Read Online Wildwood Dancing by Juliet Marillier - Free Book Online
Authors: Juliet Marillier
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too little to find words. Perhaps I did not yet quite understand what death was.
“We have to go home.” Cezar’s eyes were odd, shocked andstaring. He looked more angry than sad. “We have to tell them. You’re going to have to help me, Jena.”
I nodded, misery starting to settle over me like a dark blanket. Costi was gone. Costi, who was so alive—the most alive person I knew. Costi, whom everybody loved. Watching the light sparkle on the lake water, I thought I could hear someone laughing.
“Come on, quick,” Cezar said. “We should get our story straight. We’d better practice on the way.”
I remembered that part even now: walking along the forest paths, my small hand in his not much bigger one, and the way he talked me carefully through what had happened—hoping to calm me down, I suppose. Even after ten years, I could still see the expression on Cezar’s face as he gave his account to his father. It was a heavy load for a boy just eight years old. I helped all I could, telling the same version of events as Cezar. What had happened was all jumbled up in my head, so it was good that he had explained it to me so clearly. He did not mention the game, nor did I. We confessed that we had been at the forbidden lake, playing with a raft. We told them about the tricky currents and the hands in the water. Uncle Nicolae and Aunt Bogdana were so distraught at the loss of their beloved firstborn, their shining star, that after a certain point in the story they ceased to listen.
My mother came to take me and my sister home to Piscul Dracului. After that, I did not see Cezar so often. He had become the eldest son. He worked hard at it: learning the business; accompanying Uncle Nicolae to village meetings; getting to know the running of the farm. He finished his education,going away to Braşov for several years and returning unrecognizable: a young man. I became shy of him—so tall, so big, so alarmingly solemn. So full of ideas and theories that clashed utterly with mine. All the same, I owed Cezar my life, and I had never forgotten that.
“The problem is,” I said now to Gogu, who was sitting on a leaf, practicing being invisible, “that Cezar is so difficult to be a friend to. If I could get closer to him, maybe I could persuade him to give up his talk of vengeance. But he thinks girls are an inferior breed, not suited to anything except cooking and cleaning. This winter I plan to prove him wrong on that count, at least. I’ll look after Father’s affairs so well that neither he nor Uncle Nicolae will need to do a thing.”
What’s that old saying: Pride comes before a fall?
“Don’t say that, Gogu! I thought you, at least, had faith in me.”
I do, Jena. Complete faith. Be careful, that’s all. Everything’s changing. You said as much yourself. Change can be frightening
.
“That’s why I’m glad I’ve got you,” I said. “You keep me sane, Gogu. You stop me from making stupid mistakes. Cezar had better not make any more suggestions about terriers. I simply couldn’t do without you.”
Nor I without you, Jena. We are a pair, you and I. It’s getting cold.… Winter’s close. Can I ride home on your shoulder?
Dearest Father
, I wrote,
we have been very busy since you went away. I will dispatch the consignment for Sibiu as soon as Uncle Nicolae can spare some men to load it onto the carts for us
. I’d have preferred to arrange this myself, but the men who usually came up from the village were all occupied with shoring up the banks of the Grimwater, which recent rains had swollen to a frothing brown torrent. A river in spate was as dangerous as Drǎguţa the witch at her most malevolent—it could consume a whole village in one gulp.
The river is up, but the bridge is still passable, so the consignment should get through before the winter
, I wrote.
I am expecting the goods you ordered from Salem bin Afazi soon. I will make sure they are safely in storage before the weather gets any
“We have to go home.” Cezar’s eyes were odd, shocked andstaring. He looked more angry than sad. “We have to tell them. You’re going to have to help me, Jena.”
I nodded, misery starting to settle over me like a dark blanket. Costi was gone. Costi, who was so alive—the most alive person I knew. Costi, whom everybody loved. Watching the light sparkle on the lake water, I thought I could hear someone laughing.
“Come on, quick,” Cezar said. “We should get our story straight. We’d better practice on the way.”
I remembered that part even now: walking along the forest paths, my small hand in his not much bigger one, and the way he talked me carefully through what had happened—hoping to calm me down, I suppose. Even after ten years, I could still see the expression on Cezar’s face as he gave his account to his father. It was a heavy load for a boy just eight years old. I helped all I could, telling the same version of events as Cezar. What had happened was all jumbled up in my head, so it was good that he had explained it to me so clearly. He did not mention the game, nor did I. We confessed that we had been at the forbidden lake, playing with a raft. We told them about the tricky currents and the hands in the water. Uncle Nicolae and Aunt Bogdana were so distraught at the loss of their beloved firstborn, their shining star, that after a certain point in the story they ceased to listen.
My mother came to take me and my sister home to Piscul Dracului. After that, I did not see Cezar so often. He had become the eldest son. He worked hard at it: learning the business; accompanying Uncle Nicolae to village meetings; getting to know the running of the farm. He finished his education,going away to Braşov for several years and returning unrecognizable: a young man. I became shy of him—so tall, so big, so alarmingly solemn. So full of ideas and theories that clashed utterly with mine. All the same, I owed Cezar my life, and I had never forgotten that.
“The problem is,” I said now to Gogu, who was sitting on a leaf, practicing being invisible, “that Cezar is so difficult to be a friend to. If I could get closer to him, maybe I could persuade him to give up his talk of vengeance. But he thinks girls are an inferior breed, not suited to anything except cooking and cleaning. This winter I plan to prove him wrong on that count, at least. I’ll look after Father’s affairs so well that neither he nor Uncle Nicolae will need to do a thing.”
What’s that old saying: Pride comes before a fall?
“Don’t say that, Gogu! I thought you, at least, had faith in me.”
I do, Jena. Complete faith. Be careful, that’s all. Everything’s changing. You said as much yourself. Change can be frightening
.
“That’s why I’m glad I’ve got you,” I said. “You keep me sane, Gogu. You stop me from making stupid mistakes. Cezar had better not make any more suggestions about terriers. I simply couldn’t do without you.”
Nor I without you, Jena. We are a pair, you and I. It’s getting cold.… Winter’s close. Can I ride home on your shoulder?
Dearest Father
, I wrote,
we have been very busy since you went away. I will dispatch the consignment for Sibiu as soon as Uncle Nicolae can spare some men to load it onto the carts for us
. I’d have preferred to arrange this myself, but the men who usually came up from the village were all occupied with shoring up the banks of the Grimwater, which recent rains had swollen to a frothing brown torrent. A river in spate was as dangerous as Drǎguţa the witch at her most malevolent—it could consume a whole village in one gulp.
The river is up, but the bridge is still passable, so the consignment should get through before the winter
, I wrote.
I am expecting the goods you ordered from Salem bin Afazi soon. I will make sure they are safely in storage before the weather gets any
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