“This is your great-grandfather, Cobalt Sire! You never met him. He’s who you were named after. Died a’fore you were born.”
“I’m your mother. I died giving you life. Seems like it was only yesterday, and now look at you!”
Moya’s initial fears that someone might have seen Tressa using the key had vanished. In those precious moments of reunion, everything else had been forgotten.
“Brin! Brin!” a familiar voice yelled. “Brin!”
Before Moya knew what was happening, Brin had bolted forward into the arms of a familiar man and woman. Moya had mentally accepted that she was in Rel and that this was the afterlife, but not until that instant did it sink to her gut. Watching Delwin and Sarah hug their daughter, Moya felt punched in the stomach.
This is real. We truly are dead.
Sarah and Delwin weren’t alone. A familiar black-and-white dog bounded up, happily barking. Moya remembered a sad old sheepdog who had lived a life of leisure after growing too old to herd. This Darby wasn’t that one. This dog was young and spirited, but Sarah and Delwin looked exactly the same as when they had died. Moya knew she was missing something—many somethings, she guessed—and she suspected the dog was a clue. Gifford’s ability to speak normally might be one, too.
I’m terrible at riddles.
A handsome Fhrey in white robes approached Tekchin and clapped him warmly on the shoulder. “Tekchinry!” He grinned.
“Prylo?” Shocked, Tekchin stared at the Fhrey. Then he said to Moya, “This is my father. He died in the Dherg War.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.”
“Prylo, where’s Mother?”
The Fhrey rolled his eyes. “She’s still alive, you fool!”
Off to Moya’s left, Rain was mobbed by a dozen dwarfs that surrounded him. They hugged, slapped, and generally berated the digger.
“Oh, so have you finally dug deep enough?”
“Look! He’s brought his pick, he has! Fool of a boy.”
“Those days are over, laddie! You’ve reached the bottom at last.”
The comments sounded hurtful, which concerned Moya, but they came with smiles and hugs.
Something is not quite right about the Dherg.
After Sarah had let go of Brin, Delwin swung his daughter up in his arms the way he had done a thousand times when alive. Watching the familiar scene brought back the old, ugly pang of envy she’d forgotten.
Moya, who had earned her keep with Brin’s family by spinning wool, used to watch when Delwin came in after a long day with the sheep. Sarah would welcome her husband with kisses. Then Brin would rush over with something to show. All of it—the smell of the food, the smiles, the happiness and love—had driven Moya to slip outside; she had to, or they might have seen her crying and ask why. Moya hadn’t wanted to explain how empty it made her feel knowing she would never experience anything like what they had.
Watching Brin’s reunion, Moya felt the same emptiness. She looked for her own mother, but Audrey was nowhere to be seen.
Some things never change.
Sarah spotted Moya. With a sympathetic look, the woman—who had been more of a mother than Audrey—ran over and hugged her tightly. Trapped as she was in Sarah’s embrace, Moya couldn’t hide her tears.
“It’s okay,” Sarah said. “Everything is fine now.”
Sarah held onto Moya, a moment filled with the nostalgia of a crackling hearth and the comforting smell of wool and baking bread—the shelter Moya had long ago found in a neighbor’s home.
“Your mother will come. Those who have had strong emotional ties with someone who dies know when it has happened. That’s why we are here. There’s a ringing, the same sort you hear if you’ve ever been close to fainting. Audrey was here earlier but she . . . well . . .”
“She hates me,” Moya replied. “Never forgave me for being such a terrible daughter.”
Sarah looked embarrassed, as if company had dropped by while her home was a mess. “It’s nothing like that. I’m sure. It’s just that the gate has been closed, and no one knew for how long, so some left. I’m certain Audrey will be back.” Sarah wiped Moya’s tears away. “Anyway, we’re here, and you can stay with us until you and your mother find each other.”
“Oh—Mom,” Brin said, wiping her cheeks and eyes, “I’m sorry, but we won’t be staying. We’re only passing through.”
This drew surprised looks from both parents.
“Ah, honey . . .” Sarah began.
“You do understand that you’re—that you died? Right?” Delwin asked.
“Of course I do, and I have to admit that I’m not looking forward to doing that twice.”
“Twice?” Sarah said. With a puzzled expression, she glanced at her husband.
Moya laughed awkwardly. “You know Brin, always joking.”
Sarah looked at her the same way she used to when Moya and Brin came home covered in mud—her what-have-you-two-been-up-to expression. That look also said, And this is your fault—I know it. Then, as if she remembered something had been cooking too long, Sarah clapped hands to her cheeks and looked around at the others. “Why are you all here at once? Have the Fhrey invaded the Dragon Camp?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just . . . hey, wait. How do you know about the camp? I lived there after—after . . .” Brin faltered.
“After we died, yes.” Sarah nodded.
All around them, people had finished their greetings and were moving off, walking up the brick road toward where Moya noticed clusters of buildings—little roundhouses like the ones in Dahl Rhen. Most of the people she didn’t recognize, but some teased her memory, faces vaguely recalled from childhood but now unplaceable.
“Other people die, too, dear,” Sarah explained. “They bring news with them.” She paused, a pang of sadness filling her eyes. “A lot of people have died recently, what with the war and all. We’ve heard wonderful stories about you, Persephone, Moya, Roan, and Gifford, and your romance with the Dureyan boy Tesh—who I assume is no longer a boy. We were hoping to hear about becoming grandparents soon. I guess that won’t happen now.”
“And speaking of no longer a boy . . . neither is this one.” Delwin clapped Gifford on the back, staggering the potter. “You’ve straightened out, haven’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why don’t we all go home?” Sarah said, coaxing them with waves of her arms as if they were sheep. “We can sit by the fire, and you can tell us all that is happening in the world. Our place is just up that way.” Sarah pointed up the brick road where Moya saw a well that she could swear was exactly the same as the one that had once stood near the center of Dahl Rhen, the well where the legendary Bucket Raid occurred and where she once coaxed Tekchin to fill waterskins for her.
I’m Tekchin, the handsomest and most skilled of the Galantians.
That scar suggests otherwise on both counts.
“That well looks exactly like the one where we used to live. How is that possible?” Moya asked.
“It’s there because we all remember it,” Sarah explained. “It’s still our common well, but now we draw something other than water from it. Something deeper and more vital. Memories are important here. They help form the world around us.”