A mysterious past, an unrequited love, and a desperate need to find himself, fifteen-year-old Kalyn has enough to occupy him without being on the verge of a massive societal upheaval. Join Kalyn and his friends as they explore what it means to come...
"My wife," Enos tells me, though some part of me knew it already. We continue forward, slower now, as if walking on hallowed ground. His voice is gruff, thick with tears already shed. "The love of my life from the day I met her."
The engraving is simple, hand-etched: AVI. WIFE. MOTHER.
The image comes, unbidden, of Enos and a young Corsa crouched over the fresh grave. My heart rends for them more than it does for the soul passed. What a tragedy it was for her to be lost in her prime, but Death can only truly be touched by those left in its wake.
How have I never seen this before now? Maybe this is the first time Enos has found the words to speak of it. Maybe this was simply the first time I thought to ask. Now I am ashamed at my lack of awareness.
"She died when Corsa was five. Fever." There is a nod, a somber silence, before I kneel. "I found our Incarnates together here. It was her favorite place." I notice the rough carvings to denote them: a fox and a sheepdog. "Buried them all the same day."
"Enos," I say, rising. My head swims. There are no words. Not for this. I gaze out over the field to allow his expression to adjust in respectful privacy.
"It's beautiful here," I tell him after a time. And it truly is. Dogwood petals adorn the grave. The field is rife with poppies. "I can see why she loved it." Enos chokes back a strangled laugh.
"She would read out here all day. I would have to come fetch her home after dark. She would be sitting under this tree with a lantern. Dirt on her stockings, hair gone to the wind. An absolute mess." His face is dreamy, and, for a moment, I can picture the young man with whom Avi first fell in love. "She had the most beautiful red hair. Heavens, I loved her."
"I know," I tell him quietly. He need not say it aloud; the adoration is written plainly on every part of him.
"A man shouldn't have to live without his wife. His soul. His Incarnate." He speaks all three as if they are the same. I lean my shoulder into him, and he puts an arm around me. We stand in quiet reverence as the wind ruffles our hair, and I imagine it is Avi.
"Corsa is right," he says after a time. "You deserve a break." I begin to protest, but he dismisses it. I suspect he is ready to be rid of me. To be alone with her.
When I look back, he is sitting beneath the dogwood.
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