Einar saw her questioning look.
“Soon,” he told her.
With summer approaching, plants coming into flower, and Alys in need of more help as her strength began to ebb, there was a great deal to do. The daily exercise had long been part of Claire’s routine. She rose before dawn each day and lifted sacks weighted with stones many times with each arm before she put the kettle over the fire. Then, while she waited for the water to boil for tea, she practiced the lifting of her legs, and the raising of her upper body as she lay flat. She could now do these things with great ease. It made her laugh to remember how difficult they had been when she started. Now she tied heavy rocks to her ankles and wrists but still performed the familiar motions without effort.
She cleaned Yellow-wing’s cage as she did each morning. It had been raining for some days, but now the rain seemed to have ended; it was a simple cloudy spring morning. She carried the cage outside and hung it from the willow tree beside the hut. She whistled and chirped back at the bird, who was excited at being outdoors. Then she heard a familiar answering whistle and turned to greet Einar, who was approaching from the meadow path.
“Alys baked bread yesterday,” she told him cheerfully. “And she made extra. We have a loaf ready for you.”
“Look at the sky,” Einar said.
She did. Above the looming cliff, the pale wadded clouds reminded her of Einar’s sheep when, after the snowmelt, they still huddled for warmth but with heads down moved across the meadow nibbling at new shoots. But somehow she knew that wasn’t what he meant.
“What?”
“There’s sun behind. The rain’s done for a while.”
Those who tended stock, like Einar, or who farmed, like Andras, or all of the village fishermen—they knew the sky. Claire nodded cheerfully at what he said. “Good. I can do the washing and hang it out on the bushes.”
“No,” Einar said. “No more washing. It’s time to climb out.”
Thirteen
There were still stars visible in the night sky. A sliver of spring moon was low, just above the quiet-moving sea. In the meadow, the huddled sheep were silent. The only sound was the rush of water from the falls above, through the woods to the side.
They stood there together. Then Claire said, “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”
“Aye. I know.”
He had told her, at last, how he had been damaged. It was worse than she could have imagined. But she knew she must not think of it now. When she reached the top would be the time. She would have to plan, then, and what he had revealed to her would be part of her planning. But for now she must concentrate only on the climb.
“He’ll be there at the top, do you think?”
“Not at first. You’ll wait there and he’ll come. Don’t think on it now.”
“But I will know him?”
“Aye. You will.”
“Do you think I’ll make it, Einar?”
“You will.” He laughed and touched her cheek. “I’ve given you what’s been in my mind for all these years, since I climbed out. Every night since then I’ve climbed out again. I’ve felt again each rock, each bit of moss, each twig and hollow and cleft and turn: at night, when other men are mending their nets or sharpening their tools or making love to their women—I’ve been remembering the climbing. I have a map in my mind and I’ve given it to you and you’ll be safe.”
He chuckled and hugged her. “You must. If you don’t, I’ll be made a fool of, for I was the one what made you strong! Let me see your pack now, to make it tight against you.”
Claire knelt on the path at the base of the cliff while Einar leaned his walking sticks against the rock wall and adjusted the pack on her back.
“Knife?” he asked her.
She showed him how it was firmly knotted onto the cord that hung around her neck.
“Rope?”
It was coiled neatly and wrapped around her shoulder.
“The water gourd’s in your pack. Don’t try to reach it when you’re on the rock, even if you thirst fierce. There are places where you can stop and rest. Ledges, they’re called. If you climb steady you’ll reach the first one at midday. You can stop to drink there.”
“Yes, I know. You told me.”
“What’s this?” He was feeling her pack. “Down by the water gourd, with the gloves?”
“Alys put that in. Herb salve for healing.”
“Aye, that’s good. Mayhap when you use the rope, you’ll burn your hands, even with the gloves. If you slip on the rope, it pulls against your skin. But don’t let go.”
“I won’t. You know I won’t.”
“Don’t put on the gloves lessen you use the rope. You need to feel with your fingers.”
“Einar?”
“What?”
She showed him. “Alys made this. You can’t see it because it’s too dark, but feel.”
She handed him the flat, round object and waited while he felt it.
“It’s just an ordinary rock. But Alys sewed a piece of cloth around it. It’s bright red. She made it from the woolen hat I wore last winter.”
“Whyever?”
“When I get to the top? You told me there’s a very steep place just before. The place I must be so careful . . .”
“Aye, the place with the rock steps. Don’t look down.”
“No, I won’t. I’ll do it just the way you told me, feeling for each step, being so careful, not looking down, not being gleeful because it’s the top.”
“What, then?”
“When I finish climbing all those steps and am at the top, and feel my feet in the solid earth? Then I’ll fling this rock out into the air and down.”
“The sun will be setting.”
“Yes. I’ll fling my rock out into the sunset. You look tomorrow. Look on the ground down here for the bright red. Then you’ll know that I did it. That I climbed out.”
“Aye. I’ll look. It’ll be a sign.”
He touched her cheek and held his hand there tenderly for a moment. “I will miss you, Water Claire,” he said.
“I will never forget you, Fierce Einar,” she replied.
They both smiled at the long-ago names. Then he kissed her, turned away, and reached for his sticks. She would not see him again. It was time for her to start.