"What?" Bourg grumped with surprise.
"The wellkeeper is going to let go of you, Brindle. Do you understand? Just relax. We won’t hurt you. Just try to show us what you are trying to tell us."
Brindle wiggled the rope in her hand. "The rope - you want to tell us something about the rope?" Brindle wiggled the rope again. "Okay, okay. See, you can talk to us and we can understand you. Don't be afraid, little one. We want to know what you want to say to us just as much as you want us to understand you. If the wellkeeper puts you down, will you calmly help us to understand you? Shake your head if you understand me and agree."
Brindle tried to shake her head but she was in a vice grip and her knees were in her way. Again, her eyes rolled up to meet Bourg's and pleaded to be released.
"Oh, for love of Veget!" he cursed and eased his grip. Brindle took a deep breath and shook her head up and down as Loden had requested.
"Let her down - gently now. We won't hurt you, Brindle. That is your name isn’t it? Okay, now just tell, er, show us what it is you want to tell us.
Bourg set Brindle down. Her legs remained somewhat bent and cramped as she steadied herself against the well wall. Her stomach muscles ached like they’d been tied into one gigantic knot. Loden ordered the two injured males to find a caretender to ease their suffering. They readily obeyed, but not before cursing their malefactor.
Brindle waited until they were gone before she spoke again. How wonderful she felt being alone at the well with the two wellkeepers. For the first time in her life she felt important. For the first time in her life someone was taking time to listen to her.
"Ah ga fo Thyda ib weh,” she said as straight forward and plainly as she could. However the confused expression on the wellkeeper’s faces threw her into another rage of frustration. "Ib weh! Ib weh! Ah ga ib fo Thyda! Blas!" she cried over and over again as she yanked at the well rope still in her hand.
Then suddenly, she jumped onto the well rim and dashed around it to the opposite side. Both wellkeepers gasped and stood paralyzed as she bent forward and pointed with her finger into the deep, black gullet below. "Ib weh!"
"Blast, female, be careful! You'll fall into the well,” Loden cautioned with perturbed alarm. He motioned for Bourg to circle the well in one direction while he circled the other way. Both men slowly approached her as each motioned for her to calm down and get down. This just infuriated Brindle all the more. She began to stomp her feet in frustration, causing both wellkeepers to stop in their tracks.
"Is she going to jump?" Bourg whispered, fearing even the thought of it.
"I don't know. I - I don't think so,” Loden whispered back.
Then speaking to Brindle, “There, there, be calm. We just don’t want you to get killed. We’re trying to understand you - really we are, but you must give us a chance. We'll be patient with you, but you must be patient with us as well. Look, you’ve gone and scared us half to death already. Why don't you get down from there and we'll take you home to your parents?”
Again, Brindle stomped her feet.
"Alright, alright. You stay there if you want, but for Veget's sake be careful. If you fell into the well, we'd surely die at the sight of it. Now you wouldn't want Nuttinnew to lose its only wellkeepers, would you?"
The question struck Brindle in the heart. Oh no, she wouldn't want anything to happen to the wellkeepers. She wanted to be their friend, their comrade. Brindle slowly shook her head as tears once again welled up in her still determined eyes. Her body teetered back and forth on the wall.
Loden gasped. "Careful, Brindle! You don't want to go into the well, do you?"
Bourg's head snapped back and forth between Loden and Brindle. Then he waved his hands as if he were trying to ward off some evil curse. "No!” he cried. "Absolutely not. We - I - I just couldn't be a part of it. Why your just - just a....”
Loden looked at Bourg as if he had suddenly gone mad. Then it came to him what Bourg had realized: Brindle was trying to tell them she wanted to take Tyter's place in the well. "a solution to our problem,” Loden finished Bourg's sentence, taking it in a different direction.
"But she's a - a....”
"A female, yes,” Loden interjected. "Do you think she's light enough?"
Bourg's mouth was hanging open as he turned and looked at the slender figure on the well wall. A smile of excitement and relief had spread across Brindle’s face.
