I fly through our skiff’s shield and alight on its narrow deck as Min Lo hovers the craft just above the dangerous water, both the skiff and its shield stabilized, Trystan’s wand now lowered, the shield holding on its own. His green eyes gain a look of urgency as he takes in the screaming child.

“I’m going to look for the mother!” I tell him as I move to hand her off to him.

“Mage!” she shrieks as she turns and catches sight of him, struggling mightily against my grip.

“Don’t be afraid,” Trystan attempts to reassure her as he gently touches her arm.

“No! No!” she screams, violently flinching away. “Mamma! Mamma!”

Trystan’s eyes meet mine as his expression goes hard. “I’m going in.”

Before I can respond, he raises his wand and murmurs a spell. A thin, watery shield courses over him, encasing his head and torso, before he jumps overboard. Min Lo gives me a determined look, and I hand her the child, then jump back in too.

The next minutes are sheer chaos. A desperate search through murky waters. The raging storm above. Children up and down the river screaming for their parents. Parents calling out for their children and each other.

I pull a Keltish woman who clearly has the Red Grippe out of the Zonor’s powerful waters and help Min Lo hoist her onto our skiff, the woman slumping onto the deck and coughing fitfully while the little girl continues to scream for her mother.

I fly out and retrieve another child, a little blond Keltish boy, pale and traumatized, his teeth chattering from the cold. His father manages to swim to the skiff and is pulled up next by Min Lo. Then the boy’s mother, who is screaming hysterically, “My baby! My baby!” over and over while we drag up the family’s coughing and sputtering teenage son.

And then Trystan surfaces, holding an unconscious blue-hued Urisk woman. Min Lo aids me in easing her limp form over the skiff’s railing and onto the dark wooden deck as Trystan descends into the water once more.

“Mamma!” the little girl screeches, and I catch hold of her before she can fling herself at the unconscious woman. Minyl drops down by the woman’s side, pressing her palms into her chest in rhythmic compressions, then feels for a pulse as the child tries to claw her way out of my grip. Anguish slices through me as Minyl stops, breathing hard, her lips trembling.

No, Minyl, please no.

I release the child, who roars out her agony as she hurls herself onto her mother.

Minyl’s face twists as she starts to cry, then quickly collects herself, roughly wiping away her tears. She stands and meets my gaze, sorrow lancing through us both.