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Meanwhile, it wouldn’t hurt for Umbo to use the time he had to practice swimming in the dangerous water at the base of the falls. Of course there was no swimming right under them—the bones would be pounded right out of his skin. But he could see just how close he might get. And he’d know how cold the water was, and where was the nearest bank, and . . .
And so off came the clothes, as soon as he was up by the base of the falls, and down into the water he went. He was no Kyokay—he didn’t just dive in. Good thing, too, because in the roiling water he could not see where there were submerged rocks. After he got to where he could open his eyes underwater, he realized: There are submerged rocks everywhere, and Kyokay is going to die.
No he isn’t. I will get him out of this water alive.
Because to Umbo’s surprise, it didn’t take him long to adapt to swimming there. The water was icy, but Umbo didn’t stay in it very long at a time, and he took care to dry off and warm up thoroughly before going back in.
What he learned was that if he slowed the perception of time for himself, he had plenty of time to orient himself under the water and sense the currents. If Kyokay was alive after he fell, then Umbo had a fair chance of getting him out of the water before he drowned.
Umbo would not enter the water, though, until Kyokay was in it. That’s because he had to be up on a good vantage point so he could see where Kyokay went into the water.
Three days later, Umbo wasn’t napping, eating, or peeing when he saw Kyokay running along the road to the great stair that climbed up through the rock to the top of Upsheer. And sure enough, after him—too far behind him—came Umbo, looking young and stupid and angry and helpless. What a privick I was, thought Umbo. What a privick I am.
But he wasn’t there to criticize himself as a boy. He was there to bring his brother back from the dead.
He watched the whole thing unfold. He was so close to the base of the falls that he couldn’t see anything that happened up top until Kyokay slipped and clung, and then there was Rigg, pounding at something—but not at Kyokay’s hand, as Umbo had thought. No, Rigg was pounding at a man that he could see but Umbo could not, because younger Umbo had made the path visible to him.
And then Kyokay slipped, starting his tumble. That’s when Umbo’s work began in earnest. With all his concentration he slowed time for his brother as he fell. He was farther from him than his younger self had been from Rigg that day so long ago—today—but all the other things he had done with time-shifting had also strengthened and sharpened this half-forgotten skill. He knew that he was slowing time for Kyokay far more than he had ever been able to do as a lad. And he saw that Kyokay was using his quickened perceptions well.
Kyokay did not land among the rocks closest to the surface. He was in an arms-first div
ing position by then, and there was water for him to plunge into. Was it deep enough? From above the water, Umbo could not tell, and besides, it was now time for him to be in the water.
He dove from his perch—he had ascertained that it was safe enough to dive at that spot—and swam swiftly and surely toward a spot downstream from where Kyokay had hit the water. Umbo was slowing his own perception of the passage of time—which meant he was speeding up his own reactions and processes—even more powerfully than he had slowed Kyokay’s. He quickly saw his mistake: Kyokay was not being carried downstream, he was caught in the roiling water, getting tumbled over and over in the same place.
Umbo instantly changed the direction of his swimming, cursing himself for not having guessed this would happen, because now he had to swim upstream instead of across the current. A few seconds longer for Kyokay to roll around under the water.
As he drew closer, Umbo saw why Kyokay couldn’t swim himself free. The boy was conscious—he was trying to kick—but both arms seemed to have way too many elbows. Those extended arms had saved Kyokay from the certain death of smashing his head into a rock—but the arms had broken in the process.
He couldn’t worry about how much pain Kyokay felt. The only thing Umbo could grab was one of those broken arms, and so he did. In water this cold, and with so much terror, Kyokay probably wouldn’t notice the pain.
The trouble was that Kyokay couldn’t grip him back, couldn’t help at all.
No, he could. Once Umbo had stopped his spinning and pushed off from a rock to push himself and pull Kyokay out of the turbulence that held him, Kyokay’s kicking began to have a purpose. He couldn’t hold on to Umbo, but he could join his kicking with Umbo’s, and then they were free of the unpredictable cross-currents and into the main stream of the river.
Umbo had left his clothes—and his blankets—at the place where he was pretty sure he’d have to fetch up on the bank, and yes, he was able to get there. He dragged Kyokay out of the water and checked to see if he was breathing. It had all happened quickly enough that Kyokay had not drowned at all. He coughed and sputtered, but there was no water in his lungs.
In moments Kyokay was whimpering, because now he felt his arms. Three breaks in the right arm, four in the left. But all clean and honest breaks—nothing sticking out of the skin. These could be set and splinted, Umbo was reasonably sure.
In Odinfold, they had the doctors and the tools and the drugs to fix him up without any pain at all. But they weren’t in Odinfold.
Umbo worked to dry himself first—he needed to get back the full use of his fingers and he couldn’t afford to be shivering much as he worked on getting Kyokay dry and warm.
By the time Umbo was able to get his own clothes on, and was wrapping Kyokay in a blanket, Kyokay was capable of speech. “Did you jump after me? How did you get down there so quick?”
Umbo didn’t bother trying to explain.
He found that he was large enough now, and strong enough, especially after a couple of weeks of boatwork, to pick Kyokay up like the child he was and carry him down to the ferry.
It wasn’t an attended ferry—just a boat attached by an iron ring to a hawser that stretched across the river where once a ford had been. There was another boat on the other side. Umbo laid Kyokay in the bottom of the boat and then took the oars. The rope strained to keep the ring from moving forward, but it had been well-greased during the summer and whenever it snagged, on the next pull of the oars it broke loose and slid further out into the stream, and then out of the stream as it came closer to shore, and then the bottom scraped on gravel and Umbo was out of the boat, lifting Kyokay and carrying him toward his family’s house.
Mother could nurse him, and there were those in town who had a knowledge of bone-setting and splints. If it left Kyokay just a little bit weaker, then maybe he wouldn’t get himself killed next week or next month. Maybe all this would be worth it, if Kyokay had learned something from his terror in the fall.
Unless he thought that his perception that time had slowed was some kind of magic that proved that a kind saint or spirit was watching over him. Then he’d be more of a dares-all than ever.
Umbo knew he couldn’t let the family see him. He laid Kyokay on the ground within easy earshot of the house and then jumped back in time a few minutes. Long enough to run out of the way, into a brushy patch where he could watch. In moments, there was himself, carrying Kyokay, laying him down roughly and abruptly.
No, I was careful.
