking her head in the process.

Right away Imogen knew she was in trouble. The water here was very deep, the rocks very slippery, and she didn't know how to swim. Frantically she scrabbled at her former perch, desperately trying to find some sort of handhold but only succeeding in pushing herself further from safety. Imogen tried to scream, but water flooded her lungs. Coughing and spluttering, she forced her way to the surface, flailing her arms, only to sink down again. Imogen was fighting desperately, but she knew she would lose. Eventually the water would close over her head and seal her under the waves forever. She felt almost amused. How ironic, to drown in plain sight just because nobody happened to be looking.

She fought on. Imogen didn't know how long she had been in the water, sinking below the surface and forcing her way back up before she began to tire. Weakly her arms flailed as the water closed over her head one last time. There would be no escape this time. No matter how long she held her breath, soon she would black out and water would flood her lungs. A feeling of peace stole over her as she heard what sounded like sweet voices singing.

*If this is dying, it's not so bad,* she thought drowsily as her eyes closed for the last time

Stupid mortal, said a familiar, unwelcome voice. I did not bring you to Tortall just to drown. What do you mean by this outrage?

It's not like I had much choice, Imogen retorted, opening her eyes to face Loge. She noticed detachedly that she didn't seem to be drowning anymore. A person dies when they die. I can't help it that I don't know how to swim.

Loge looked exasperated. This ruins all my fun, he sighed. Did I wait three hundred years just to bring a mortal with no courtesy here and watch her die?

It's your fault, Imogen said, nettled. I didn't ask to come here.

The god scratched his orange hair. I will have to send you back, he informed Imogen. The Graveyard Hag has given me permission.

Wonderful, Imogen said, annoyed. More godly stuff done without my permission. Then she eyed Loge with amusement. You might want to work on your fashion sense, she told him with a grin. Orange and green don't look very good together.

Get out of here, mortal, Loge said with a sigh.

Imogen regained consciousness slowly. The first thing she did was roll onto her side and expel what felt like half the water in the cove. Her lungs ached like someone had just pounded them with a sledgehammer. She looked up to see Alanna leaning over her while George, Thom, Alianne, Alan, and a fair proportion of the villagers all stared at her.

"Gods curse it," Imogen groaned. "I died, didn't I?"

There it is! I know the Imogen-nearly-dying thing was a little far-fetched, but I wanted to work it in somehow. Next chapter we learn how Imogen got out of the water, and the residents of Pirate's Swoop get a special invitation!

Also, a reader survey. Do people think that:

A: Imogen should end up with Thom?

B: Imogen should end up with someone else?

C: Imogen should end up with nobody at all?

Suggestions for any non-Imogen pairings people would like to see are welcome also!

Just in case people are wondering, Thom is worried that Imogen is running around with an untrained Gift, which is why he keeps nagging her about it. Imogen does not have the Gift, and her truthsense doesn't play a very large part in this fic.