“I’m not cold,” he said.
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
They sat by the blackberry bramble and Brenyn put his shirt about her shoulders. She reached up and drew it close.
“I should have listened to you,” she told him.
“It will grow warmer in a few weeks, when summer comes in its fullness,” he answered, “though the water is ever chill, for it arises in the mountains. But when the days are hot, then the water seems not so cold.”
They sat for a time in silence then, and gradually the bright sun warmed Emi, until she surrendered the shirt. While Brenyn fastened the stays on his shirt, Emi looked away, across the river and toward the dark woods. Something about her mood arrested him.
“What is the matter?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Emi replied. She folded her hands and placed her chin on them, still gazing across the river. Then, after a moment, she turned her head and looked at him.
“I like you, Brenyn,” she said.
“I… like you, too, Emi.”
“I’m glad we’re friends,” she added.
Brenyn nodded. “Me, too.”
The blue in her eyes darkened as she watched him. “Will we always be friends?”
He nodded again. “Forever.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
Captain Grizeo came then to collect her once more and they followed him back toward the road. When Emi and the captain had mounted up, Emi turned her head and looked at Brenyn.
“See you next week.”
Brenyn smiled and raised his hand. “Next week,” he said.
All that summer, every week, Emi came to the river to spend an hour or two with Brenyn. Sometimes, when they were sitting and talking, she seemed extremely mature for her age, but most of the time, in every way, she was a normal twelve-year-old girl.
Though Brenyn truly loved her, there were times when it seemed as if his regard for her was more like what he would feel for a favorite sister rather than someone he might one day desire for a mate. Their friendship, consequently, grew over that summer, unencumbered by feelings that consisted of a grownup nature that was yet beyond either of them.
One day, she turned and looked at Brenyn. “I won’t come next week,” she said.
“Why?”
“It is my birthday, and my father wishes to have a party for me.”
Brenyn nodded. “I understand. What about the following week?”
“I will return.”
He smiled. “You will be thirteen?”
“Yes,” she answered brightly. “But I’ll still not be old enough to marry you, Brenyn Vagus.”
His smile, though he tried hard to hold onto it, faded. “You will never marry me, anyway, Emi.”
She frowned and her sapphire eyes brightened with anger. “Why do you say such a thing? Would you not marry me, Brenyn?”
Cautiously, Brenyn returned his answer. “We are young, Emi – you are very young. How can you know who you will want to marry years from now?”
At this, her anger did not fade – if anything, it strengthened. “I am not a child, Brenyn Vagus,” she stated with indignation. “And I know who I love – who I will always love.”
Recognizing that the conversation was rapidly approaching dangerous territory on a morning that had been otherwise very pleasant, Brenyn spoke carefully. “I will always love you, Emi, and if you wish to marry me when we are of age, then I will marry you. I have no greater desire.”
Her eyes brightened further. “If? You doubt me?”
He shook his head. “Never.”
She continued to watch him for some time and, gradually, as he gazed back with earnest eyes, her temper cooled. She looked away. “I wish you could come to my party.”
He shook his head. “I must work. The autumn draws nigh, and I must prepare to reap the grain and harvest the garden.”
Startled, she looked around, noticing for the first time, the hint of color among the leaves of the forest across the river. She looked back at him with troubled eyes. “Then winter comes,” she said. “How will I see you in winter?”
“I do not know,” he admitted. “But spring will come soon enough.”
She gazed at him with disquiet yet darkening her eyes. “And we will still be friends?”
“We will always be friends, Emi – always.”
She was subdued for the rest of that day and her gaze often turned towards the woodland that covered the slopes opposite, as if willing the green to return and the hint of gold among the leaves to fade. They searched the gravel bars for stones for a time and then Brenyn showed her how to spot the shadows of fish lurking in the depths of the deeper pools.
Then Captain Grizeo came striding across the field to collect her and return her to the castle.
The next two weeks were nearly unbearable for Brenyn. He understood, more than did Emi, that their childhood romance, built upon pleasant days roaming the banks of the river, and youthful infatuation upon her part, would likely not weather the process of maturation. As she aged, Emi would put away childish thoughts of romance and learn to view the world through the eyes of a grown woman. Everything, then, would change.
But, for now, Brenyn was desperate to hold onto his own dreams of a future with Emi – dreams he knew in his heart would inevitably fail when she became a woman and clearly understood her position in the world. She might very well remember with fondness these summer days spent playing by the river with the poor son of a dead soldier, but there could be no future in them for her – or for him.
Two weeks later, she and Captain Grizeo returned to the bridge. Brenyn was relieved to find Emi as bright and glad to see him as always.
They spent that day wading, talking, and laughing. For his part, Brenyn pushed thoughts of the future – and what that future would mean for them both – far from his mind.
Later, as they were sitting on the grass, Brenyn looked over. “How was the party?”
She shrugged. “Just father and some girls from the town.”
“But was it pleasant?” He persisted.
“I suppose.”
He smiled. “You’re thirteen years old now, Emi. Do you feel different?”
She tilted her head and looked at him. “Do I look different?”
