Three

Bethan had kept her word and had not told anyone about his incomprehensible recovery. No one else discovered him, and he wondered how long it could last. He decided he would restrict his dealings with just her. After a week, he realized it could not last long. Eventually he would need to enlist the help of another to subsist.

So the first person he decided to willingly share his secret with was Bethan's younger sister.

Elen came bouncing up to his hut, singing high, like a parakeet. Einar wanted to sing back to her like one, like Claire's pet bird, Yellow-wing. He held his tongue, though, and waited for the girl. He did not know her well enough yet to share that with her.

Though still young, she was just reaching an age where boys would be sending her furtive glances. She would welcome them too, no doubt, and in fact draw them. For all that her mother was reserved and adverse to attention, Elen was quite the opposite. In fact, she was the antithesis of Einar; joyous, adoring, sprightly, and full of love to share.

"Sure Foot Einar?" she called. She had not seen him tucked away behind his hut chopping wood for the looming fall.

"I be here," he said, rounding his home.

She smiled at the sight of him. Elen was not a slight girl, but sturdy and strong. She would be able to handle a man's work, had it been given to her, despite the childlike amiability she displayed. "Bethan gave me your message," she said. "I came to ask you when you want me here to tend to the critters."

Einar was stunned to silence for a moment. Of all the people in the village he had thought to ask, he knew Elen would be the one of the few who would accept. It was the way she phrased it so suddenly, that yes, of course she would work at Einar's side, when shall we begin? Everyone else knew him as the bitter shut-in on the hill; Elen greeted him, someone she never really talked to, as a beloved friend.

He wiped his brow with his handkerchief to give himself time to answer. "You be willing to help me now? I'll show you where they graze."

"Aye," she said cheerfully, and followed him to the field.

Einar had shorn them not one moon past, and some had begun to grow their coats back for the coming autumn. Two sheep had been put down for their mutton, the meat traded to Liam through Bethan to sell at market, so Einar had been left with a flock of twenty-two sheep in all, eight of them lambs. Einar had never known Elen to approach the sheep, but now she tiptoed among them carefully, smiling like she had found a treasure trove. "They're a delight to see," she said softly to him, kneeling down in the grass and holding her hand out for a lamb. It shied from her until she filled her hand with grass, then it carefully took the offering, wagging its tail gleefully.

"You can come by in the evenings, just before the sun sets. I'll have you help me herd them home into their hut. See?" He motioned to their nightly shelter. "Then I'll show you more."

She nodded, but was still entranced by the lamb that had so happily eaten from her hand, and giggled as it buried its snout into her palm in search for more. When it moved on, she softened her smile and looked up at him. "Why did you ask for me?" she said. "Mum said you don't ever talk to anyone."

He gave himself time to put his answer in words. "I want someone to love them dearly, when I'm gone."

She furrowed her brows. "Gone? You be leaving?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

"It be where I belong."

She looked sad but understanding. "Bethan telled me about how you fell."

"Aye."

"And about Mother Claire."

He remained silent for a moment. "She watched you a great deal. Do you remember her at all?"

Elen shrugged. "I remember red hair, and...toes." She inclined her head. "Do you think she be up there somewhere?"

Slowly, he nodded.

"I hope she is." She looked to the sheep. "I would take care of them for certain. You'd have nary a thing to worry about."

He gave her a small smile. "You're a kind woman, Elen."

She smiled back, then turned to be on her way.

"Elen?"

She looked back.

"Sure Foot Einar?" he asked.

She nodded. "It be what Bethan and me call you."

Then she left.


Winter came suddenly, harsh and unrelenting. Bitter cold swept across the village, and from time to time the gale would sweep up the hill and pierce through the trees to Einar's hut. He and Elen would bundle up in more clothes and wrap the sheep in extra furs, but the cold still found a way to seep in. Early on, he made himself the first pair of proper shoes from some of his skins, to best keep his feet warm outdoors.

In the mornings, Einar would run, a brisk a run as it was, with a sack of rocks strapped to his back. Every day he would add another stone, just like he had told her to so many years ago. Of course, he slipped and fell more than once. One of those times he landed on his sack of rocks, and his back was out of sorts for a week after that.

At night, he would tie a rope from one end of his hut to the other, and walk back and forth across it with his hands hanging at his sides. He began lifting one leg, lowering himself down, and standing up again. He would still lose his balance. Always, he would step back on the rope and try again.

When he slept, he would make the climb again. Most times, she would be at the top, smiling softly.

Elen would come every day. It only took a few days before Einar started to sing to her as a bird. She delighted in it even more than Claire had. The wind howled outside his door, the snows fell ever harder, and the air was bitter cold as to nip at the nose, but Einar was finally beginning to feel warm again.

Spring came soon, and the snow relented within days, the sun beating down upon it. Soon his ewes grew fat, and Einar began to teach Elen how to look for signs of pregnancy, and how to catch the lambs when they were birthed.

