The River of Time Series

by Lisa T. Bergren

  I growled and used my knee to force him backward, pushing with everything I had in me. He grunted as we hit the other wall, but he didn’t release me as I had hoped.

  “Take care, m’lady. The knife is sharp,” he hissed, pulling the flat of it back against my throat with both of his hands now, choking me. I gasped, but I couldn’t grab it. Every time I did, I cut my hands. My vision was clouding, a tunnel forming, blackness closing in.

  Belatedly I wondered if I still had any daggers left.

  He laughed, feeling me thrash about, and easily guessed what I was after. He took out the remaining daggers at my waist and tossed them over the edge. Then he dragged me toward the front castle wall, easing the pressure at my throat just enough to keep me from passing out.

  “I think I shall cut off your ears,” he said, “just before I push you over the edge. You’ll die in front of your husband this night, m’lady. And he’ll be so shattered, my men shall retake his castle, once and for all.”

  Another stone hit the wall, this time at the top right, breaking through and sending stones ten feet long and four feet deep to the courtyard below. I glimpsed Lia and Mom on the far wall, doing battle with two remaining knights, and Rodolfo—thankfully free of his ropes—sneaking up on the nearest before Paratore and I fell to our knees from the impact. My enemy hauled me back up after a moment.

  But I rose with the dagger from my calf sheath in my hand.

  He held me close, too close to see what I’d done, but if I waited for just the right moment…

  I clawed at his arm, trying to pry it from my neck as if I were desperate. “Cease your pawing, She-Wolf,” he grunted. “There is only one way this ends. With me as victor. You shall go to your death knowing you crossed the wrong man.”

  He dragged me up beside Father Tomas, who remained on the crosswalk below the wall. I wondered what he was doing, why he hadn’t run. But the priest was whispering, praying. He didn’t cease when he saw me held against Paratore. But his bushy brow lowered.

  My captor leaned me up against the wall, which was shoulder height, and we stared down below. Forty feet didn’t look so high before. But from this vantage point, it was horrific. I could see the catapult now, the men scurrying about it, getting the next stone ready to fly toward the castle gates. “Forelli!” Paratore screamed. “Marcello Forelli! Show yourself!”

  We stared toward the men, saw others in the brush.

  But no Marcello. Was he hurt? Injured? Or worse?

  I couldn’t see well—even with the rising moon. The men were but dim forms.

  My eyes widened as I saw a man go to the lever and release the next stone. Did they not see us? Marcello! Luca!

  The stone was dragged along its platform, lifted, then arced and sailed toward us. We could see every deeply shadowed crevice as it came right toward us.

  “Tomas!” I cried. “Jump!”

  Paratore whipped me to the right, and perhaps by instinct, perhaps to protect his prize, he covered me with his body. The stone slammed into the crosswalk, and I felt Paratore’s grip loosen.

  And then felt the stones drop out from beneath me. I slid and felt the pads of my fingers scrape away, my nails tear as I clawed about. I had no choice; I released the dagger and tried to find any handhold I could as I fell three, then four, then five feet, when my foot abruptly found a crevice. I immediately cast to either side, pushing against either side of my Channel of Death in order to stay put.

  But, yeah, it was seriously iffy. I couldn’t hold out for long.

  “Come, m’lady,” Paratore said behind me. “Reach out your hand, and I’ll lift you to safety.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. He was on a small ledge and had but two steps to go to make it to a stable place on the other side. I laughed without humor. “Take your hand so you can push me to my death yourself? I think not.”

  I heard the metallic slide of his sword from his sheath. “Take my hand, or I shall deal you the same death blow your father received.”

  My arms were trembling, protesting, begging me to let go.

  “Gabriella!” Rodolfo shouted, peering down at me. Mom and Lia looked right over his shoulder. But they were too far away to reach me.

