MENAGERIE
Two – In which Red Sonja gets her kit off.
The river was further off than it had first appeared, but the nearer Sonja got to it the more it seemed to call to her, glinting and glittering in the rays of the sun.
When she finally reached the trees the shade was welcome; and a gentle breeze blowing off the water cooled her still more. She ran the last few yards before throwing herself down on the bank and plunging her face into the water. It was surprisingly cold and she came up spluttering. Kneeling on the bank she cast aside her gauntlets and scooped up palmfuls of water which she drank greedily; then she splashed more over herself, shivering as little rivulets ran deliciously down her body. She pulled off her boots and sat dangling her feet in the water, waggling her toes. That was better, she thought to herself. She was no longer hot; she was no longer thirsty. Now all she needed was to find something to eat.
She gazed at the river. There was bound to be fish in it, but she couldn't see any. The water was opaque – not murky or silty; but silvery, as if sunlight bounced back off the surface and couldn't penetrate beneath. Twinkles of light danced on the ripples. It was serene; it was beautiful. It was enticing.
An idea began to form in Sonja's mind. She looked around. She knew that she was alone, but couldn't shake off the feeling that she was somehow trespassing in another's domain. She shrugged; since when had that ever bothered her? She stood up and undid her swordbelt, laying the weapon carefully down on the grass. She looked around again, some instinct gnawing at her; but there was nothing she could put her finger on. There was nothing to see but the water and the trees; there was nothing to hear but the rustling of the leaves and a few birds chirping.
Imagination, she told herself; nothing more. She reached up and removed the arrangement of leather and steel that covered – at least in part – her upper torso. Then her fingers went to the buckle at her hips. She hesitated a moment longer, then stepped out of her armour. Then, feeling like a mischievous twelve-year-old, she ran to the river, leapt high into the air, and entered the water with the biggest splash she could manage.
Mithra, but it was cold. As she broke surface she let out an involuntary shriek, and for a moment considered climbing out at once. After a second or two, however, she found the cold wonderfully refreshing – just the thing to soothe aching limbs. She swam a few lazy strokes towards the middle of the river, then dived beneath the surface. She kept her eyes open, but could see nothing underwater. Though the light did penetrate the water it was so broken and fragmented that no images could form. It was like swimming in liquid silver.
She swam back to a point where she could stand with the water up to her neck and began to wash her hair. Many times she ducked beneath the surface, dragging her fingers through her crimson tresses, until she was satisfied that she'd removed every trace of dust and grime and sweat. Then she swam a few more languid strokes before turning over and floating on her back, gazing up at the sky.
At last she struck out for the shore, noticing with surprise that she was some distance downstream from the place where she'd left her gear. Evidently the current was stronger than she'd thought. Once back in her depth, she began to wade back upstream.
Her leg brushed against something; some rock or submerged log she supposed; except that it was smooth against her skin. Then it happened again, only this time, unmistakeably, something brushed against her – something moving below the surface. A fish perhaps? If so, it was a big one.
Beginning to feel just a little uneasy, she waded as fast as she could for the shallows. Her chest rose above the surface, then her stomach. Then the water around her suddenly erupted and she found herself fighting for her life.