"Yes, well. She is lanky despite her obvious, uh, femaleness.” Bourg blushed when he heard himself say this. It seemed to betray that, during his wrestling match with the young female, he had accidentally discovered there was more to her shape than the obvious. His eyes turned away from her as his ears turned a bright red.
Loden had only heard what he wanted to hear. "Light enough, yes, you're right. She’s perfect! Listen to me, Brindle. Do you know why we send Tyter down into the well every morning?”
Brindle held out her hands, dropped the well rope, drew her hands down and wiggled her fingers like ripples of water in a pond.
"Yes, That's right. Tyter measures how far down the water level is. He does this by counting the stone layers along the well wall as he descends. Do you understand what I am saying?"
Brindle nodded yes. Then she pointed to the well rim and each descending stone layers along the exposed well wall. As she did she barked out a different sound for each one, feeling quite proud of her ingenious, animated answer, which she was sure they would have no problem understanding. However, when she turned and faced them, their expressions appeared most perplexed. Quickly, she fell to her knees and wrote the number 5 in the sand. When she’d finished she sprang back onto the well rim, tapped her temple three times, then gave Loden a wink.
Immediately, Loden’s face beamed with the satisfaction of relief. "Yes, yes. That's right!” Now, Loden was truly excited.
The young female's courage was astonishing. She was intelligent, even witty. This surprised him for the only other mute he had ever known was his great aunt, Addle Bane, who lived a lonely desperate life until she died of the drought disease when he was still a child. He had always been told it was better she was dead because she was never really a complete person anyway. She couldn't talk to anyone, so it was quite obvious she didn't have any thoughts of her own. It was truly a blessing she was relieved of the burden of life before she became a burden on the normal members of her family. He looked into Brindle’s bright smiling face and wondered if his family had been right after all.
"I tell you, Bourg, she can do it. By veget, she can do it!" Loden insisted, as if he somehow owed it to his great aunt.
Bourg grunted. Then, in his way of stating the obvious, he said, "But will her parents let her go into the well?" It was a rhetorical question, for it assumed a negative response.
Loden's heart sank. He, too, automatically assumed they would not. What parents in their right mind would allow their child to be swallowed whole by the well? The risk of never returning to the surface was always high when the water level was near the hundredth stone level.
Brindle listened to Bourg's words then studied Loden's fallen countenance. Quickly, she sprang from the well wall, grabbed hold of the index finger of Bourg's thick, hairy hand and began tugging on it.
"I think she wants to take you somewhere,” Loden said.
"Why me?" Bourg looked puzzled. The young female's sudden act had surprised him.
"I don't know. Maybe, because you're Tyter's guardian."
"This is foolishness!" Bourg exclaimed as he reluctantly lumbered along, behind the petite young female.
Brindle’s air of confidence again filled Loden with a sense of hope and a measure of cheer. “Perhaps she’s taking you home to meet her parents,” Loden chirped playfully.
"Hm, then you’d better come with us as our watchoverer.” Even Bourg was feeling a bit cheered by young Brindle’s forthright enthusiasm.
"Loden laughed. "But whose - yours or hers?” He couldn't help being somewhat whimsical. The sight of the s
lender creature tugging along the massive beast was a humorous sight even under these most serious circumstances.
***** ***** *****
From Tyter's sleeping room window, CB watched the procession of the wellkeepers and their young companion walking away from the well toward the first hut to the east of the well. He wondered what was going on, but the concerns at the well was none of his own. His only concern for the moment was the young male lying beside him in a pool of sweat.
Looking down at Tyter, he wondered how much more suffering Fate would allow before it gave the lad a compassionate reprieve? He wondered how much more of the lad’s suffering he could take? Again, he thought of the green vial which he had placed back into his sack. Again, he began to feel queasy.
To take his mind off it, he looked back out the window. The three were just passing out of sight to the far side of the hut. CB looked at the deserted well, then at the clear, cloudless sky. His eyes lowered to Center House and he thoughts turned to Wudrick. Although he’d often seen his childhood friend at a distance, traipsing along behind his wife, the mayor, they hadn’t spoken to each other in years. He wondered if Wudrick still engaged in those fanciful ponderings which had so amazed his father. If not, it was, perhaps, a shame. Who knows? He might have found a cure for the Dreaded Drought Disease by now.
