It was all around him, cold and soothing, its blue clarity marbled with threads of dark blood seeping from his wounds. Justin's eyes opened slowly. He realized that he had automatically suspended his breathing. In the stillness of the water, he heard his own heart beating in a rhythm so slow that it seemed to have no rhythm at all. This remarkable ability, drilled into Justin every day since childhood until his body could perform it without thought, had saved his life. Silently he thanked Tagore for the arduous training. He would need it all now. The calm of the water was shattered by something of great weight falling into it near Justin. Bubbles frothed above a sudden gush of mud. When the water cleared, he saw the floating yellow robes of one of the monks, sinking, then rising slowly to the surface. There was another splash, and the face he saw stared into the depths of the water with sightless eyes. He must be in the small lake near Rashimpur, he thought numbly.