“You mean – do you look older?”
“Do I?” She asked.
He studied her for a long moment. “Yes,” he admitted after another moment. “You do.”
She smiled brightly. “Still not old enough to marry.”
“No,” he agreed.
Just then, a chill breeze gusted up and blew out of the north, causing Emi to wrap her arms closely about her. She frowned.
“Summer has gone, and autumn is ending as well, is it not?”
“It is,” Brenyn agreed. “The leaves are turning everywhere. Soon, they will fall, and then winter comes soon after.”
Emi’s frown became a scowl of unhappiness. “And when the cold weather comes, I cannot see you until next spring.”
Brenyn frowned. “Why? Have you no warm coat?”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. My father will not let me out when the weather is chill. He thinks that the winter’s cold is what caused my mother to die.”
“I am sorry about your mother, Emi.”
She nodded and her eyes grew sad. “I remember her. She was very pretty.”
“You must look like her.”
She frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you are very pretty, too,” Brenyn said.
She blushed and looked away and gave no answer.
After that day, she came to the river bridge three times more and then she came no more that year. The days grew cool, too cool, apparently, for her father to be at ease with her leaving the castle to travel the countryside.
Knowing that he would see her no more that year, Brenyn prepared to complete the fall harvest, to hunt with Graig for their winter’s meat and supplies
of leather, and then spend the cold gray days of winter longing for the return of spring and Emi’s company.
6.
That following winter arrived with a fierceness unseen in many years. The cold came early, snow fell often and piled deep. Small River steamed like a geyser along its rapids and froze on the surface of its deep pools.
Brenyn and his grandmother huddled indoors while Brenyn fed the fire unceasingly and watched his wood supply dwindle with anxious eyes. In the depths of that winter, he found it expedient to bring the ox into the barn, shut the doors, and build a fire to protect the animal in the ancient kiln that had been used long ago by his ancestors to make their own pottery.
The dark days, many heavily overcast with clouds that often added to the burden of snow, brought black thoughts to Brenyn.
Would Emi forget him?
Or would she once more, with the coming of spring, make her way to the bridge to spend pleasant mornings with him?
Doubts plagued him.
Nights were the worst.
Lying in his bed, listening to the sound of the wind rattling grains of icy snow against the glass, Brenyn found himself wishing that Emi was the child of a neighbor and that they were both older, so that the affection that they expressed for each other would know no impediment and would bear the weight of maturity.
For he still loved her, now, in her absence, more than ever.
The long winter continued, seemingly endless.
The snow piled up to the windows of their small house, and nearly covered the apple trees at the top of the garden. The wood in the lean-to grew scarce. Brenyn, re-stocking the wood box next to the fireplace, realized that, should the winter last much longer, he would find it expedient to fight the snow and cut more fuel.
Then, when it seemed that spring would never come again, one day the wind freshened out of the south. Warmth and rain came with it. The snow began to settle, and to melt.
But that spring, when it came, did not come gradually, the days slowly warming, cutting the snow a little at a time. It roared out of the south like a rabid monster, bringing high temperatures and warm winds. The snowpack melted in a rush.
Almost overnight, Small River became a flooded torrent. The noise of its roaring drowned out every other natural sound of spring, the singing of the birds, and lowing of oxen welcoming the growth of new grass as the last remnants of snow left the ground.
The days continued to warm, rain fell often, and the breath of spring made its way into the mountains to the north. Small River rose nearly to the underside of the bridge, flooded much of the field to the north, and its waters came close to the level of the road.
The snow, which had piled deep in the woodland hollows about the farm, melted away, and the tributaries of Small River that arose in the hills nearby gradually dropped toward normal levels. The river, itself, however, yet roared southward, fully flooded.
Eventually, though, as the snowfields in the high mountains to the north diminished, the water level began to drop. It dropped low enough that the field to the north was free of flood waters and the blackberry thicket, covered in mud, stood clear of the flood.
The days warmed further, and the garden dried enough that Brenyn could plow both it and the wheat field.
Small River, yet in flood, roared southward like a ferocious beast, but the water levels had dropped back within its banks.
One morning, Brenyn went to the bridge to view the river. Though the river had receded within its banks, its waters were yet very high, rushing southward in a brown torrent. Small River was no longer small, at least for the moment. He was standing upon the bridge, gazing down upon the muddy deluge, when he heard, above the noise of the river, someone call out his name.
He turned and looked up the road. Captain Grizeo and Emi came riding toward him. Brenyn had not heard the sound of their horses’ hooves above the din of the muddy torrent below.
Emi dismounted and came running up to him, a glad smile upon her face. For a moment, he thought that she would throw her arms about him, but at the last moment, she halted and curtsied.
“Hello Brenyn!” She said brightly.
Brenyn inclined his head. “Hello, Emi.”
“Are you glad to see me?” She asked.
He smiled and nodded. “More than you know.”
She went to the edge of the bridge and watched the muddy waters rushing by underneath. Then she looked north, across the field, at the river. “Let’s go and look at the flood.”
