Chapter 93

Fires Die.

Brewer’s Reputation: 478.

When was the last time I’d made such a large bonfire? Several trips worth of old oak burned furiously. Flames leapt above my head. The air wavered above the bonfire. Atop the dome of our Sheltering Bubble, snow rapidly melted where the smoke pooled. Water ran in branching rivulets down the bubble around the whole thing. The world outside the bubble bent through each rivulet.

And within, upon a log close to the bonfire, my Abigail wept. She wasn’t heaving breaths, nor sobbing; but she wept in silence. Her eyelashes held water, through which I’m sure she couldn’t see anything. Her lips trembled, and her cheeks were red from wiping tears. She’d been inconsolable.

In our storage cabin, I rifled through jars. I wasn’t after sage, nor hemlock needle, nor chestnut. And what were those?—Ah, wild oats. Not what I was looking for. Oh, where was it? Dandelion root—okay, some of that…And that was mullein leaf. And was that ash? Why did I keep ash on hand? No matter—moving on…it couldn’t be in the square jar could it? Ah, it was in the square jar all along! I hefted the jar of dandelion root and the jar of chicory root against my ribs and hustled across the clearing.

In the cabin I made fire in the stove, scooped fresh water into a pot to boil, and leaned against the jamb while I waited. There was always Mash Master to speed up bringing water to boil, but I thought Abigail might get something out of some time to herself. Her blurry gaze never drifted from the fire. She moved only to sniffle.

The smell of humus and freshly ground coffee billow from the boiling pot. Water sizzled on the stove. I rushed to lower the flames and briefly remove the pot from the heat. I returned several times to lean on the jamb throughout the steeping. It was a good place to chew my lip and worry about her.

With the tea ready, I brought over her tin mug of tea and placed mine upon the log beside her.

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“Thank you,” she said. She wrapped her hands round the mug, ignoring the handle.

“What don’t I understand?”

Oh, Abigail.

I abandoned my tea upon the log and knelt between the fire and her. The heat of the bonfire radiated through my clothes. It was too hot against my back. In my shade, she composed herself with a deep breath. I removed the mug of tea from her hands and set it aside. I took her hands in mine. When Abigail looked at me, it was as those the sky flew into me.

She squeezed my hands. “I love you.”

I burned at the edge of the bonfire. Where did my breath go? What timing was this? And why was she so distraught!

I kissed her hands. “I love you.”

But why was she bringing this up? Was our love at risk? Did she have to leave? Did the world require more of her?

She spoke softly while the fire raged. “You don’t understand, do you?”

“Talk to me. I will understand.”

“I want to spend my life with you. I want that. But Hawkin, diamond rank means I’ll outlive you.”

“So it’s true. Even for Brewers.”

“By a century now.”

I had to stretch against the flames at my back. My skin must have been singed red. It would mean pain to outlive her…and she faced that pain ahead…

“I don’t care that you’ll age faster. I don’t care that you’ll grow old much faster than me. That’s fine, but I can't bury you and live a century more without you.”

I held onto her hands and they answered. For moments, we clutched at something.

She wiped a tear. “The chances of anyone reaching diamond is less than five percent. And that’s if you dedicated yourself. And I know you and you’re not concerned with ranking up, and I admire that—and you shouldn’t if you don’t want to—but now one day I’m going to be heartbroken.”

“I love you.”

She fell into me; we embraced. I was nudged ever closer to the bonfire that ripped at my ears. Logs collapsed and embers twirled round us. In my shoulder was the sound of her breath. In my ears was the crackle of flaming woods.

She looked up at me. “Can we watch more sunsets and stay there a little longer? Can we drink more tea? Can we go on longer walks? Can we kiss more? Can I write you poems and leave them in your things for you? Can we grow flowers together?”

I broke our embrace so that I could gather her hands in mine. They were hot from the fire and the heat on my back. As I held her hands, I mused that I was like the fire, and her hands had touched my life so deeply; but fire was also like life, and it went fast.

All I could say was, “And we can hold hands everyday.”