Echoes (3 page)

“Zusia! Get back here, right now!” Catherine had her hands on her hips. A stiff, bristled brush was clutched in her hand.

Zusia had darted behind a cluster of rose bushes, her heart beating wildly. She struggled to calm her breathing so she would not be heard.

“You can come out from behind the roses, young lady. If I couldn’t hear you panting like a dog, which I can, and I couldn’t see your wild hair sticking out over the tops of the shrubs, which I do, then I would certainly smell you. You need a bath. You haven’t seen a tub of water for nearly two weeks, and I was only able to coax you into that because of the funeral. Come on now, no more fooling around, I have work to do.”

Zusia sighed knowing she was beaten, and strode from her hiding place. “I didn’t have to take baths at home,” she complained.

“You also didn’t have to eat every day, or sit down without wincing, or—”

“Okay, okay! Damn, woman, you don’t have to get so worked up about it.”

“And none of that talk from you either, little miss, or I’ll take the soap to your mouth after I’ve finished with your hair.” Catherine turned around and marched back to the kitchen where she had a large tub of hot water waiting for the wayward child.

Zusia kicked a stone from her path and grumbled under her breath, before slinking in through the kitchen door. She pulled her dress over her head and tossed it on the floor, but the scowl on Catherine’s face had her bending to retrieve the garment with the next breath, and she hung it haphazardly over the back of one of the chairs.

Zusia dipped a scrawny leg into the bath water and yowled, “Are you trying to cook me, woman?”

Catherine submerged her hand in the water, testing the temperature. “Zuzu, that water is perfect. Quit being so dramatic and get in.”

Once the child was seated in the tub, Catherine began the arduous task of washing the dirt and grime from her.

“Ah, Johnathon, good. You brought the ducks,” Catherine said to the man who’d entered the kitchen, toting a large, sturdy basket. “I didn’t know when I was going to have time. Can you start plucking them while I finish Zusia’s bath?”

“Of course. Do you want me to start the bread when I’m finished?”

“No, I’ve got that going already.” Catherine took a pitcher of fresh water and dumped it over Zusia’s hair to wet it down so it could be washed. She ignored the child’s sputtering protests, and began to work her fingers through the shaggy mop on Zusia’s head.

Johnathon smiled at the feisty Breken girl. He liked her. She had a spark that was amusing, and she always said something that was sure to catch you off guard.

“I’m so glad we’ll be having your bread tonight, Catherine. It’s my favorite,” Johnathon said. “With your knowledge of herbs and seasoning, you always manage to give it a special flavor. Now, some people can’t make a good bread, and then there’s Dearra’s bread. It can’t even be called bread really. She—” He stopped and looked at Catherine.

“It’s okay, Johnathon. It’s almost like she’s died too, isn’t it? We don’t even speak of her anymore.”

“No one knows what to say, Catherine. We are all waiting for her to take her place. She will, won’t she? If what Daniel tells us is true, we haven’t got a moment to lose. The Breken will be coming soon.”

“I hope so, Johnathon. William says she needs more time, but it’s been so long already. I don’t think we should wait any longer. If she won’t assume the lordship, we must make her, and if she still refuses, then, I’m afraid, another will have to assume it for her. We can’t go on wandering aimlessly.”

Zusia watched Johnathon and Catherine shake their heads and return to their tasks. She wondered why everyone was standing around waiting. If the Breken came, and the people of Mirin Tor were not prepared, they were all dead, or even worse.

“All right, all done, Zusia. Get dried off,” Catherine said, shaking open a large square of fabric.

Zusia rubbed the cloth vigorously across her body and then donned her dress. “You want me to help pluck the birds?”

“No, you go play for a while. Get out and get some sun and air. It’ll do you some good. This afternoon, we will start in with your letters again.” Catherine noticed the sparkle in the child’s eyes. She absolutely thrived on her lessons, and Catherine couldn’t teach her the letters and numbers fast enough.