“A ‘cure’? Now I’m starting to sound like my father.”
***** ***** *****
Brindle signaled for Loden and Bourg to wait just outside her front door while she went in to collect her parents. Their wait wasn't long for she returned swiftly, agitated and disappointed.
"I knew it!" Bourg proclaimed. “Her parents said no! Everyone will think we're crazy for even suggesting such a thing.” Giving a common gesture of failure with his hand, he stepped away as if returning to the well.
Loden watched Brindle. She was shaking from head to toe as her eyes nervously searched eastward among the many huts.
"Wait, Bourg! I don't think her parents are home,” Loden called as he looked in through the open door. "Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?” His voice brought Brindle out of her intense visual search. Turning, she saw he had stuck his head into the hut through the partially open door. Then she turned westward and saw Bourg walking slowly back to the well, his head and shoulders slumped in dejection. He hadn’t heard his fellow wellkeeper’s call.
In a dash Brindle raced after him. Flinging her strong arms and slender legs about his left thigh, she tenaciously clung to the massive appendage, like a spider on a web, subduing its prey.
"What the ...?” Bourg roared as he stumbled forward to maintain his balance. His first instinct was to strike out in self-defense at the creature which had so unsuspectedly assailed him. However such a primitive response had no prior rehearsal, for never before in his entire life had anyone ever dared to accost him - until now.
Brindle clenched her eyes as tightly as her grip. She didn’t know what to expect next. This experience was new to her as well. As a small child, she had seen other children being carried around on their paupi’s leg, and had longed to experience the apparent thrill of it. Now, a vague memory filled her mind.
She had once attempted to ride her own paupi’s leg once, but no sooner had she grabbed hold when he lost his balance hobbled sideways, then fell like a dried veget stalk, smashing his head on the edge of the eating room table. She never tried it again, nor was she encouraged to do so.
Eventually, Bourg regained his balance. Daring to use but one eye, Brindle peered up at him and found herself staring into a pair of dark blue, bulging, orbs, staring back down at her through a carpet of thick, black hair which appeared to be standing on end. Not knowing what else to do, she smiled up at him with all the sweet innocence she could muster. But when she saw no recognizable change in his facial expression, she turned her face away and her smile tensed to a cringe.
Suddenly, her eyes popped out like Bourg’s and she let out a screech. Releasing one arm of her grip, she pointed across the horizon. "Da! Da! Pents coom da!" she excitedly shouted over and over again.
Loden ran out of the hut to see what all the shouting was about. With one look at Brindle and Bourg he choked with a burst of laughter. Then he realized Brindle was pointing at something. He followed the direction of her finger. "There Bourg, look! I believe these are her parents coming now."
Bourg twisted his thick neck as far as he could to look back over his own shoulder. He was afraid to move his feet for fear he would either land on his head - or, worse, land on the frail creature clinging to his limb.
"I wonder where they could have been off to so early this morning?" Loden mused suspiciously.
"Okay, okay, look. Here come your parents. Now, for Veget's sake, get off of my leg before you break something. It’s annoying - and, and impolite."
Brindle hesitated, then cautiously uncoiled herself from Bourg's leg, only to jump up quickly and wrap her arm about his, clenching it as tightly as she had his leg.
“Oh, for veget's sake! Do you think I’ll disappear if you don’t strangle some part of me?” Bourg grumbled as he looked into her eyes, not realizing there was much more truth in what he said, than he could ever have imagined.
Again Brindle looked up and flashed that same innocent smile - this time melting the gentle giant’s heart.
"Who is this endearing, strange, young female?" his mind pondered. Never had he met such a creature in all of Nuttinnew. She was sixteen years old, yet it was like she had never before existed - like she had suddenly been born as this remarkable creature on his arm. In a very real way, this was true.
