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...
It was decided upon to have Enos's funeral beneath the willow tree. Though there was no body, a headstone was erected alongside Avi's. ENOS. HUSBAND. FATHER.
Those three words hardly encapsulate who he was to use, but, in essence, they do the job perfectly. All Enos was, he was for us. Even in death, his love for his wife was unending. His love for his children was his death and his eternal legacy. The four of us will never forget what he sacrificed for us, not just in death, but in life.
Visitation is held at the farmhouse, which Corsa, Ohna, and I have been working tirelessly to repair. It will never be the same, but it will hold life again. Corsa has decided to paint the walls a more brilliant shade in order to cover the scorch marks. The option to convert Enos's old room into one for the twins was briefly visit and promptly rejected. A day will surely come when they decide that they need their own space, but, for now, they cling to one another as their survival depends on it.
Instead, it is converted into a guest room.
"You are welcome to stay here as long as you like," she invites Ohna. Already, I can tell that Corsa has taken a shine to her... and not just for the wonders she works in the garden.
The fields have been decimated, but that is the great thing about ash: out of it sprouts new life. Our house has become a gathering place, Corsa dispensing water from the well, and Ohna handing out what fruits, vegetables, and berries she has been able to grow on such notice.
When I tell people of the bounty of Sunia, people scoff and roll their eyes, but Ohna and I share a knowing look.
She heals any who come to her looking for help. These are not her people, but she works herself dry to assuage them of their pains, both physical and emotional. I think the villagers could afford to learn a lot from her. Even covered in blood, sweat, and grime, I have never been more in love with her.
Mab, too, works to rebuild the city. Gia can be seen, morning until nightfall, with lumber and supplies strapped to her back. The sound of rebuilding is slow but constant. It is a song to my tired ears.
In an effort to save the remaining trees, we have been forced to look elsewhere for materials. The wall was a ready source, and its deconstruction has brought with it not just a better view, but an influx of concerned neighbors. The upcoming trial will have its fair share of witnesses and unbiased Elders.
Some of the Incarnates have even returned.
Villagers wait up long after dark to be reunited. My heart rends to see their hopeful lights, knowing some will never be found. But that is the thing with war. Lives, in the most literal sense, are just the start of what's lost.
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We settle before the fire, Cora, Ohna, and I. Our bones ache from the day's labor, but there is no sweeter ache. I lay spread eagle on the floor, enjoying the warm. The security of it.
A small chirp announces Tabby's arrival. She hops into Corsa's lap, and, after kneading the area to a suitable softness, curls into a ball. The sound of her purring fills the space between us, and something about it, the simple pleasure of it, makes the world feel okay again.
"Don't you think she needs a name?" I ask. After everything, the lack feels unjust.
"What?" Corsa asks, breaking free of a doze.
"The cat... She deserves a name. Tabby is just... inadequate?"
"She has a name. Tabby is short for Tabitha." Tabitha swishes her tail at me for being so foolish as to underestimate her.
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The stage at the center of town is the last thing to go. Its charred remains are a grim reminder of how close we came to utter devastation. I find myself looking at it one evening as the sun sets.
That first sentence, the sentence that cast out that innocent villager, was passed here, a precedent surely to many others. Enos along with whoever else dared to defy the supreme rulership. Incredible, really, how a power so supreme should be at once so fragile that it cannot be questioned.
And Mab.
Of course, this could have been Mab's fate. And mine. As if summoned, she appears. We stand together, side by side, staring at the remains. It isn't until she speaks that I realize we are on entirely different tracks.
"It's just like the poem."
I blink at her.
"Oh, come on! The Hildish poem that you helped me translate that one time! About the dancer?" Mab looses steam as she realize that I have no idea to what she could be referring. Not for the first time, she seems disappointed in me.
"The dancer that is loved by the people... The baron kidnaps her and forces her to dance. He makes her into a puppet, until she is nothing but cloth and string. So she burns herself. And the stage. So that she can be free." Realization dawns with frustration.
"You didn't do that for some stunt, did you?"
"No," she admits, grinning. "But it did work out pretty well, didn't it?" She fluffs her hair. "I bet I looked pretty good."
"You were... radiant."
At that, her fist connects with my shoulder.
"Remind me not to let you read such dark books."
"You couldn't stop me if you tried." We look at the remains of the gallows for a moment longer, before she returns to her original point. "Do you remember when you told me that you thought I could be the Elder."
"Yeah."
"Do you still think I could?"
"I don't think there is anyone more suited for it than yourself."
