The words were like a slap in the face. Of course. There is only one thing you can do. You’ll have to swim. The idea was nearly paralyzing on its own. He hadn’t been in the water since—don’t think about that! The thought of leaving Odette there, alone, possibly hurt… I’ll do it. For her. And Simon was moving again, moving before his fear could catch up with him. He climbed onto the railing of the bridge and dived into the cold, churning water of the lake. His clothes dragged at him as he started to swim, a rusty stroke that his muscles only just remembered.
Simon could hear nothing but his own breathing and the splash of his arms and legs in the water. Then out of nowhere, a great weight dropped down on him, pushing him toward the bottom of the lake. Simon yelled in surprise, losing the little air he had in his lungs. He wriggled to the side, and the pressure released him. He bobbed to the surface, gasping for breath. What was that?
Treading water, he looked back toward the bridge. Bartholomew was moving swiftly toward him, hovering inches above the water as though blown by the wind. He can control the elements? There wasn’t time to wonder how it was possible; it was happening. The lake around him was like an ocean now, raging in a way no lake should.
A sudden rushing to his left made Simon spin around in time to catch a full face of water. Bartholomew had raised another wave and sent it crashing into him. Down he plunged, forced by the strength of the wave. He swam upward and barely caught another breath before a third wave was bearing down on him. Simon plowed on, arms and legs churning as much as the lake around him.
Then Bartholomew was there, lashing out with his cane. Simon felt the round metal pommel make contact with his head, and pain burst through it. He swerved away, trying to avoid a second hit. His clothes were too heavy; they slowed him down. Seizing his jacket, he tried to pull it off. Something was weighing down one of the pockets.
Another wave crashed into him, sending him tumbling through the water. He had not been prepared for this one, and water rushed into his mouth. Desperate now, he groped for the heavy object in his pocket, finally freeing it from the fabric. It was oddly warm to the touch, smooth and slightly curved. A golden light pulsed softly from it. Odette’s golden feather! He gripped it like a talisman and swam again for the surface, thrusting it out of the water ahead of him. A golden bubble of light sprang up around him from the metal feather, and the storm seemed to lessen a little.
“Where did you get that?” Bartholomew cried, anger harsh in his voice. Simon didn’t trouble himself with answering. His enemy was thrown off for the moment, and he needed to take advantage of it. The next second he was whirling around in spite of himself. A strange cry had pierced the stormy air. Bartholomew was besieged by what looked like a new storm composed entirely of white feathers. The swans of the Public Garden had surrounded him, and he was swinging his cane wildly as they attacked him from all sides.
Simon turned and swam as hard as he could for the boat, hauling himself onto the deck. He was exhausted, but he could not stop. Getting to his feet, he turned back toward Bartholomew and the swans. Again following some instinct he did not fully understand, he raised the golden feather and took careful aim. Wait for your moment…
Arm whirling, Simon threw the feather as hard as he could toward the fighting group on the lake surface. The swans parted, and the feather struck Bartholomew right in the center of his chest. The man looked down, surprised. As if in slow motion, he grew still and toppled sideways, sinking out of sight into the lake.
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