Read Online Ambergate by Patricia Elliott - Free Book Online

breeches and patched jacket; he’d not yet filled out to his full strength
     like his father, but he was tall and broad-shouldered, and moved with a quick litheness unlike his father’s stiff gait.
    “What is your name?” he asked. His accent was not as strong as his father’s.
    “I have no given name,” I said in a low voice. “I’ve been called Scuff—for part of my life.”
    He considered the name solemnly, then shook his head. “You must find your true name.”
    “How long have I been here?”
    He shrugged. “Time passes differently in the Wasteland.”
    “How did you find me?”
    “Your wings are still out there, in a reed bed that cushioned your fall.” He jerked his head toward the opening in the wall.
     “You weren’t moving, so I lifted you up and brought you here.”
    “Your father nursed me,” I whispered.
    “He’s a healer.”
    I thought of Gadd’s cool touch on my forehead, all he’d done for me. “I wish I’d the means to pay him.”
    “Money would mean nothing to him,” said Erland gruffly. “He cared for you because you were hurt.”
    I didn’t know what to say, faced with such unquestioning kindness. Tears filled my eyes. Though I couldn’t say such a thing
     to this grave, unworldly youth and his gentle father, who together had saved my life, I wished I had died when I fell from
     the air. There was nothing to live for.
    I had no way of telling how much time was passing, nor did it matter to me.
    I lay listlessly on the pallet, listening to the fire crackle or to Gadd and Erland talking to each other as they moved about,
     preparing food, bringing in clanking buckets of well water or cow’s milk, sharpening blades. Their thoughtfulnesswas endless. They rigged up a reed screen to preserve my modesty, and brought me bowls of water to wash myself in.
    When it grew dark outside, they pulled my pallet closer to the fire and I would watch Gadd plaiting reeds into baskets and
     mats to sell, for although the rheum had stiffened his legs, his fingers were nimble and clever. I would scarce touch the
     fish they cooked for supper, and it seemed too great an effort to talk. But I’d notice how easy they were together in conversation,
     how they’d joke and tease each other in their soft voices. As Erland passed Gadd’s stool, he’d ruffle his father’s graying
     locks in mocking impudence; in return, Gadd would pretend to box Erland’s ears or clap him on the rump to chase him to his
     duties.
    And in their eyes there was such affection that deep inside me something woke and twisted with emotion.
    During the day I was often on my own, for Erland went out whatever the weather, and Gadd only stayed behind if the rheum was
     bothering him badly, for he needed to tend the animals. But I did not have the desire or strength to go out with them. I scarce
     had the energy to do more than empty the bowl they’d given me for a chamber pot: the few dragging steps to the latrine ditch
     they’d dug in a clump of silver birch. Not far away I could hear the lowing of a cow, a goat bleating, but my eyes didn’t
     leave the ground. It was too dangerous.
    I’d often finger the amber stone that Aggie had given me, dangling it like a solid drop of sunlight on its leather thread,
     touching the smoothness that had saved me from the sky.
    Or had it?
    Sometimes at night I would dream. The dreams would be a blur of images: Pegg’s hand on the pistol; the upturned faces of the
     soldiers; the brands burning below in the darkness; the dogs howling and straining on their leashes. I’d feel Pegg’s pistol
     in my ribs, the leather flying harness cutting into my body.
    And then I’d drop into space.
    I would cry out in terror and wake to find Gadd by my pallet, hushing me, smoothing my hair back from my face. Then I’d whisper
     over and over again, “How did I survive such a fall?”
    Gadd said nothing. He sat there quietly, a dark soothing presence, until at last my trembling ceased.
    But there was