  And then I heard the scrape of another stone upon the catapult. Seriously? I thought. I wanted to scream. Was Marcello not there to stop it? Could he not see us here, atop the front gates, fighting to stay alive? Did he not see me?

  I couldn’t make it through another impact. I’d already fallen a good eight feet. Below me was a hole…Even if I survived, falling the remaining thirty feet would make me wish I was dead.

  There was no choice.

  “All right,” I ground out, meeting Paratore’s gaze. “I’m reaching for your hand on the count of three.” He sheathed his sword and reached for me. “One, two, three.”

  I didn’t think about it, couldn’t think about it. I turned and grasped for Paratore’s hand even as I was again sliding. He grabbed me, and for a moment I hung, suspended, legs dangling over the hole. I felt the draft of cold up my skirts, the distance to the ground like I had some sort of radar-sensors.

  “Tempting,” he grunted, “but I have use for you yet.” He glanced up and over at Rodolfo, his voice strained with the effort of holding me. “Back away! Drop your weapons and back away, or I’ll drop her!”

  I held my breath, wondering how long he could hold me. If he’d even have the strength to lift me. But he did then, hauling me upward and into his arms, then up the two steps to safety. He deposited me on my knees, clenching my hair in his fist. “Forelli!” he roared, back over the wall. “I demand to see Marcello Forelli! Tell him I have his bride!”

  He wound another coil of my hair around his hand and hauled me to my feet, pushing me to the edge of the front wall. “Bring Lord Forelli to the light!” he screamed.

  “I am not down there,” Marcello growled from behind us, to the left, “but rather in the shadows of your own perch.”

  Paratore automatically whirled, leaving me behind him, but his hand was still wound in my hair. Ten of the Lerici archers were behind Marcello, on the wall, arrows pointed at Paratore.

  “’Tis over, Cosmo,” Marcello said. “Release Gabriella and step away from her.”

  Paratore cried out and turned, ripping me in the opposite direction, throwing me off balance. Tossing me aside. I heard the thrumming sound of arrows released, closed my eyes, once again preparing myself for impact…

  I wasn’t hit. But I was falling again, now bumping down the opposite side of the crosswalk, toward the hole again—

  I saw Marcello dive above me and Rodolfo dive above him. Then Father Tomas. Marcello grabbed my hand, pulling me to an abrupt stop, and when we both began to fall, Tomas grabbed him. Rodolfo fell across the chasm, shoulder first, taking a firm hold on Tomas.

  I couldn’t breathe. I could feel my legs dangling again. Over way too much space.

  Two more faces appeared above the other men, both grunting and gasping for breath, trying to hold on. The archers. Then Luca, eyes wide. “Hold on!” he cried.

  I could feel my wrist slipping in Marcello’s hand. I looked up at him in horror, and then felt sadness, such sorrow, sorrow that this was the way it was to end.

  “Hold on, Gabriella,” he grunted, upside-down, pulling with everything he had. But he was in the wrong position to save me. I could see it. He could see it, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

  “I love you,” I gasped, having trouble breathing well, let alone speaking, as I hung there. “I’ve always loved you.”

  He cried out in frustration, red-faced, veins bulging from the effort at trying to pull me upward.

  “Marcello!” Tomas cried, sounding like he was about to lose his grip. “Don’t move!”

  “She’s slipping!” Marcello yelled, his voice tinged in panic. He
looked at me with such extreme grief, it made me want to weep. “Gabriella…nay.”

  “Marcello. I know. My fault. Mine, for being here.” I didn’t want him to blame himself for what was about to happen.

  “Gabriella!” Luca called, tossing down a rope with a loop at the bottom.

  I glanced at it, six inches from our hands. If Marcello released me, could I grasp hold of it? Before I fell? Did I have the strength to hold it, or would I slide too far? Miss it altogether?

  Marcello could see my dilemma. “Tomas, Rodolfo! Let us go.”

  “Let you go?” Rodolfo grunted. “Are you mad?”

