by Davis Ashura
Afterward, Galse showed him the rest of the village. During the tour, they paused at a raw, ragged, unhewn tunnel on the far side of Meldencreche.
“Where does this lead?” William asked.
“Deep into the heart of the mountain,” Galse said.
“Has anyone gone in there?”
“A human?” Galse asked.
William nodded.
“Only once. She said Meldencreche reminded her of her home, a faraway place called Stronghold.”
“Is that an ancient magi city or something?” William asked.
“We’ve never heard of it,” Galse said. “She said her home had been murdered, that it existed somewhere else and in another time.”
It took William a few seconds to understand the importance of Galse’s words, and when he did, excitement surged through him. “Was she from Seminal?”
“Seminal? No.” Galse shook his head. “Arisa. That was the name she gave.”
William’s excitement dimmed into disappointment. What was Arisa?
Galse’s eyes welled. “Can we leave this place? Talking of death and loss … I don’t like to remember how I became as I am.”
Galse appeared upset, and William’s curiosity about Arisa faded. He didn’t like seeing the dwarf unhappy.
William gave a tight-lipped frown of contrition. “Let’s go.” It felt natural to offer the dwarf his hand, and together they strolled through the rest of the village.
September 1987
Two weeks later, William’s time in Meldencreche ended, and he and Galse paced silently through the long tunnel full of frescoes that ended at the closed door leading into the world. This time, however, William studied the paintings anew and noticed a detail he’d missed before. In all the images, the humans fought against dragons and necrosed with tranquility on their faces.
William vaguely understood why.
Something about the dwarves, their quiet beauty, their peace and serenity, had touched him, and he found himself longing to see Meldencreche alive again, to see it populated by the gentle dwarves who had once lived here. He stood silent before the door leading outside, wishing he didn’t have to leave. Maybe that’s how most people responded to living amongst the dwarves.
“Will you remember me?” Galse asked.
“Forever,” William promised. He bent down and hugged Galse, kissing him on the forehead. The dwarf smelled like iron and roses, and his ethereal form had the softness of a raindrop.
“May the peace of my home remain with you, even in life’s tribulations,” Galse said. “And may you offer peace to those who need it.” With his final benediction spoken, Galse smiled sadly and slowly faded.
William stood alone at the tunnel’s entrance and swallowed heavily, blinking back tears. He would miss Galse, and it took him a few seconds to collect himself. When he had his emotions under control, he pushed open the door.
Serena sat alone on the small grass field at the base of the mountain. “Mrs. Karllson asked me to bring you home,” she explained.
“What happened?”
Serena shrugged. “She dropped Jake off at the Tor and said she had something else to take care of.”
“Why’d you agree to come for me?” William asked, suspicious of her motivations. The peace of Meldencreche was quickly slipping away.
“Because she asked,” Serena said, as if the answer should have been self-evident.
William’s eyes narrowed. “You know why I’m asking.”
Serena sighed. “You’re wondering what’s in it for me?”
“It is the way of Sinskrill,” William said. “The first and most important rule there.”
“We aren’t on Sinskrill anymore,” Serena reminded him. A raspy edge burred her voice.
He continued to stare at her through narrow eyes, and she threw her arms in the air in disgust.
“Fine. I do have an ulterior motive,” Serena said. “I came to get you because Mrs. Karllson asked and I wanted to earn her good opinion, or at least a better opinion than she has. If you hadn’t noticed, she doesn’t like me much. Is that a good enough answer for you?” She spat out the last sentence, and her chest heaved and her eyes shone.
William stepped back, stunned by her passion. In all the time he’d known Serena, he’d rarely seen her lose control of herself. Always before, no matter how dire or terrifying the situation, she’d remained calm and cool.
As he gazed at her, Galse’s final words came back to him.
May the peace of my home remain with you, even in life’s tribulations. And may you offer peace to those who need it.
Guilt crawled up William’s throat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have accused you of anything when all you were doing was trying to help me out.”
Serena continued to glare at him.
“I really am sorry,” William said. “Can we try this again?”
Serena exhaled heavily and took on the inscrutable affect of a Sinskrill drone. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said, her voice flat. “But I want to leave. Are you ready?”
William nodded. He hitched his pack onto his back and they set off.
For the first few hours, neither of them spoke. Serena carried a tightness in her spine, a stiffness in the way she strode that indicated a lingering anger, and William mentally scowled at her.
Fine. She was angry. Who cares? He had far more reason to be angry with her than she with him. But even as the thought entered his mind, it sounded wrong.
The uneasy quiet between them persisted, and William grew uncomfortable.
“What did you think of the elves?” he asked. It was an inane question, but at this point he’d have said anything to end the silence between them.
Serena remained quiet for so long that William thought she wasn’t going to answer. “I’m not sure what to think,” she said at last. “Both Memories made me sad, but I loved the dwarven one, Salthe Meldencreche, a little dwarven girl. She reminded me of Selene.”
“Mine was a middle-aged man,” William said. “His name was Galse Meldencreche.”
“But even though I felt sorry for her, Salthe made me feel hopeful,” Serena said. “You know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” William agreed. “Maybe it’s because of how the dwarves lived. The peace of their homes and the way they always wanted to make a person feel welcome and better.”
