Chapter 16
Sanders
My eyes open, and I immediately know I am back to the day I died.
The pain is gone but everything else feels the same.
I am in a tent on the battlefield, the sounds of soldiers packing up camp echoes around me.
I sit up, expecting my wound to protest, but I feel…
strong. My undershirt is stained with blood, grimy from being plastered to my skin.
I lift it to see a scar that has long been healed. It makes no sense.
Rushing out of the tent, I immediately catch the eyes of my fellow knights. “Sir Alisander!” one of them calls.
Heads turn my way. “Alisander, we did think thee were upon thy deathbed!”
Knight after knight calls upon me, elated to see that I am moving about. It is overwhelming, and I find myself escaping to the edge of camp. A fog emanates from a nearby forest, a familiar tugging feeling pulling me toward it.
I follow the tug through a thatch of trees before exiting into an ethereal meadow.
There is an autumn chill in the air, blooms of aster flowers popping up through the fog.
And a woman is in the middle of the meadow, gently picking the stems and placing them in a basket.
I cannot see her face, but from here she looks exactly like—“Penelope?” I croak.
She stands, calmly turning to face me. “Thou has chanced upon her,” she says, a large grin overtaking her face.
This woman… she looks like Penelope but—wrong.
She points to herself. “I am Victoria.”
That is when it hits me. Victoria, the woman who was taking care of me in my final days. I walk a few steps to observe her closer. “What mayst thy surname be?”
She smiles, slightly feral. “Graves.”
“Thou art a witch,” I breathe, puffs of condensation following my words.
She bites her bottom lip, nodding vigorously. I take her in, my eyes scanning her face for any bit of familiarity. There in the curve of her eyes and the apple of her cheeks, I can see the family resemblance even centuries apart. “Wherefore didst thou curse me?”
“I am sorry, good sir. When I found thee upon the battlefield, thy soul was restless. Verily, it sought after that which it could not find.” She has the decency to look slightly ashamed, though I cannot stay mad at her at this revelation.
“Thou knewest I had a bond.”
“I could see it. It called unto me, yet was not meant for me.” Her head quirks to the side, asking a silent question.
I study her face. “So thou hast cursed me.” I want to be angry but find that I am simply not.
She shrugs, and it reminds me so much of Penelope’s teasing. “I did wish to lend mine aid. It doth appear that it hath worked.”
Did it? Because I am here when I would rather be home. With Penelope.
I take a step closer. “How might I return hence?”
Victoria drops her basket and clasps her hands together. “Didst thou find peace?”
“I have found the ultimate peace,” I reply. “I have found love.”
She nods, wiping a tear from her eye. “I am right glad to hear such tidings. Prithee, close thine eyes and follow the thread.” Victoria gestures to where she has created a bed of asters in the middle of the meadow.
Following her instructions, I lie down, closing my eyes. Victoria’s hands hover above my chest, and I search deep within myself for the thread that connects me to Penelope. It is faint with this many years between us, but I feel it nonetheless.
I open my eyes, looking up into the face that is so dear, yet so foreign. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Victoria smiles sadly down at me. “Convey my greetings unto her, daughter of mine own blood.”
“I shall,” I reply, closing my eyes again, finding that all too familiar thread. Tugging, my mind and body bend through time. Without hesitation, I know when I need to open my eyes again.
And there she is, collapsed in a heap, the gravestone supporting her weight.
“Penelope.”