Be With Me, Page 6

  Six

  OVER THE NEXT few days, as spring shed the last of its rain before surrendering to summer, Elisud learned a lot about farming. Every morning, as soon as he’d finished his porridge, Ruan would gather him up and the pair of them would set out for the fields. There Elisud was instructed in crop types, planting times, harvest and as many facts about spelt wheat, oats and barley as he could hold.

  While Ruan dragged him from field to field under Sira Wynn’s watchful eye, Elisud caught the occasional glimpse of Ceri and Demairo being likewise instructed by their horde of new cousins. Since there was little any of them could teach Demairo about sheep, he soon found a place for himself watching the flocks, but there were also cows, pigs and chickens to encounter as well as the use of a sling to master.

  Before long Elisud’s days were accompanied by the near-constant thwack and crack of stones slung against trees. They were usually followed by cheers or jeers depending on the slinger and the success of their shot.

  As the days passed, Elisud slowly began to relax. Ceri fit in like a small stone filling a chink in a boundary wall, while even Demairo managed to make himself indispensable in his own quiet way. Not even a change in the weather could affect Elisud’s new sense of well-being, in fact the sudden sharp showers and dark grey skies soothed him. Though he could wish for more of a wind, the rough rain was as close to life on the coast as any since his move inland. When the rain was falling he found he didn’t miss the sea as much.

  “We’ll make a fine farmer out of you yet,” Kensa laughed, slapping Elisud on his sodden shoulder one day after he’d stayed out with Ruan through a downpour, fixing a breach in one of the field walls to keep the sheep out.

  If the words sent a pang through Elisud’s chest, well, he said nothing about it and simply smiled. This was his life now, for the good of Demairo and Ceri; the sooner he got used to it the better. Especially since he soon had to take his turn on the endlessly dull night watches with the hounds and the herd, guarding them against hungry wolves and thieving folk.

  For a while it seemed like the rain would never end. The men started looking worried, muttering dark things about failed crops, and before Elisud knew it he’d stopped counting the days since he’d last seen the sea. Instead he was drawn into the drama of a life on the land, and how just the smallest change in the weather could go from a blessing to a curse within days.

  The grass that had previously coated the farm with a rich, healthy look, turned to slick mud, then to deep, sucking mires, and everyone went through the day covered head to toe with mud. No matter how many times the women visited the river, or yelled at everyone to remove their shoes, the mud got everywhere. It tracked inside every house in a slow, but seemingly unstoppable tide.

  Then, as swiftly as it had started, the rain stopped. For the first day everyone crept cautiously about their business, keeping a watchful eye on the white and grey sky. By twilight, no more rain had fallen, and there had even been a rumour of blue glimpsed by a few sharp eyes.

  The farm breathed a cautious sigh of relief, and Elisud wondered what new dramas this life would unfold for him next.

  He was offered a hint after breakfast the following morning. Seeing Ruan had already finished, Elisud stuffed the last of his bread into his mouth and stood up, ready for another day of checking the crops and shaking his head over the drooping leaves and bent stems.

  Until Kensa slapped him on the shoulder. “Ready for something new?”

  Elisud raised his eyebrows curiously.

  The other man smiled. “According to my esteemed Sira over there, this fine weather looks set to stay a while. You all know what that means?” he asked at large.

  The entire family, gathered inside Dama Wynn’s roundhouse as usual for breakfast, groaned. Catching Ceri and Demairo’s eyes, Elisud could only share in their confusion.

  “Not the pigs, Da,” Clemmo begged. “I did them last year.”

  “And such a good job you made of it,” Kensa replied, “that you and Kitto can help your Uncle Ors and Androw do it again this year.”

  “Da!” his oldest sons protested, while his youngest, Mihal, danced a little jig.

  “You’re on sheep,” Kensa said, pointing at his youngest boy. “Talwynn go with him and take the other smalls. I’m trusting you to keep them out of mischief.”