Serena smiled. “Salthe liked to play hopscotch, and if she won, she’d always apologize and ask me to play again.”
“Galse did something like that,” William said with an answering smile. “He tried to teach me to carve wood, but I was terrible. Awful, really. I was trying to carve a tree, but I ended up making something more like cotton candy on a stick.” He chuckled. “Galse never mentioned how bad it was, and instead kept encouraging me to never give up on craftwork.”
Serena quirked a grin. “You have many skills, but art isn’t one of them. I saw your doodles back at St. Francis, remember?”
William’s smile faded. He, too, recalled their shared history … and the lies underneath it all.
Serena must have recognized her mistake because she filled the intervening silence with a rush of words. “My elven Memory was also a little girl, but she had this overwhelming depth of sorrow. Being around her was depressing. What about yours?”
William focused on her words and tried not to dwell on their past. He and Serena had two days and nights alone to get back to Lilith, and he didn’t want it filled with a tense silence.
“Mine was a young woman, but yeah, she was depressing,” William said. “In a lot of ways I’m glad I had the dwarven Memory at the end, with their peace and everything.”
“Peace,” Serena murmured, sounding wistful.
William eyed her in curiosity. “Haven’t you ever had peace?”
“Sometimes,” Serena said. “When I hum “Gloria” it’s because I keep hoping God will touch me with His grace and teach me how to wash away my sins.”
William stared at h
er in surprise. Earlier, she’d had an emotional outburst and now she was openly expressing religious sentiments. From her, both were as rare as a solar eclipse.
“It’s all a fiction, though, isn’t it?” Serena asked. “Grace and peace.”
“Not the way I was raised,” William said. “But you know what some people say about sin, right?”
Serena glanced his way, brows lifted in question.
“You have to acknowledge it.”
Serena shook her head. “No thanks.” She faced forward and quickened her pace until she was several yards ahead of him.
William let her go and mentally shook his head. Her attitude toward apologizing was unsurprising.
Hours later, with sunset looming, they called a halt to the day’s hike.
Serena set up their tents while William collected firewood. He could have sourced his lorethasra for the fire, but sometimes he liked doing things by hand.
Afterward, they heated a stew that Mrs. Karllson had left with Serena and settled in for the night. William didn’t feel like talking, and he lay down on his sleeping bag, staring at the night sky and the majesty of the Milky Way. His thoughts returned to Galse.
“I’m sorry,” Serena said.
William started. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he’d forgotten she was there. He faced her with a questioning expression, unsure why she was apologizing.
“I’m sorry for what I did to you and Jake,” Serena said, “for everything I put you through. I did it to save my sister, but I should have found a better way for all of us.”
William eyed her in shock. Three times today she’d surprised him, and this was the most stunning of all. He didn’t know what to say.
“I wish I could go back and …” Her lips thinned and regret filled her features. “I wish I could change a lot of things.”
William cleared his throat, searching for an answer to her unexpected words. “Thank you. I know how hard that must have been for you to say.” He cringed at how empty his words sounded, but he had nothing else to offer her.
She stared at him for a moment before her face fell into a sad half-smile. “Maybe that’s the best I can hope for.”
Serena gazed in wonder at Lilith Bay and its many blue hues. She’d seen these waters nearly every day for the past four months, but the colors always changed. Aqua one moment, palest sky the next, and then the pure blue of a mountain lake. The only one absent was the indigo shade of the Norwegian Sea around Sinskrill, but Serena didn’t mind. The ocean here held the same unchained recklessness, the same salty scent of freedom, and the same wild wind full of untapped promise and peril.
“Are you certain you wish to try this?” asked Jean-Paul Bernard, a flamboyant Frenchman who’d agreed to teach her to surf.
On many occasions Serena had seen Jean-Paul striding the Main Stairs with a surfboard tucked under an arm, and she’d wondered what it must be like to ride the water as he did. Before her pilgrimage to the Memories she had settled for imagining, since she’d been too apprehensive to ask if he’d teach her. What if he said no?
Her anxiety slowly faded after her time amongst the Memories, and four weeks after returning to Lilith she’d finally worked up the courage to ask Jean-Paul to teach her to surf. He’d surprised her by readily agreeing.
Somehow, William or Jason must have caught wind of what the Frenchman had offered because both of them stood nearby as well. They wore boardshorts, green for William and blue for Jason, and a pair of surfboards stood propped in the sand next to them.
Serena frowned at their presence. She didn’t want them here. Ever since she’d apologized to William they’d reached a détente of sorts, but it still felt like they circled one another like cats who’d never met before and were unsure if the other could be trusted.
Not Jason, though. He remained as snarky and insufferable as always.
Plus, their presence had stirred an unexpected sense of modesty within Serena. While both had seen her in far less during their time with Mr. Bill’s Circus—the ridiculous, bosom-bearing outfit designed by Jane, the seamstress—Serena felt exposed in the one-piece, lavender swimsuit she wore.
