The Realm of the Deathless, page 30
Mistral was silent, but she took her hand as Brume began to weep, her freezing tears blurring her vision. Then the warm wind was back, wrapping around her like a cloak.
“No need for that, my dearest,” a voice said. “It’s just that I’ve come out of things.”
“Mother!” Mistral gasped.
Then the wind was solid, arms pulling her against someone.
Brume wiped her eyes, and saw her standing there, the most beautiful woman in the world. Just as she remembered her.
“Are you real, Mama?” she asked.
“Once again,” her mother said. She wiped away her tears, and the three of them hugged.
“Where is Haydevil?” She asked.
“Downstairs, resting,” Mistral said. “He was wounded in the fight.”
“Come along then,” Mother said. “Let us tend to him and wait for your father to return. His journey is longer than mine.”
***
Four years after the Sun and Moon began turning again, Copper finally found her way through the baroque ways of the Kingdoms to the village of her birth. The castle lay in ruins, and much of the village had been razed. But people were there, building, trading, making. She hurried up the road that led into the countryside. It was spring, and the fields were fresh with green life—not like before, when it had been always autumn and always evening.
Her heart was beating hard in her chest. Not from exertion, for her travels had left her hard of sinew and ample in endurance. No, it was because she feared what she would or would not find.
The house had a newly thatched roof; the garden fence was in good repair, and a man with greying hair tended the garden. A dog she did not know barked, and the man glanced up at her.
For a moment their gazes looked.
“Who are you?” the man said.
“It’s me, Da,” she said. “Copper.”
“Copper?”
He flung down the hoe and ran to her. She stood, rooted, still not believing it, even though she knew, even through she had seen with her own eyes the return of parents all across the kingdoms. But to see the man she only remembered as a stone statue running toward her, face wet with tears—she had never believed it would really happen.
Then he wrapped her up in a bear hug, and it was all real. He smelled like sweat and smoke and earth. He smelled great.
“You were gone so long,” he said. “Your brothers thought you were dead.”
“I wasn’t gone as long as you were,” she said.
He chuckled through his tears. “Sorry about that,” he said. “In future, I’ll try to do better. Come child, meet your mother.”
***
After his swim in the creek, Brave pulled himself up onto the rocks and lay in the sunlight, enjoying the feel of it on his skin. He watched his father, a little downstream, spearing fish for the midday meal, and wished—as he often did—that he was old enough to help. He had a toy spear, but he had learned from experience it wouldn’t do the job. When you have six winters, his father had told him. That was only a winter away.
A wind soughed through the willows. Vivid green dragonflies skimmed over the stream. Digger, the old white and yellow dog, made a strange sound in his sleep.
Brave saw someone was coming, walking along the stream. A woman, it looked like, but pale in color. She had white hair, like someone incredibly old. His father didn’t seem to notice her at all, even though she walked within touching distance of him.
As she got closer, he saw that even though her hair was white, she was not old at all. In fact, she didn’t look as old as his mother.
“Good Morning, Brave,” she said, when she got close. Her mantle was pretty, half black and half white.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m a traveler,” she said. “I’ve come a long way to see you.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Because I wanted to,” she said.
“Are you a spirit?” he asked. “My father didn’t see you. And you are so pale, like a cloud.”
She nodded. “Yes, I’m a spirit. And I look over you, sometimes. Even before you were born, I looked over you.”
Brave wasn’t sure he believed her. But he liked the idea. She seemed nice.
“I can’t stay long this time,” she said. “But you may see me again from time to time. I just came to say hello, and to tell you about something I saw.”
“What?” he asked.
“Giants,” she said. “Far, far away, at the edge of the world, where the sea flows through caves bigger than you can imagine. Giants so tall their heads scrape the sky.”
“Wow,” Brave said, trying to imagine something like that. “What do they do?”
“They travel,” she said. “They wade in the ocean and rest in the caves. They sing exceptionally long, slow songs only spirits can hear. And they are alone, always.” She paused. “Except for one. I saw one that was not alone. He had a tiny person, perched on his shoulder. What do you think of that?”
Brave blinked, and in the brief darkness, he thought he could see it—the giant, and a small woman with a star on her forehead.
“That’s a good story,” Brave said.
The spirit brushed her hand across his head.
“I thought you would like it,” she replied. “There is more to this world than you can ever imagine, Brave.” Then she kissed his head and continued walking along the creek. He watched her until she vanished from sight. Then he lay back down and thought of stars and giants and the adventures waiting for him. And he was happy.
Greg Keyes, The Realm of the Deathless