  While his daughter nodded and set about gathering all the children under six, including her little brother and Ceri, Kensa eyed the remaining three girls and Demairo thoughtfully. Since two of them were Rosen’s daughters, Elisud watched with interest to see who Kensa thought could manage them. The man glanced at his wife, but Ia firmly shook her head, so he turned his attention to the youngest two women. Sewena was quick to pick up her young son before he could crawl into the fire, while her slightly older boy clung to her skirts.

  Elisud admired her subtle hint to her brother that she had enough to be coping with without adding Rosen’s brood on top. Which only left Briallen.

  She met Kensa’s questioning gaze with a sigh. “Very well.”

  Kensa grinned with relief. “In that case, I’ll give you the river.”

  “I’ll take them,” Rosen said loudly, in order to be heard over the cries of her youngest daughter, who’d just glimpsed the honey cake young Clemmo had charmed from his mother. “I know all the best places to find mud.”

  Demairo and Gwennik both flinched at the prospect of a day spent with Rosen and two of her daughters, but luckily for them Kensa shook his head. Out of everyone, save Dama Wynn, he was the least inclined to bend to his prickly sister’s will. “Don’t worry, Rosen, I’m not putting you on the cows. You’ll stay here with Ia. She needs someone to help with the chores.”

  Rosen looked like she’d bitten into something sour. Elisud’s lips twitched. If there was one thing Rosen hated more than muck and mud, it was being expected to do her share of the hard work. With most of the children and Briallen out of her reach for the day, there would be no one for her to order about. She might even have to put some effort in herself for a change.

  Catching Elisud’s amused eye, Kensa winked. “Everyone else, you’re with me.”

  Since that left only Elisud and Ruan, it didn’t take long for everyone to gather into their groups. “To the baskets!” Kensa ordered, and they all trooped out of the house, leaving Dama Wynn and Sewena to watch over the babes, while Sira Wynn assured Ruan that he’d check the crops.

  Still none the wiser as to what was actually occurring, Elisud followed the crowd and accepted the large basket that was thrust into his hands.

  “Now to the fields,” Kensa said, slapping his brother Ors on the shoulder as he left him with two whining boys beside the pig pen. Waving off Briallen’s group at the turning to the river, Kensa marched the remaining adults and children out into the open land beyond the crop fields.

  “All right, everyone, baskets at the ready. Let’s get some poo.”

  IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL day as Briallen followed the children down the winding path towards the river. Rosen’s two girls had run ahead, no doubt already plotting mischief, while Gwennik ambled just ahead, humming sweetly to herself. Demairo split his attention between exploring the woods and watching the path in front of Briallen to make sure she didn’t trip over any exposed roots.

  It made her wonder how such a young boy had grown up so sensitive to others. None of her other nephews cared a rush if someone tripped in the woods. They were too busy climbing trees, slinging stones at squirrels or pushing each other around. Demairo was different – not just because he was quiet and withdrawn – he seemed older somehow.

  Despite the obviously close and caring relationship between him and Elisud, he was a child used to responsibility. It made Briallen want to ask about the life these newcomers had lived before, but she didn’t quite dare.

  Instead, as the path levelled out and Demairo finally relaxed his watch, Briallen smiled. “Would you like to know what we’re doing today?”

  The boy da
rted off the path. He returned with a sheepish smile and showed her the stone he’d found – perfect for slinging. Putting it in his belt pouch, he nodded at her previous question.

  Pleased to see him doing something so ordinary, she shifted her basket to her other hand and rubbed at the ache in her back that had been there since she woke. “Every year, at the start of summer, Kensa and the other men like to add a fresh layer of daub to the roundhouse walls.”

  Demairo’s eyes widened with understanding.

  “Yes,” Briallen agreed, chuckling. “That certain sure is a lot of daub. Which means we all get to go out collecting the right stuff to make it. Just be thankful we’ve got the river.”

  Demairo ducked his head with a soft huff that was almost a laugh. It felt so good to hear that it almost made Briallen forget her aches and tiredness.

