The River That Memorized Her Pulse

The river cut through Lorness like a living seam of glass. By day it looked ordinary enough brown green water sliding over stones carrying leaves and foam. By night it glowed faintly from within as if moonlight had sunk beneath the surface and refused to leave. People in Lorness closed their shutters at dusk and spoke of the river in careful tones. They said it remembered things better left forgotten.

Isolde Kerr arrived on a morning when mist lay thick along the banks and the air smelled of wet iron and moss. She parked her car near the old bridge and stood for a long time watching the current. She had not meant to come back. She had sworn she would never return after her brother Tomas drowned here ten years earlier. No body was found. No explanation satisfied. Only the river remained patient and unchanged.

She had come because the town council hired her as an environmental surveyor to assess unusual readings along the waterway. She told herself it was professional. The truth lived deeper. The river had called her in dreams with the rhythm of a heartbeat that was not her own.

Lorness had shrunk since she left. Shops were boarded. The pub windows were clouded. People recognized her and then looked away as if memory were a sharp edge. Mrs Hale at the inn pressed a key into Isolde hand and said You should not walk near the river at night.

Isolde smiled thinly. I grew up on it.

That does not mean it knows you kindly Mrs Hale replied.

The first evening Isolde unpacked and set up her equipment. Her instruments picked up fluctuations that made no sense. The water temperature spiked and fell. The electromagnetic readings pulsed in a pattern too regular to be random. She recorded everything and told herself not to think of Tomas laugh or the way he had loved to skip stones until dusk.

At midnight she woke to the sound of water moving closer. She went to the window. The river had swollen and crept toward the inn as if curious. Light glimmered beneath the surface in slow waves.

Someone stood on the bank.

He was tall and dark haired wearing a coat that clung as if always damp. He looked at the river with an intimacy that made Isolde chest ache. When he turned his face toward the inn their eyes met and recognition flared like a struck match.

She dressed and went outside without knowing why. The air was cold and sweet. The man waited.

You should not be here he said.

Neither should you she replied.

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. My name is Alaric he said. I belong to the river.

I do not believe you Isolde said though her voice trembled.

You will he said quietly.

They walked along the bank. The river light brightened around them. Alaric told her that Lorness was built beside a place where water and memory crossed. Long ago people learned they could give their strongest moments to the river in exchange for protection from flood and famine. The river kept what it was given. Sometimes it gave something back.

What does it give back Isolde asked.

Those who are willing to return he said.

Her breath caught. Tomas.

Alaric stopped. The water around his boots glowed brighter. Your brother gave himself when the current took him he said. He did not mean to die. He meant to save a child caught downstream.

Isolde staggered. Why did no one tell me.

Because the river does not like witnesses he said. And because I failed to send him back.

She stared at Alaric. What are you.

I am a ferryman of sorts he said. I guide what the river holds and return what it can. I have been bound here since I made the same bargain centuries ago.

Why tell me now she asked.

Because the river remembers you as he did he said. And because it is restless.

Over the next days Isolde learned the truth. Alaric could not leave the banks. He could not touch running water without pain. He carried the weight of every memory given. The river pulsed stronger each night drawing closer to the town. Animals avoided it. People dreamed of voices calling their names.

The council demanded answers. Isolde tried to explain without sounding mad. Alder who chaired the council listened with narrowed eyes.

You are stirring old grief he said. We have lived with the river for generations.

And it has been taking from you she said.

That night the river surged. A house near the bank flooded. A child fell ill with fever and spoke of cold hands pulling. Alaric stood pale and shaking as the water glowed like a living heart.

It wants another anchor he said. Someone who listens as you do.

It wants me Isolde said.

He grabbed her wrists. No. I will not allow it.

Then what she demanded. Let it swallow the town.

He closed his eyes. There is another way he said. To release what it holds.

What does that cost she asked.

Everything it has been given he said. Including me.

Isolde thought of Tomas laugh and the empty years. She thought of the way Alaric watched the river with love and exhaustion braided together.

They stood at the old bridge as dawn bled into the sky. The river roared beneath. Isolde stepped onto the stones and spoke Tomas name aloud. The water answered with a swell of light.

She spoke every memory she had buried. Love anger guilt hope. The river thrashed then slowed. Shapes rose beneath the surface faces and hands and moments stitched from light.

Alaric cried out as the pull on him intensified. Isolde held him and refused to let go.

I choose to remember and release she said. I choose to keep living.

The river shuddered and then sighed. The light softened. Shapes lifted and dissolved into the air like breath on cold glass. The current fell back into its banks.

Alaric collapsed and Isolde caught him. He was solid and warm and shaking.

Is it over she whispered.

He laughed weakly. For the river yes. For us no.

Morning came clear and quiet. The town emerged blinking and uncertain. News spread that the water had receded and the strange dreams had stopped.

Isolde stood by the bank and felt peace settle at last. Alaric took her hand.

I can leave now he said wonder threading his voice. The river no longer holds me.

They left Lorness together. Sometimes when they pass rivers at dusk Isolde swears she feels a familiar pulse. It does not call anymore. It only remembers and lets her go.