  “’Tis the only way to reach the rope,” Marcello coaxed. “Now,” he said, his voice suddenly all commando. “Now!”

  Marcello slid toward me, even as I started to fall, but in the process, he gained a better grip on my wrist, as I did on his. He reached out with his right hand as we gained momentum, and I knew we had one chance—just one chance—and felt a grief pierce me that I hadn’t felt since Fortino, since Dad…

  I was not only falling to my death. I was taking my husband with me.

  I felt a tug again and swung toward the wall, my feet touching the splintered wood of the gate, and then moving outward. I looked up and let out a breath of total wonder as we swung. Together. Alive.

  Marcello held me anew. In a grip that said I. Shall. Not. Let. Go.

  The men lowered us down to the ground, and when my feet were on it, Marcello released me. I knelt and inhaled the scent of dirt and stone, so glad to be on it. In reality I didn’t think my shaky knees could hold me upright. Marcello leaned down and covered me with his body, hugging me, sheltering me. “Ahh, Gabriella,” he moaned.

  Trembling, I rose up to my knees, and he pulled me into his arms for a brief hug, then lifted me to my feet. With one arm around me, holding me up, he moved toward the men down below. Behind us I could hear shouts and cries and gradually remembered that a battle was still taking place.

  When my knees gave way, Marcello bent and swept me into his arms. He turned and looked to the parapets high above us—so high, I could barely look at them, too close to my Near Death Experience. But above, two flaming arrows crossed in the sky, a signal. And then I saw the long ropes, the last of the Lerici knights making their way down, and on the ground, my mother, sister, Rodolfo, Tomas—

  “Our people are safe!” Marcello cried, a couple of minutes later. “Take down those gates, once and for all!”

  A hundred feet away the Sienese cheered and launched the next stone missile directly at Castello Paratore’s splintered gates.

  At last I dared to say, “My…my father’s body. Marcello—”

  “His body?” he said with a frown, turning me toward him. “Gabriella, he is not dead.” He shook his head, but he was smiling. “He suffered a terrible wound, yes. But he will recover.”

  I stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. “In truth?” I asked.

  “In truth.”

  But I was already moving away from him.

  Toward my mother, my sister, and the group of men carrying the man in a blanket between them. Dad.

  CHAPTER 32

  “Dad. Dad,” I said, falling to my knees beside him. The men, satisfied that we were far enough away from Castello Paratore’s gates, set him down.

  “Gabi,” he said, reaching out to touch my face. He smiled weakly and looked over at Mom and Lia on the other side. “All my girls, safe,” he breathed.

  “Oh, Dad. I—I—you’re okay? You’re really okay?”

  “He’ll be okay, Gabs,” Mom said. “A good cleaning, some sutures…” She reached across him to hold my hand. “He’ll be all right.”

  I looked to Lia, and with one glance to her baby blues puddling in tears, I lost it. They were all here. All safe. Whole. Or almost.

  Thank You, God. Thank You. Thank You thank You thank You thank You…

  I cried like I was weeping for Dad the first time he died. For all of us, like we’d just died and come back to life. From fear, from exhaustion, from relief, from gratitude. Sheer gratitude. And Mom and Lia cried too, hugging each other, then coming around to wrap me in their embrace as well.

  Marcello edged in and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. After a moment he said, “Gabriella, let them take him now, no? Back to the castello, where your mother and the others can see to him?”

  “Yes,” I said through my tears, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “Yes,” I repeated, now feeling foolish for keeping him from their care at all.

  The men lifted him immediately and hurried off, a regiment of soldiers closing in to flank them, protect them on the way back to Castello Forelli. Mom and Lia were right behind Dad. I started after them but then hesitated and looked back.

  Marcello stood there, Rodolfo and Luca behind him, in the flickering torchlight. He lifted his chin and grinned. “Go on, wife. Your part in this battle is done. See to your father. And we shall see this through.”