"Like how Bethan do it with the wee babes," Elen said.

"Almost." He smiled some. "The ewes are better at birthing than our women."

Elen seemed to take this as an affront, but an affectionate affront, if anything. But as soon as the first of their flock gave birth, she told him she saw what he had meant.

"I be'd preparing myself for blood and screaming," she had said, laughing, as she watched the lamb scramble towards its mother, nudging for milk. "He walks right out of his mother's belly!"

Elen was never weary nor wary; she accepted all tasks handed to her with a smile, and saw all the flowers in a field others would only see weeds. He was glad he had picked her as his replacement, and that she had willingly agreed. Most of all, he was happy to have her company. It had been some time since he was around someone who was so full of good. It had been a long time since he was just around someone.

That night, Einar squatted on one leg with the other held out in front of him, and how steady he was made him smile.


Elen came running up the path late one afternoon to find Einar holding himself suspended between two trees, feet pressed into the trunk of one, back wedged against the other.

"Eira is having her babe," Elen said. It was the first time he had ever heard dismay in her voice. "Bethan has asked for help. Will you please come?"

Einar lowered himself straight away and followed her. They ran to the village together.

On the way he wondered why Bethan would call on him. He had never been present at a birth besides his own, and then he had taken his mother's life while she gave him his. For his flock he was hardly of use; he knew what to do but what to do was so little, for the sheep were fine enough without him. What use he would be to Bethan, to poor Eira, or even Elen, when they all had much more experience than he?

For a brief moment, in midst of all this worry, he had been amazed. A flash rushed behind his eyes, and it truly sunk in for the first time.

I'm running.

He had not run on this path since his father was alive, since before Water Claire trickled into his life. The last time he had headed in this direction, gone to another's home, he had been a different person. Whatever power existed in the world, it had deemed Einar deserving of his legs. He had been given a second chance.

Then the brief dread: He was headed into the village, and they would see he had feet, and he still lacked a way to explain it.

The echo of Eira's scream reached their ears. Both of them ran harder.

Even before they had crossed the threshold, Bethan was calling to them. "Elen, fetch me more water! Einar, come hold her!"

They came upon a terrible scene: Eira was clutching the top of a chair, leaning heavily on it, roaring with all her small lungs would give her. Beneath her was a pool of blood.

"Come here, now," Bethan said, "stand here. Good. Eira, wrap your arms around his neck. Move, now!" Laboriously, Eira clasped one arm around Einar's shoulder, then the other. "Now, to the floor," she said, and she guided them both down, Einar on his knees and Eira squatting in front of him. She was sobbing into Einar's shoulder. Already there was blood on his tunic.

Elen came inside with a bucket sloshing with water. She set it down beside her sister, and Bethan scooped a cup inside it while dropping a cloth. "Drink," Bethan implored, lifting the cup to her friend's lips. Eira tried, but sputtered on the first sip, instead letting out a guttural yell.

Somehow, in a dark sort of way, Einar could understand why his father had treated him as he did, knowing that the birth of his son had done this to his wife.

Not knowing what else to do, Einar bent his head next to Eira's ear as Bethan bid her sister to boil water for a tea, and spoke in low, soothing tones, despite the shrieking the poor mother gave. "This is just a moment," he whispered. "Your child will be with you soon."

She began to weep. Einar stroked her damp hair, her sweaty back, and hummed peacefully to her, sure that if she had the strength she would rend him asunder for even trying to be calm.

"Stop pushing," Bethan said, sudden and sharp. "Elen, bring the tea. Eira, you must drink this. All of it, now, your child depends on it." Eira pulled away when she scalded her lips on the hot water. "It's not a thing, drink it," Bethan demanded. With a growl, Eira tried again, gulping down hot tea. Einar held her firmly, willing comfort to pass through his hands into her.

Bethan reached between them and felt Eira's belly. "Get her to the bed," Bethan told Einar. With his renewed dexterity and control, he slowly rose to his feet, bringing her with him, and fit an arm under her to carry her across the room. Her lower half was drenched in blood.

"Stay with her," Bethan said to him, once he set Eira down. Bethan moved aside Eira's ankles to inspect her progress. Eira gripped Einar's hand near hard enough to turn it blue.

Bethan's commands stopped. She was hidden behind Eira's skirt, and Eira could only cry louder. Elen, who had went to refill the tea, stopped on her way to the bed and stared, pale and frightened. Elen was not an easily frightened girl, and Einar did not consider himself a brave man, not in that moment.

Eira beat her free fist on the bed, then on Einar, and she gave a great shudder and screamed loud enough that he could hear her vocal cords fail under the strain. Her scream tapered away with her breath, and he heard Bethan pull a child from her then.

Eira's screams became gasps, then thin, whispering breaths. Nought else made a sound.