Brenyn glanced at Grizeo, who grimaced; then reluctantly nodded. “Just don’t get too close to the bank,” he warned.
Emi grasped Brenyn’s hand. “Come on.”
They made their way across the field and up onto the knoll above the blackberry bramble. Standing side by side they gazed at the rushing torrent for a time. Then Emi looked up at him. “When will it go down?” She asked. “When can we wade again?”
Brenyn shook his head. “The winter put down a lot of snow up in the mountains,” he replied, “and it’s melting now. That’s what caused this flood. It will be several days at least, maybe more, ere it all drains away to the south and the river runs normal again.”
She considered this and then looked toward the riverbank. “I want to see it up close,” she said.
Brenyn shook his head. “No, Emi – it isn’t safe.”
She smiled. “Don’t be silly,” she told him. “I don’t want to get in the water; I just want to stand on the bank and look at it.”
Brenyn hesitated. “I don’t think we should, Emi.” He turned and looked south, toward the bridge, where Captain Grizeo leaned on the railing of the bridge and watched them, faint tendrils of blue smoke from his pipe curling about his head. Brenyn, watching him, hesitated further.
Suddenly, the captain straightened up and raised his hand, gesturing, pointing at the field behind Brenyn. Brenyn wheeled about, wondering at what had caught the captain’s attention, and sucked in a breath of alarm.
Emi had left him and was running toward the bank of the river at the edge of the knoll. Immediately, Brenyn gave chase.
“Wait, Emi!” He yelled at her.
When she arrived on the bank above the torrent, she turned and waved at him. “It’s amazing,” she shouted. “Come and see.”
Brenyn hastened toward her, urging her to retreat, but she could not hear him above the noise of the flood.
As Brenyn raced toward her, Emi turned away and leaned forward slightly, looking down upon the water speeding by below where she stood. That bank was of earth and had been eroded and weakened by the torrential flood waters that had eaten away at it for weeks.
Emi was small, slender, but her weight, slight though it was, sufficed to cause a breach in the soft earth beneath her feet.
The bank caved and gave way.
Horrified, Brenyn saw her slide, fall, and disappear over the edge. She had fallen into the muddy, rushing torrent.
Brenyn’s heart seized within his chest as the sudden terrible truth struck him in that awful moment: Emi was lost.
Death would surely find her in those raging, murky waters.
And then;
Something happened to Brenyn in that moment.
His heart leapt to life once more and began to pound wildly even as his breath ceased to come.
He felt a fierce heat explode through him, muscle and bone.
The sky overhead abruptly paled to a strange color of gray and the bright sun dimmed. All sound failed from his ears, even the roaring of the floodwaters. The earth fell silent.
As he ran toward the place where Emi had fallen, his feet seemed to suddenly function with the swiftness of lightning.
The ground flashed by, speeding beneath his feet.
In less time than an eye takes to blink, he was at the edge of the river. Ahead of him and just to his right, Emi, strangely, was still falling, her body just now entering the muddy waters.
She seemed to be falling slowly into the flood, so very slowly, as if time
had been abruptly hobbled and had slowed to a crawl.
Upon her face, there was a look of raw terror.
Brenyn jumped off the bank and into the river.
The stream was no longer a raging torrent of muddy water.
Though it still moved, it had changed into a creeping stream of sludge, heavy, sticky, barely moving.
His feet impacted the surface of the mud, and it felt just as it appeared, as if the stream had thickened to the consistency of wet earth, rather than the rushing of waters filled with silt. He did not sink into it at once. The surface of the river felt almost like a solid substance to his booted feet.
He sank only to his ankles, slowly. It was as if the water had assumed the consistency of muddy soil. Quickly, Brenyn turned to grab Emi before she went completely under. Laying hold on her shoulders, he pulled at her, trying to lift her free of the water, but she felt heavier, as if she had become weighted down by the muddy mire of the thickly creeping flood.
Brenyn slowly sank further, bit by bit, while he pulled on Emi, trying desperately to free her, for the muck was at her throat. Due to his efforts, she sank no further into the muddy flood, but he struggled with wrenching her free. He sank further into it as well, but slowly, gradually, inch by inch.
At last, after he exerted a mighty heave, Emi came free of the creeping mire until at last her feet, devoid of shoes, showed above the surface of the heavy brown sludge.
And she was much lighter now.
Turning, Brenyn lurched toward the bank, even as he sank up to his knees in the flood. Struggling, pulling against the sludge and muck, sinking deeper with each step, clutching Emi in his arms, Brenyn gradually worked his way downstream, toward where the riverbank was lower. And, finally, he felt the gravelly bottom of the river beneath his feet as he approached the shore.
Climbing free of the thick, muddy flood, heaving himself out upon the grass of the field with a great straining effort, he stumbled up the bank and laid Emi down.
A sense of great relief flooded into him.
And in that moment, the world righted itself.
Time, once again, moved at its normal pace.
The sun brightened, and the gray sky turned blue.
Behind him, the river resumed its heavy roaring as it rushed southward in a great brown torrent of floodwaters.
A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods Page 5