  Luca and Rodolfo nodded, hands on their belts. I knew Marcello was in safe hands. And I…well, I had had it.

  I was scary tired. Hurting. Barely able to stand.

  Bleary-eyed, I saw Marcello motion to some men, and in a minute they brought horses over for us. He lifted me up to a mare’s broad, bare back and wrapped my hand in her mane. “Go home, beloved,” he said. “I will meet you there.”

  I wanted to stay. With him. To help.

  But deep inside I knew I’d serve us all best if, this time, I just did as he asked.

  I awakened stiff and freezing cold on the stone floor of the castle. Squinching my eyes, I pushed myself up, hit my head on the crossbeam of a bed, and gingerly made my way upright.

  “That had to hurt,” Dad mumbled, peeking at me for a sec from one eye, then closing it again as if it pained him. He was under the covers. Mom was asleep in a chair in the corner, Lia by her side.

  “Uh, yeah,” I said, rubbing my head. But it was the least of my worries. “How are you?”

  “Just great, thanks,” he said, opening his big, brown eyes again. He was pale, but looking good, considering. “Pretty much like any other morning of my life. Except, oh, right”—he raised his brows—“I watched my daughters and wife take on knight after knight at an enemy castle—and survive. And oh, save a bunch of people too. That was cool. The only downer was that I took a sword through the back and my wife had to stitch me up. And we had to leave my son-in-law behind to—”

  His eyes moved from me to the doorway behind me, and in that instant I knew Marcello was there. I turned and smiled. He was dirty—seriously covered in filth and sweat—but I swear I’d never seen a more handsome man in my life. He reached out and helped me to my feet. I groaned, feeling every pulled muscle and fresh bruise in my body. But I forgot all of that as Marcello wrapped me in his arms and pulled me close, kissing my temple and hair and holding me as if he never wanted to let me go.

  I could hear Mom and Lia rustling behind me, and I saw Rodolfo and Tomas and Luca behind Marcello. They were all back. Safe. I pulled back. “It’s over?”

  “It is over,” Marcello said gently, pushing a coil of hair behind my ear. “The Fiorentini are now five miles beyond Castello Paratore. My men shall see they stay there.” Leaving an arm around my shoulders, he stepped toward Dad. “Sir, I am glad to see you on the mend.”

  Dad gripped his outstretched hand. “As am I,” he said with a grin.

  “Well, if you encounter further trouble, I am aware of a certain tunnel that has certain healing powers—”

  “Impossible,” I said. “Dad shall have to be at death’s door in order for me to leave you again.”

  “A suitable threshold,” Dad said.

  “Death is always nearby.” I paused and looked around the room, at Mom and Lia and Marcello and Luca and Rodolfo
and Tomas. “Let’s embrace this life we’ve been given. Life, Marcello,” I said, squeezing him tight and then drawing back to stare into his eyes. “Let us live like we’re celebrating, every day.”

  “Together,” he said, tucking the strand of hair behind my ear again and cradling my cheek. He looked at me with such love it brought tears to my eyes. He bent his forehead to touch mine. “Together.”

  “Together,” I whispered.

  If you enjoyed Torrent, I would be honored if you would tell others by writing a review. Go here to write a review on Goodreads.

  Thank you!

  —Lisa T. Bergren

  … a little more …

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  • Discussion Questions

  • Historical Notes

  • A Letter from Lisa

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  Discussion Questions

  1. On their way to San Galgano, the family discusses the legend of Excalibur and the sword in the stone. Gabi comments that in her society, people are taught to regard things with suspicion until proven. Do you see that in people you know? What do people believe in without “proof”? Is that a good or bad thing?

  2. How old do you think you want to be when you get married? Why?

  3. Two-thirds of medieval women were married by the age of nineteen. Some very wealthy noblewomen were as old as twenty-four when they married, but they were a rarity. What do you think marriages would be like today, in contemporary society, if we married earlier rather than later? Would it help or hurt?