“First, a lesson about our equipment,” Jean-Paul said. He wore black boardshorts and had brought down two surfboards, one a flaming red and the other a creamy yellow. “A surfer must always know his board. Ours are made of wood, not fiberglass like they use in the Far Beyond nowadays. But we’ve got magic, and our wooden boards are every bit as light and water-proof as fiberglass.” He grinned. “It is a nice advantage, non?”
He indicated for Serena to test the yellow board, and she immediately noticed its lack of heft. When she peered more deeply for the cause, she saw braids of Air and Earth woven into the material to lighten and strengthen it.
“Now, about surfing,” Jean-Paul continued. “It is not simply paddling and riding.” He flapped his arms about. “It is much more. You must feel the water. Balance upon it like you would your lover.” He made some swaying, dancing motions with his arms and odder ones with his pelvis.
Serena chuckled while William and Jason choked back laughter.
“It is true,” Jean-Paul insisted. “You may not understand right now because you are mahavans and Americans. All three of you are uptight. You must learn to relax and laugh. Oui. You must learn to laugh without reservation.”
Jean-Paul’s words resonated, and Serena’s humor slipped away. Live life fully. Laugh without reservation. Both were fantasies she’d always dreamt of.
“Are we going to surf or talk philosophy?” Jason asked.
“Surfing is philosophy,” Jean-Paul replied.
Jason rolled his eyes. “Trust a Frenchman to make everything overly complicated,” he said to William. “It’s like this. You paddle out past where the waves are curling. You wait, and when you see one breaking, you paddle flat out. When the wave reaches you, you jump on your board and ride.” He snapped his fingers. “Simple as that.”
“Simple as that,” Jean-Paul mocked with an answering, mocking snap of his fingers. “Americans. Surfing is not a recipe, something with a gram of this and a gram of that. It is art.” He focused his attention on Serena. “Do not listen to Jason’s reductionist nonsense. Are you ready to live?”
Serena started. For her, Jean-Paul’s question held shades of deeper meaning, hues about who she really was and wanted to be. Could she rise to the light? A sense of something profound filled the air, and Serena scrutinized the world around her, wanting to freeze the moment in her memory.
They stood upon the golden beach of Lilith Bay with the village’s escarpment looming behind them. It ran east-to-west. The sand was warm and fine under the early afternoon sun, and the aqua water lapped an insistent melody against the shore. A few of Arylyn’s sailboats cut through the deeper waters of the Pacific.
Nervous energy made Serena bounce on her toes. “Absolutely.” Live life fully. Laugh without reservation.
“Then let us teach you of life’s joy,” Jean-Paul said with a broad grin as his white teeth flashed.
They spent the rest of the afternoon on the water, and surprisingly, even Jason offered Serena advice every now and then. His guidance proved helpful even if he provided it in a snarky tone. However, for the most part Jason and William kept to themselves while Jean-Paul worked with Serena.
Her first time out on the water didn’t go well. Neither did her second through twentieth attempts. Eventually, though, she learned to prone—her belly flat to the board—and once she managed to do so, Serena desperately wanted more. She lost track of the number of times she wiped out, but toward the end of the evening she stood up and rode a wave.
The board shifted and slid under her, but she kept her balance.
The sound of the surf grew distant. Tiny rainbows sparkled in the waves, and the water lapped against her feet. The sky wore shades of reds, blues, and purples under the last rays of the sun, and the briny ocean became a baptismal pool. A moment of purity. It left Serena with a pe
ace she’d never before experienced. Not in Meldencreche, or even when sailing Blue Sky Dreams. She wanted it to last forever, and for a moment, it did.
Serena smiled even when she fell off her board.
Afterward, Jean-Paul embraced her, and she laughed with joy.
“I usually surf every morning,” he said. “You must come with me and let me teach you. Everyday, we will come to this kiddie pool. Then, when you are ready, we will take you to where the adults play.” He leered and wiggled his thick eyebrows suggestively. “Of course, I can show where some adults might like to play other games, but perhaps this first, non?”
They finished up a few minutes later, and by then the sun had set and the sky darkened. They hiked toward the Main Stairs with Jean-Paul and Jason in the lead and Serena and William following.
Stars gleamed, seemingly reflected in the scattering of lights illuminating the village, as a crescent moon hung high above. The trade wind carried the fragrance of brine mixed with a cold mineral smell as they crossed the Guanyin, a bridge made of reflective, silver-hued stones that spanned River Namaste where the cascades collected halfway down Lilith’s cliffs. From here, the waters swept north through a high-walled canyon decorated with titanic statues of Arylyn’s ancient heroes.
The wind chilled Serena’s salty-wet skin, but she didn’t mind. She smiled, and for the first time in forever she hummed “Gloria.”
“I’ve never seen you smile before,” William said to her.
Serena frowned in uncertainty, not sure what he meant. “You’ve seen me smile plenty of times.”
“The others were playacting,” William said, “This one is real.”
“It wasn’t all lies,” she told him. “You made me smile or laugh lots of times.”
William shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m glad to see you smile now.”
“I have a reason to smile.”
The next day Serena continued to thrill in the memory of surfing for the first time. She smiled for no reason, and rather than still her emotions as she would have on Sinskrill, she let them run free.