Zuzu scurried from the kitchen and headed out to the bailey.

Johnathon paused, still holding a fistful of feathers, as he watched the child go. “You know, Catherine, taking on another child is a lot with everything you already have to do. Cassandra and I have no children. We wouldn’t mind having her with us.”

Catherine raised her brows in surprise. “Well, that’s very kind of you, but I think William would miss her. He’s grown quite attached, and as much as she struts about pretending indifference, I think she would miss him as well. Besides, two is really no more trouble than one.”

“If you change your mind, you be sure and let me know. She’s a bright little thing, and…she makes me laugh.”

“She
is
bright, isn’t she?” Catherine said with just a hint of motherly pride.

Johnathon did not miss the look on Catherine’s face, and he knew it would take nothing short of an army to pry the child from Catherine’s arms.

***

Zusia had never been in this part of the keep before. It wasn’t that she was forbidden, she simply had no reason to go to the tower where Dearra slept. She set her foot on the stone stairs and began her march upward. Round and round she went, until she reached the topmost step. She looked at the wood door in front of her and squared her shoulders. If no one else was going to take Dearra in hand, she supposed she had better. What was the worst that could happen?

She reached up to knock, but then reconsidered, and opened the door just wide enough to slip inside. Dearra was sitting in a chair in front of the fire, exactly the same as she had done for the two weeks prior, at least that’s what people had said. She stared, without blinking, at the fire in the grate. Zusia cleared her throat so as to not startle Dearra, and when that didn’t work, she coughed a little, but there was no response.

Zusia shrugged, and walked over to the heavy, wooden chair, adjacent to Dearra’s. She scooped up the clothing that was on the chair and dumped them in a heap along one wall, before dragging the chair so that it was directly between Dearra and the fire. She sat down and faced the strange woman before her. And still there was no response.

“You sick or something?” Zusia asked, but Dearra said nothing. “Everyone’s waiting for you, you know. What’s the matter with you? Is it because your father’s dead?”

Dearra flinched a little and frowned, but she did not answer her.

“That’s it, isn’t it? So, he’s dead. Lots more fathers are going to be dead if you don’t get yourself together. Lots more children, too. What do you care, though? It’s good that you don’t care, actually. That way, when they kill Phillip, you can just sit here in a big pile of nothing and not feel anything.”

“Shut up, Zusia,” Dearra croaked.

“She speaks! It’s a miracle! No, I don’t think I will shut up. I found a home here, and I would like to keep it. You have everything, and you are just going to throw it away.”

“Please leave.” Dearra’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper. She had gone too long without speaking, and there was no longer any force to her words.

“Or what? You’ll beat me? I’ve been beaten before. You don’t scare me. So you don’t care what happens to your friends and family. Phillip dead, Darius dead, Carly dead—well, they probably won’t kill Carly. Too much power, but they’ll use her. Maybe they’ll keep that red-headed one alive to make her do what they want.”

“What do you want me to do? I don’t have anything left to give.” Dearra’s eyes were misty when she met Zusia’s gaze.

“You’re pathetic! You’re supposed to be this great warrior. I’ve seen jirds with more fight than you have.”

“What in Cyrus’s name is a jird?” Dearra asked.

“A small mouse that lives in the Breken desert. It’s not large enough to make a meal of, but a bunch of them can tide you over if you’re stuck in the desert with nothing else to eat.”

“A mouse? You think I am a mouse?”

“No, I think you are less than a mouse. When in danger, a mouse will at least bite. You just sit there doing nothin’. If you won’t fight, at least give your sword to someone who will use it. The rest of us still want to live.” She paused, sizing Dearra up. “Maybe I will just take it. I don’t know how to use it, but I can learn, and I would be more use than you, at least.”

“
You
will take it?
That
would be worth seeing. Go right ahead and try,” Dearra said, waving her hand at the bed where Brin lay.

