Book of Water

Chapter 9

9

Light blasted into the tent. Bradamante and Jara both jolted awake.

Bradamante shielded her eyes and took in the outline of the man before her. Her eyes quickly adjusted, but she hardly believed what she saw. Beneath the shaggy hair and the thick sandy beard was a face she knew so well.

“Astolpho?”

A wild kind of joy erupted in her heart. To know that not only was he alive and safe, but that he had come to her when she needed him most. It seemed impossible, yet here he was.

She had stopped missing him. Stopped thinking of him. Stopped creating all her imaginary conversations, the rehearsed lines, everything she planned to say to him if she ever saw him again.

“I trusted you…. How could you?…. I would never betray you like that!” –gave way over time to— “You were a coward for leaving. Did you even miss me? Did you ever think of me?”

And later still, when half a year had passed with still no word of him, she could feel her heart beginning to soften. “Where are you? Can you see me now? Can you hear me? Astolpho, come back. Are you all right? Come home.”

She even tried to find him in a vision of her own. She had done it once before, the last time he left her. Two years had gone by then without any communication before Bradamante searched for and found him in Abincort.

She made the effort again, but this time never found him.

And finally she let him go.

It was clear he didn’t want her friendship. He had shown her that in so many ways. Why was she trying to force it? Astolpho had nearly gotten her killed! And he bore as much blame for Egalite’s injury as Lord Ganelon did himself. Bradamante still couldn’t forgive him for that.

As for anything else—anything beyond friendship—Manat had already given her the answer.

“Is Astolpho someone I should care about?” Bradamante had been brave enough—or foolish enough—to ask her teacher one day.

“He is not your destiny,” Manat had answered. “It would be better to forget him.”

And so Bradamante finally had. The days grew longer in between thoughts of him, until finally she rarely thought of him at all.

At last she felt at peace.

But now, seeing him crouched here in the door of the tent, light streaming in behind him, the gentle smile on his face, Bradamante felt such surprise and relief to see him, her heart swelled with it and tears pooled in her eyes. She reached for him, grateful, smiling—

But then a young woman entered the tent behind him.

And suddenly all good feeling fled.

She was exotic looking, perhaps even beautiful, with her long red hair, high round cheeks, and olive skin. She seemed near to Bradamante’s age. She wore what looked like a thin dirty blanket on top with a hole cut in the center for her head. The sides of it came down into tattered-looking sleeves that ended at her elbows. A sash held it in place at the waist, and below that she wore an equally dirty calf-length skirt that might have been made from a second blanket. Her clothes smelled of dust and horse and smoke.

Bradamante stared at the two of them together for a moment, trying to understand. After all the years of Astolpho pushing her away, telling her no, they could never be more than friends, and perhaps not even that—

Now he returned with this.

The young woman frowned at her and Jara. “Both of you. Go.”

Bradamante would have laughed at the absurdity of the command if the circumstances were not so grave. Instead she glared at the stranger before turning her anger on Astolpho.

“Who is this?” she demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“Make them leave,” the redhead insisted as she pushed her way forward to get to Rinaldo.

“You have to go,” Astolpho said, reaching for Bradamante’s arm. “Trust me. Michaela can help.”

Bradamante jerked her arm away. “Trust you? Where have you been? Why are you here?” She saw the redhead reach for Rinaldo. “Get away from him!”

“Astolpho!” Michaela barked. Then she pressed her palms to the side of her head as if the shout had caused her pain.

Good, Bradamante thought.

“She can save him,” said Astolpho. “But we have to go now.”

Jara had heard enough. She hastened out of the tent. Bradamante didn’t move.

“He’s my brother. If you think I’m going to leave him—”

Then a hand flew to her throat.

Bradamante’s eyes widened as she scrabbled at Michaela’s fingers. But the redhead’s hold was strong. She continued to squeeze, glaring at Bradamante, and once again issued the order. “I said go. NOW.”

She pushed Bradamante away, leaving her choking and gasping for air. Michaela turned back to Rinaldo as Astolpho dragged Bradamante from the tent.

Once outside Bradamante knelt on all fours in the dirt, coughing to clear her breath. Finally she rose to her feet and stood in front of Astolpho and coldly looked into his eyes.

“You don’t understand,” he said, “it hurts her—”

Bradamante struck him hard across the face.