Clariel crawled over the first chain, holding on to others ahead, and continued on, going further out and deeper into the waterfall. The crashing waters were really hurting her now, as savage as any blow she’d ever felt, as hard-hitting as the training weapons she’d used long ago with her school-fellows in the practice yard of the Estwael Trained Band. Still she kept on, till reaching ahead her fingers encountered no more chains, but a jagged edge of rock, so unlike the smoothly worked edges to either side that she thought it must once have extended further, but had been broken off by the tireless assault of falling water.

The third-last chain would do, Clariel thought, some vestige of caution exerting itself at last. Whatever dangled from the furthermost chain might offer a challenge too great even for her new and much puffed-up confidence. Holding tight, she reached out and down with the gaff, and, after a few attempts, got the hook securely through a link. Then she cautiously drew up a green glass bottle from below, the Charter marks on it glowing so brightly they cut through even the dense wall of water.

She hesitated to touch the bottle. The marks were so brilliant, so fierce, for the first time ever she felt some fear of the Charter. She had never understood Charter Magic, never wanted to understand it; it was just something that was there in her life. But here, even half-drowned, pummelled by the waterfall, and in a precarious position on a narrow tongue of stone, she felt the awful majesty of the Charter.

I need this bottle, I need the creature within, Clariel thought. I cannot save Aunt Lemmin with Charter Magic. I cannot save myself …

There was a pain in her forehead, as if the mask was pressing there too tightly. Clariel really did not want to touch those Charter marks. To delay doing so, she started to shuffle backwards, now holding the chain up above her head, so the bottle dangled safely a yard or so above the stone. She did not think it could be easily broken, but she didn’t want to put it to the test. If the creature within broke free before she was ready …

Halfway back to the cavern floor, Clariel realised the chain was long enough that she could bring the bottle all the way back, rest it near the lip, and then open it. Whatever challenge the spells on the bottle offered, she would not have to confront them out here, under the waterfall. She could do as she did before. Raise the fury and open the bottle as a berserk, protected by her rage.

If she could raise the fury.

Clariel felt tired already, not to mention bruised and battered by the waterfall. But she knew there was no choice. As with hunting a wounded deer, even at the end of the day, if it was not finished then you had to go on.