He struck out frantically. His head broke water once more; he saw the islet, closer now.
"Mayana!" he called. "Mayana!"
Rustling movement shook the shadows. A ripple of mocking laughter seemed to go through them. They closed in again, dim, impalpable, unreal. Elak went under once more, too exhausted to fight, letting the shadows have their will with him. Only his mind cried out desperately to Mayana, striving to summon her to his aid.
The waters brightened. The green glow flamed emerald-bright. The shadows seemed to pause with odd hesitation, as though listening.
Then suddenly they closed in on Elak. They bore him through the waters; he was conscious of swift movement amid whirling green fire.
The shadows carried him to the islet, bore him up as on a wave, and left him upon the sands.
The green light faded to its former dimness. Choking, coughing, Elak clambered to his feet. He stared around.
The shadows had vanished. Only the motionless lake stretched into the distance. He stood amid the ruins of the islet.
Hastily he staggered away from the water's marge, clambering across broken plinths and fallen pillars, making his way to the central temple. It stood in a tiny plaza, unmarred by time, but stained and discolored in every stone.