  “Now you understand why Clem and Kit were making such a fuss.”

  “They always make a fuss,” Gwennik said, having paused in a patch of sunlight to study some dog-violets.

  “Certain sure they do,” Briallen agreed, smiling as she and the children walked on.

  When they reached the river, there was no sign of the other girls except for two empty baskets. Gwennik planted her fists on her hips with an angry tut, but Briallen wasn’t the least bit surprised.

  She gave a tired sigh. “Why don’t you show Dem where the best mud is, Gwen, while I go look for them?”

  Thankfully Gwennik was a well-behaved child and nodded her agreement before taking off her tunic and encouraging Demairo to strip to his undershirt and short braccae too. Then, after asking Briallen to hang their clothes over a branch to keep them out of the way, the little girl took her cousin’s hand and led him along the riverbank.

  Which left Briallen to try and find the pesky girls. Putting down her basket, she rubbed her back and sighed. This was the last thing she wanted to deal with today. Thankfully her morning sickness had now passed, but she still felt so terribly, terribly tired and her aching back was not helping. Though glad not to be left at home to deal with the babies and run Rosen’s errands, she still wished someone else had been given the task of watching Rosen’s children.

  Still, she’d accepted when Kensa had silently asked her, so watch them she would. Which meant finding them first.

  “What a wonderful way to spend a day,” she muttered as she studied the mud around the riverbank and found a pair of tracks leading away. To be honest, she’d almost rather be mucking out the pigs with Kitt and Clem.

  Smiling at the thought, she rubbed her back and silently scolded the bump of her belly, then headed back into the woods. What were those irritating girls up to now? Or were they just following their mother’s example in ducking as much work as possible? No doubt she would soon find out.

  DEMAIRO LIKED GWENNIK; she was quiet and restful. She never asked questions or babbled to fill the silence he always left in conversations. Best of all, the only time she’d ever mentioned his past was the first time they met.

  “I’ve lost my Mammik too,” she’d said, almost as an introduction. Then she’d offered to show him how best to hit squirrels with his sling and it had never been mentioned again.

  So yes, Demairo liked his new cousin. He liked Briallen too, and felt bad that she had to go tramping through the woods looking for Melwynn and Tekka, especially when she looked so tired and pale. Those were two of his new cousins that he did not like. Not a day had passed on the farm without them saying something mean to him or Ceri, so he avoided them as much as possible.

  In a way he was relieved that they’d run off, leaving Gwennik and him in peace to wade through a shallow section of the river, gathering mud into their baskets. He felt bad for Briallen, though, and wished he could help her.

  There was something about her that he really liked. It wasn’t because she reminded him of Mam either, because she didn’t. Though both had blonde hair, Briallen’s was more buttery, her face and body rounder and softer than his mammik’s had been.

  Lowena had been like an oak tree growing on the edge of a cliff, weathered and twisted by the wind of his father’s cruel tongue. She looked fragile from the outside, but inside was tough and strong. Briallen was more like a willow on a riverbank, healthy and green, but a little bent over by recent storms.

  It was those storms that drew Demairo towards her. She was so unhappy at times, so sad. He felt a connection between them, as if out of everyone he’d just met on the farm, she alone understood how he was feeling. Yet he also sensed that things were not well with her. She was so tired all the time, her pretty face shadowed with cares and woes. The way she touched her belly when she thought no one was looking worried him, making him wonder if she was sick. Nor did he like the way she’d been rubbing her back over recent days. There was something wrong, but he didn’t know what, or what to do about it. So he watched and hoped she would be all right.

  “Those stupid girls,” Gwennik grumbled, once Demairo had filled his basket and was wading back to the bank with it. “I don’t mind them leaving us with all the work, not if it means we don’t have to spend the day with them, but Aunt Bria has enough things to worry about without them too.”

