It was late in the afternoon of day three of her travels when she sighted her destination, and she set down on the small airfield that serviced the village’s public and private transport, where the field manager was waiting. He observed that she seemed “all tuckered out” and inquired if she needed anything. She asked for a wagon and horse so that she might transport the body of someone she loved whom she had brought home to bury.
“I can help you with that,” said the man. She had found him before to be somewhat surly, but now he seemed subdued. “In fact, I will drive the wagon myself to wherever you wish to go, and see to it that your loved one is laid to rest.”
“That isn’t necessary,” she demurred. “I can handle it myself.”
“Of course you can, young lady. But I made a bargain with your father to help you anytime you might show yourself in the village. He asked that I look after you and aid you in every way I could. He gave me credits to bind our bargain, so please don’t make it impossible for me to hold up my end. Let me help.”
She objected once more to this extra effort—skipping over his mistaken assumption that Drisker and she were related—but he refused to hear of it. He would leave the airfield temporarily in the care of his eldest son until his return. Her craft would be cleaned and put away safe until she needed it. There was no point in arguing; his mind was made up.
“Your father and I, we weren’t friends, really. But we were men who treated each other as worthy. Your father, you know, was a man to be reckoned with and admired.”
My father. Drisker. She nearly broke down again, tears welling up in her eyes at the idea of it. At how close it was to the truth.
“This is a hard time for you. I understand that. I lost my wife a year ago and am still getting over it. You and I, we may not know each other as well as your father and I did, but we have a community to share and common decency to bind us. Come, now.”
She nodded her agreement and began the process of unloading supplies and clothing while waiting for the other to procure a wagon. When he returned, he helped her take Tavo’s body from the cockpit of the airship and place it in the wagon bed, surrounded by the rest of what she would take with her. They rode in silence toward the cottage Drisker had arranged to be built for him two months ago, following the destruction of the old one. Tarsha was told she could set up house and await her father’s return, happy to have a place that could be hers for as long as she needed it.
As they neared the cottage, she asked her companion to pull his wagon to the side of the road while she walked on ahead alone. He asked for an explanation, but she told him this was something private and that she would only be a minute. She climbed down and walked until she was almost to the cottage, then used her magic to search the house and grounds for any signs of life. It was not unreasonable to wonder if perhaps Clizia—who had taken up residence here before—might have chosen to return. She did not expect her to, but caution was necessary wherever Tarsha might go from now on.
Her search yielded nothing. The cottage was vacant and the land surrounding it empty. She turned away, satisfied, and walked back to the wagon.
Once arrived, and with the field manager providing company, she walked the grounds until she had selected a place filled with sunshine and wildflowers in which Tavo could be laid to rest. Her companion immediately set about digging a grave, insisting he would do the work on his own and she was not to involve herself but to sit with her loved one. She had not told the man who it was she was burying, and he had not asked. So she had forsaken conversation for a final few moments with her brother, sitting close to his wrapped form, lost in her memories.
When the grave was dug, the two picked up Tavo and lowered his blanket-wrapped body, still tightly secured by the ropes, into the ground. The airfield manager then filled in the hole and tamped down the loose earth.
“There now, all done,” he said with a final pat of the spade handle. “Laid to rest close at hand, where you can visit him. He’ll be at peace now, knowing you’ll be watching over him.” He paused. “I’ll arrange a headstone, if you wish, tomorrow.”
“No, let me take care of that,” she replied. “I want to craft it myself.”
She thanked him profusely and waited until he was gone to kneel in front of her brother’s grave and speak softly to him.
“I failed you, Tavo, and I am sorry beyond words. I should have found a way to be with you, to protect you from what happened. I should have done better. All I can do now is tell you that I loved you always. If forgiveness is needed for the acts of madness you committed, I am offering it. You were not responsible for what happened to Mother and Father. How could you be when you did not understand what you were doing? Anyone who had been locked away and mistreated as you were might easily have done the same. Nor can you be held accountable for all the others who suffered at your hands while you were trying to protect yourself. All that must be forgiven. Not just by me, but by yourself, as well. Give yourself that forgiveness. Wherever you are now, rest easy.”
She was crying again, sobbing hard, so she stopped for a moment to compose herself. Then she began whispering once more.
“Clizia Porse will not escape punishment for what she has done. It may not be me who administers that punishment—or even Drisker—but it will be delivered in full. There shall be no peace in this evil woman’s life from this moment forward. She shall be a hunted thing: a creature deserving of no mercy and no forgiveness and no respite. And all that we set out to do together—you and I and Drisker—will be done. I will do my part, just as Drisker and the others will do theirs.”
She caught herself, realizing that she was assuming a great deal by including Drisker Arc, who might not even still be alive. But she could not make herself think otherwise if she wished to keep him alive in her heart.
She reached down and smoothed over a rough spot in the earthen fill that covered her brother. She took her time, using her palm. She let herself grieve as she did so, knowing it would not be the last time—that there would be no end to her grieving until the life was gone out of her.
Shards of fading daylight played off her white-blond hair as she sat back quietly, staring down at the grave. It was all so unfair. It was all so final and arbitrary and unacceptable. She would have done anything to change it. Anything.
A moment later, she looked up and found Fade sitting across from her. The big moor cat was as still as stone, and her coming had escaped Tarsha entirely. How could anything so big move so quietly? She wiped away a few tears and smiled. “Well met, Fade.”
The cat said nothing, of course, and made no movement.
“Are you here to watch over me? Or just to keep me company?”
Nothing.
Fade held her position a moment longer, then rose and walked back into the trees. Gone for now, it seemed, but Tarsha was certain the cat would not go far.