Epilogue
Enara touched her fingers to the necklace that hung from her throat and took a steadying breath. The small pendant had been fashioned from a silver alloy, the stone formed from applying immense pressure to a collection of Baztien’s ashes. It was the color of fresh milk, and the white swirled with flecks of gold, just like Baztien’s eyes.
After they had collected his ashes from the pyre, Saoirse had come to her later in the evening, asking if she could have some of the ashes to make something for her. She had shown Enara the ring she wore that held her grandmother’s ashes, and Enara had obliged, wanting a way to keep him with her always.
When the package had arrived from Olecastor, it had brought tears to her eyes. Saoirse, being ever thoughtful, had fashioned four necklaces, all the same, apart from Enara’s. Hers was the only one that had the gold flecks. She couldn’t believe Saoirse had remembered how she’d spoken about Baztian when they had dressed for Hallival.
Enara ensured the other three went to their rightful owners—Soren, Alondra, and Laraline. She had stayed with Baz’s mothers for a few months after they had returned to Vreburn, and as they had mourned together, she had begun to heal. Now, it had been over a year since she’d lost the love of her life.
Every now and then, someone she knew from the institute would ask her to join them for a drink, but she always turned them down. Sometimes people were cruel and would tell her it was time to move on. They did not understand that one did not just move on from grief.
Grief was a dark passenger that latched onto your soul and never let go. Grief was the cold hand that would forever be entwined with yours. The only thing in existence that could compete with grief was time.
A relationship with grief was like experiencing exposure therapy. If you tortured yourself long enough, the pain would become more manageable. The burning of a shattered heart would dull to a low ache. The agony, a gentle reminder of those they had loved and lost.
“Hey, hon,” Laraline called from farther down the beach, “it’s time.”
Enara gave her a wave in response and headed in her direction. Today, they would release the remainder of Baztien’s ashes into the Obsidian Sea so that he could join his birth parents and be reconnected with his homeland. Then he could finally be at peace.
They had wanted to come sooner, but they had stayed to help rebuild Vreburn. Soren had wanted to join her, but Adaryn was about to give birth to her and Jai’s child any day now, so she had gone to provide her emotional support.
She waded into the water where Alondra and Laraline stood, her white dress floating on the ocean’s edge like a ghost. Her skin prickled, and her feet sunk slightly into the wet sand.
Alondra held up the small, golden urn that held the rest of Baztien’s remains and asked Enara, “Is there anything you want to say?”
“He knows how I feel about him,” she replied softly. “Now, let’s send him home.”
Alondra nodded, and then they took turns sprinkling the ashes into the dark waters.
The day was relatively still, and a gentle current carried the ashes away almost as if the sea was helping him on his journey.
The three of them stood in the shallows, letting the waves lap at their feet until the ashes were out of sight. Silent tears joined the great expanse of water, each droplet finding its way back to him.
“Are you ready to go?” Laraline asked softly.
Enara nodded and wiped her tears with the pad of her thumb. “Yeah, we just have one last stop to make.”
* * *
Enara knocked softlyon the wooden door of the fisherman’s house then waited patiently as the man made his way to the door. His movements were chased by a faint knocking sound that she couldn’t quite make out.
He opened the door to reveal that he was missing a leg. Baz had never mentioned that. Then again, he always saw people for who they were and spoke of them from what he knew of their hearts, a trait that seemed to have been passed down to him from his mothers.
“Can I help you?” the older man asked.
“I won’t take much of your time, but I was hoping we could come in for a moment,” Enara said, gesturing behind her.
The fisherman’s eyes shone brightly as he recognized Laraline and Alondra. “Of course, of course, come on in!” He ushered them into the house, and they each took a seat at his table. “What brings you all to my neck of the woods? It’s been … what? Must be about sixteen years ago we met,” he said, scratching at his beard.
“Eighteen,” Alondra replied with a sad smile.
“Yes. How have you all been? I often thought about you three. Where is that boy? I’d love to see the strapping young lad he’s grown into!” he exclaimed. Then his smile faded when he saw the grave looks on the women’s faces. “The boy is okay, is he not?” he asked.
Enara pressed her lips together, unable to speak the words. Even after a whole year, she struggled to say he was gone.
“He is at peace,” Alondra replied, squeezing Laraline’s hand. Her wife was tearing up again, and she handed her a handkerchief from her trouser pocket.
“I am sorry,” the fisherman replied, bowing his head.
“Don’t be,” Enara replied, finding her voice. “He died protecting those he loved.” Her voice cracked, and she fought to rein in her emotions.
“I hope he is well celebrated, then,” the fisherman replied. “He was always such a good boy.”
“It would do you well to know, then, that he became a great man,” Alondra offered. “He would have wanted you to know what became of him.”
The fisherman pressed his fingertips together, his elbows resting on the table as he replied, “Yes, I always imagined he would be. I am glad you’ve come, though I’m sorry you had to travel so far to reach me. A letter would have sufficed.”
Laraline wiped her face and spoke then, “Baztien always said, if anything were to happen to him, that he wanted you to have this.” She reached forward and placed a small piece of wood in the fisherman’s hand.
The man’s eyes misted. It was the ship he had gifted Baztien as a boy.
He turned it over between his calloused fingers, smiling fondly. “He kept this? All this time?” he asked, his gaze meeting the three women’s.
“It has been on his side table since we left here,” Alondra confirmed. “He wished on it every night, praying to the Maker to protect you while you were out at sea.”
The fisherman swallowed down the lump in his throat before speaking, and to Enara, no truer words had ever been spoken.
“It would seem, then, that he saved us all.”