Brindle's parents didn't know what to think as they approached their hut. The last thing they would ever have expected to see, was the two wellkeepers standing on their doorstep - especially with their own daughter wrapped about one of their legs - then later his arm. No, actually the very last thing they would ever have expected to see was Brindle smiling.
"Oh, dear,” moaned Brindle's mother.
"It's your daughter! Look, she's gone and done something terrible for sure. I tell you, it would have been better if she had never been birthed. You should have had her, er, you know...," Brindle's father grumbled.
"Oh, I just knew her life would come to no good. Fate has so cruelly cursed us with a tongue-tied, half wit. Oh, how much longer must I pay because you couldn't wait until our wedding night to - to...?” the mother groaned. “Woe, oh double woe, I have been cursed by Fate beyond my measure.”
"Oh, veget rot!" Brindle's father growled. "I'm tired of you blaming me for our ill-begotten daughter. Why if you hadn't been so ... well, I never would have been so....”
Many more words of misplaced anger were exchanged before they finally arrived at their hut. Some of the cruelest words ever spoken between two Nuttinnewians were uttered in that brief conversation. However, most had been said before, at one time or another, and few of the debasements were truly meant.
Brindle's parents did love their daughter, but it was a confused love, overshadowed by their own feelings of guilt. And since guilt is an open wound which can only be healed with forgiveness, they continued to live their lives in pain and anger. For there was no one to forgive them, and they couldn’t seem to find the way to forgive themselves. How could they? Why should they? They were not to blame for nature's error, but who in all Nuttinnew could have told them?
All anyone knew was that a speechless child was destined to be an outcast all her life. Perhaps, it would have been better if she had never been birthed. Even Brindle, herself, would have told you so - but that would have been before the events of this very special morning: the morning of her second birth as a real person.
"Good morning fellow easterners. Greetings on this beautiful, but dreadfully clear morning,” Loden called to them in a cheery voice that usually lifted the most troubled demeanor. Brindle’s parents were not at all relieved by the cheery greeting. In fact, they appeared even more distrustful as they stood huddled together with their sacks of pieces
squashed between them.
"What do they want?" Brindle's mother whispered in her husband’s ear.
"I - I 'm not sure. Look! Look there! What have they done to our daughter? Oh, look at that horribly painful expression on her face. Surely, they’ve punished her for some terrible offense! I - I can't bear to look.” Brindle's father turned his head away and buried it in his wife's shoulder.
His wife's eyes grew as large as breakfast bowls as she studied her daughter's countenance. "I -I don’t believed that’s not pain I'm seeing. No, I'm sure its not. I've seen pain on that face before, and this isn’t it. I've never seen this look before in all that child's miserable life. It almost looks like a smile. By veget! It is a smile!"
"Huh?” Brindle's father grunted as he looked again through squinted eyes. Sure enough, it was a smile. "Fate! By Veget! By Veget! By Veget!" is all he could say.
Loden could see them conversing, but they weren’t close enough to hear their words clearly. "We have come to discuss something very important concerning your daughter,” he called to them, again with as cheery a sound as he could muster.
In unison, Brindle's parents exhaled a deep sigh of relief, for each had secretly suspected that they were there to steal away their other fine treasure, their sacks of pieces.
"Let me get straight to the heart of the matter,” Loden continued, being encouraged by the obvious lessening of tension. “Tyter, the young lad who usually goes into the depth of the well to check the water level, has become seriously ill. We fear it may be the Drought Disease - but we're not sure. We, of course, hope for the better. Anyway, he won’t be able to go into the well this morning. And maybe never again, but we're not certain of that, either.” Loden, who was usually quite straight forward, found himself dancing all around the words he knew he must say, but couldn’t seem to translate them into actual speech.
The sun had just crept over the edge of the earth. Loden shaded his squinting eyes, while pausing to suck in a deep breath. No matter how he construed it in his mind, there was no tactful way to say it. He would just have to blurt it out. "Your daughter, Brindle, has volunteered to take Tyter's place and make the journey into the belly of the well to check the water level, which must be done at all costs for the sake of ua all.”
Pieces: Book One, The Rending Page 18