  Demairo nodded as he hauled himself out of the water and offered his hand to help pull her up behind him. She smiled and they lugged their full baskets back to where their clothes were hanging. Then they gathered up the three empty baskets and headed back to the water again.

  “I don’t mind filling these up and I don’t care how long we have to sit here waiting for them to come back, but I am not carrying their share home,” Gwennik grumbled, jumping back into the river again.

  Demairo hummed his agreement, just as a shriek echoed through the woods. They both paused, looking up the wooded bank that rose towards the crop fields at the top of the hill.

  “Take that back!” came Tekka’s familiar shriek as Melwynn ran into view, holding up her long tunic so it didn’t flap around her legs. She looked muddy and dishevelled, a sure sign that the sisters had been fighting. Again.

  “Can’t catch me, Tekka, you fat sow!”

  “I’m not fat!” came the indignant reply, before Tekka came charging over the hill top. Since she wasn’t holding up her tunic like her older sister, she swiftly tripped and started rolling down the hill.

  Melwynn wrapped her arms around the nearest tree to stop her headlong flight, and doubled up with laughter as her little sister tumbled yelping and squealing into a small bush. “Clumsy as ever, Tek.”

  “I am not!” Tekka screamed, standing up, her red-gold hair a tangled mass over her face. “You’re horrible!” Snatching up a handful of dirt, she flung it at her laughing sister.

  Melwynn darted away, still laughing. “Your aim’s as bad as your running, fat Tekka-Tek, the farm’s biggest sow.”

  Too angry to form words, Tekka emitted a furious shriek and grabbed more dirt and stones, flinging them after her sister without care or heed.

  Gwennik rolled her eyes at Demairo, and the pair of them shook their heads at this typical display. If the sisters couldn’t find anyone else to pick on, they usually turned on each other.

  Briallen came jogging over the hilltop. “Girls!” she shouted, but her firm voice was drowned out by Melwynn, who’d finally been struck by one of her sister’s stones, causing her to yelp.

  “Why, you little fiend!”

  “Girls!”

  “Who’s the stupid sow now?” Tekka crowed, grabbing more stones and flinging them towards her sister.

  Ducking one that came very close to hitting her in the face, Melwynn charged with a roar.

  “Stop!” Briallen ordered, running towards them.

  Tekka just squeaked with alarm and threw everything she held in a desperate rush. It didn’t save her as Melwynn tackled her around the middle and the pair of them tumbled down the hill.

  But that wasn’t what had Demairo wading desperately to shore and hauling himself out of the water. No, it was the sight of Briallen falli
ng over.

  “Aunt Bria!” Gwennik cried, following Demairo as fast as she could.

  Skirting the squabbling sisters, Demairo sprinted up the slope to where Briallen was curled up around her belly, two fist-sized stones just in front of her. Her face was white, her hands cupped over her stomach, her eyes squeezed shut.

  Demairo dropped to his knees beside her, hesitated, then brushed his hand over her clammy forehead. “Br-Briallen?” he whispered.

  Her eyes opened, dark with pain and swimming with tears. “It hurts,” she whimpered.

  “Aunt Bria!” Gwennik arrived, crashing into Demairo and almost knocking him over. “Did they hit you? Are you hurt?”

  The woman nodded short and sharp, but her eyes stayed on Demairo. He took her hand. It was cold. She squeezed his fingers desperately and closed her eyes.

  “I’m… I think… the baby,” she whispered, and hunched tighter around her belly with a sharp moan.

  Gwennik gasped and jumped to her feet. “I’ll fetch Aunt Sewena.”

  She darted away, leaving Demairo staring down at the woman he liked so much, holding her cold hand while she was hurting, and not knowing what to do.

  “My baby,” she whispered, curling tighter and squeezing his hand harder. “I’m losing my baby.”

  “H-hold on,” he said, prising his hand free and sprinting up the rest of the hill, out of the woods as fast as his legs could carry him. Behind him Briallen moaned with pure misery, but Demairo ran on, even though he knew he could never be fast enough. It was already too late.