Zusia climbed off the chair and strode toward the bed. She had never lifted a sword in her life. To do so, and be caught, would have meant a speedy death, but she would be damned if she would let the challenge go unanswered.

Dearra had resumed her examination of the flames, waiting for the yelp of pain that would soon follow, and hopefully end the annoying child’s presence in her room. She heard the sword being pulled free of the scabbard, and the dull thud as the tip of the heavy blade hit the floor. Dearra turned in her chair to see Zuzu holding the sword, both hands wrapped awkwardly around the hilt, not quite able to lift it. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t what Dearra had expected. Brin should be glowing red. He’d never tolerated any touch but hers before, except in very rare situations.

Brin, what are you doing?

It’s time to wake up now, Dearra. The Breken child is too small, but if not her, then another. You and I are bonded, it’s true, but with you or without you, I will not let our people die. I will do my part, even if you will not.

“Stupid thing is too heavy for me,” Zusia grumbled, glaring at Dearra.

Dearra,
Brin said gently.
Hugh is dead, but you are not. This child never had a father, not like you had. She never had a home and family to speak of, but she remains unbowed. You have grieved, now you must live again. Don’t spit on Hugh’s memory by throwing away everything he gave to you. Your courage, your strength, your ability to love. He lives on through you, but only if you will let him.

Dearra pressed her palms against the arms of her chair and rose unsteadily. She hadn’t slept in days, and the lack of rest had taken its toll, but she felt a small measure of strength return as she walked to the girl before her and held her hand out for the sword.

“Well, thank the gods,” Zusia said. “I thought I was going to have to try and drag the blasted sword out of here to get you to come to your senses.”

A wan smile formed on Dearra’s face as she took the sword in her hands. The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it was there nonetheless. Dearra sheathed Brin and belted the blade at her waist.

“Come on, Zusia. We’ll find you something more your size.” Dearra held her hand out to the girl.

Zusia hesitated for a moment, but then twined her fingers with Dearra’s, and they walked from the room.

***

“Can we come in?” Dearra asked pausing in the doorway of the weapons room. Her voice was soft and a bit hesitant, as if she wasn’t entirely sure of what their response would be.

Daniel and Darius were both there, and they shot to their feet when they saw her. They looked at one another, unsure of how to respond. 

For Tolah’s sake, boy, don’t just stand there like an idiot, answer her.

“Uh, Dearra…well,” Darius floundered.  

Daniel was no better. He merely waved his arm in an awkward attempt to invite her in.

Brin sighed.
Close enough.

Dearra walked further into the room, the Breken child still holding her hand.

“What do you think, Zusia? A sword? A mace? A dagger?” Dearra asked as she walked down the rows of weapons lining the walls.

“This!” Zusia said, first grasping and then holding up a bow that was almost as long as she was tall.

“I don’t know, Zuzu. A bow takes quite a bit of practice to become familiar with. You may not have the strength to use it.”

“I like it. It’s elegant looking, and I don’t gotta get too close.” Zusia hooked a leg around the bow and strung it before pulling an arrow from a nearby sheath.

“How did you know how to do that?” Dearra asked. “Have you used a bow before?”

“I watched. I know how to watch. Nobody notices me.” Zusia nocked an arrow, and her arms shook with the effort it took to draw the powerful weapon.

“Wait!” Dearra walked behind the child, took her by the shoulders, and turned her in a slightly safer direction. “Okay, Zusia. Aim for where the beams meet. Don’t worry about missing, there’s nothing for you to damage but the arrow.”

Zusia’s arms trembled as she held the bow tautly. She took a deep, steadying breath, and then exhaled slowly before releasing the arrow. There was a dull thunk when the arrow buried itself dead center in the cross of the beams. Zusia lowered her bow and smirked at the men who stared open-mouthed.

“The bow it is,” Dearra said, smiling at the girl. “Take a quiver of the arrows, but take the ones without the metal tips. You can practice with those, for now.”