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 diving 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.

But careful did not mean gentle, he could see now. He saw himself wink out of existence. Yes, that is disturbing, he thought. Good thing we try not to let other people see that too often.

Kyokay called out as Umbo had told him to do, and in moments Mother appeared, and soon Kyokay was surrounded by her and the other kids—whom Umbo now realized he missed more than he would have supposed possible. One of them was sent running for help, of course.

Umbo was about to jump back in time even farther, to make his getaway, when he saw Father rushing up, dragging young Umbo by his upper arm and making it almost impossible for the boy to walk or run alongside. “Does that look dead to you!” shouted Father.

“I saw him fall!” said young Umbo, terrified. “How could he live?”

“But you saved me from the water,” said Kyokay.

“His arms are broken,” said Mother. “Deal with Umbo later, we have to get his arms set.”

“We can set Umbo’s arms too, while we’re at it. We were going to kill Rigg because you said he killed Kyokay, do you know that, you lying little demon!” Father cuffed young Umbo so hard he sprawled out facedown on the ground. But Father wasn’t done. He ran into the house and came back, not with a strap as Umbo had expected, but with the heavy knife he used for cutting leather.

“No!” Mother screamed, and rushed to stop him, but Father flung her aside and stood straddling young Umbo. He pulled him up by the hair and Umbo thought he was about to witness his own murder, the knife drawn across his throat like a pig being slaughtered. But no, Father began striking him with the flat of the blade, hitting him on the shoulders and the side of his head, until young Umbo hung limp and unconscious.