They both think and say, "We can't win against these two; we lost too much of our energy and strength."
"Now we have an idea," said Luther. "We jump over on the waterfall wall and hang until we go up on the waterfall, and then after the tigers are gone, we go to our home."
The roar of the tigers echoed through the jungle, making the ground tremble beneath their bare feet. Both boys stood with their backs against a mossy rock, breathing heavily, their bodies aching from the fight they had just endured.
John said, "It's foolishness; we cannot jump so high, Luther. If we fall, we go so much under water, and the waves of this waterfall are too fast and dangerous; it flows us to other directions, and we cannot come or hope so, and we will die."
But Luther's eyes—tired, burning—fixed on the wall of white water. Something strange throbbed inside his chest, like a deep drumbeat he couldn't name. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. The pulse spread to his fingertips, warm and electric. Fear twisted with an odd certainty.
"But we have no choice, John; we have to do it."
Two boys set up his mind and jumped in.
The world blurred. Wind ripped past their faces. Spray blinded them. Jump. Fall. Silence.
Luther and John reached for the slick stone, fingers clawing for any hold. Luther again felt that invisible cloak—soft as mist yet strong as rope—wrapping his shoulders. His body seemed lighter, the roar around him slowing as if time itself obeyed.
He caught the wall. One hand. Then the other.
John slipped, arms flailing.
Luther again held John's hands because John couldn't reach the wall. They hung together against the pounding water, the force rattling their bones.
Minutes stretched. Seconds stabbed. The pulsing in Luther's chest grew louder, almost painful. Hold. Hold.
After some time Luther feels his hand become numb, and he can't hold the wall and John for so long. Spray stung his eyes. His muscles screamed. Suddenly his hands went to sleep, and they fell together into the waterfall's river.
The plunge stole their breath. The water was ice. A roar of bubbles and darkness. The river spun them like leaves, dragged them down and down.
The waves carried them to the other side, and the river was so deep they couldn't swim to the river's corner.
Luther felt guilty for falling in the river; he thought it was his mistake that he couldn't hold John and the wall for too long. The guilt burned hotter than the cold. And with it, the strange pulse erupted.
Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
Suddenly he just shouts like a monster, a sound torn from somewhere beyond his throat. "Aaaahhh!"
Light flared. A shockwave rolled outward. The river heaved as if struck by a storm. The waves moved back from him, a ring of churning foam. His eyes blazed blue, bright enough to stain the mist. He felt the water itself obey.
He starts floating on the river. Power surged through his arms, a force both terrifying and familiar. He starts moving fast and holds John tightly and pulls him to go for the corner.
In some minutes they both reached the ground side of the river, coughing, trembling.
John asked, "How did you do this, Luther?"
"I don't know when, but I felt guilty, and a shout of energy started flowing in me. I did this."
"No, it's not your fault, Luther. I can't jump properly, so I can't hold or reach the wall. So be happy we are safe now, and it's just possible for you, Luther. I am so lucky that I have a friend like you all. Bye, John."
"I am also lucky, John. Now it's too late; we should have gone for our home. Our family should be tense about us."
Both started walking and went for home. Their clothes clung heavy and cold. The jungle smelled of wet earth and danger. Neither spoke for a long while.
Yet the pulse in Luther's chest had not faded. It beat slower now, but stronger, as if something inside him refused to sleep.
Then they separated to their paths, and after some time Luther saw his father walking on the road and looking tense.
"Dad!" he called, relief flooding his tired limbs. Harold's head jerked up. His eyes—wide, searching—locked on Luther.
The afternoon light caught Luther's face. For a heartbeat the strange glow flickered across his eyes, a faint blue spark that shouldn't have been there.
Harold froze. His breath caught. "Luther… what happened to your eyes?"
The question hung between them, sharp as the roar of the distant waterfall.