“Yes we are. Privet taught me how to do it.”
Spirea marveled at the new sensation. “I can feel her mind. She’s so beautifully innocent. Completely pure. I can even feel some of her father’s magic in her too.”
“Well, that’s to be expected.”
Spirea let go of her hand and opened her eyes, new worries setting in. “She’ll be an outcast. A half-breed.”
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. Besides, she’s not a half-breed. She’s one of us, she just has a little sprinkling of other things…like seasoning.”
“Seasoning?”
“Well, yeah.”
“You’re comparing my baby to food?”
“I can’t help it, I’m hungry all the time now.”
The two of them chuckled warmly. The air felt more relaxed now.
“What are you going to do about your duties?” Spirea asked.
“I’m gonna’ let Milia and Veritus do the heavy lifting. My mother will helping as well. And, of course, Privet and I share the throne, so he can do anything I don’t have time for. I’m making being a mother my priority. I need to be there for my children. They deserve that.”
Athel sighed. “Even still, there will be a long transition period until our people settle down into couples, each with their own tree.”
She grew quiet. “There are a lot of scars to heal.”
Spirea nodded sadly. “Yes, there are.”
Athel slapped her knees and stood up with a grunt. “Well, thanks for letting me visit. I’m gonna’…”
“I’m sorry,” Spirea whispered.
Athel paused.
Spirea covered her face. “I’m so very sorry. This was all my fault. Everything. That…thing…that demon, it came from inside of me. It hated you because I hated you. It hurt you because I wanted to hurt you.”
Athel sat back down and listened.
“She ruined your life, Athel. She took everything you loved and destroyed it, because I wanted you to be as miserable as I was,” Spirea whimpered. “I was jealous of what you had, so she hurt you, over and over again.”
The air was heavy as the sat there is silence. Regret clung to everything around them.
Athel breathed painfully. Slowly, she forced her lips to part.
“I forgive you, Spirea.”
Spirea looked up at her, confused. “Why? Why would you do that? After everything I did to you?”
Athel’s eyes filled with tears. “Because Alder would have wanted me to.”
Spirea’s emotions broke through and she fell on Athel’s shoulder. The two women embraced, and wept together.
“I would be honored if you gave your daughter my name,” Athel said at last.
“Thank you…my friend.”
Epilogue
The amber crystals crackled warmly in the fireplace when Athel crept in. Privet had fallen asleep in his reading chair, little Ash sleeping on his chest, Trillium’s pot resting in his lap.
Athel cooed and risked leaning over to give him a kiss on the temple. It was difficult, with her belly as large as it was now.
As she picked up Ash, he gave off a tiny yawn, then nestled into her chest.
As she sat down in her chair, she waved to Bunni Bubbles, who skipped in, carrying in a bound book to hand it to her. Athel ran her fingers over the leather bound cover. It read: Saal’ti Roya’ari Amii’riite, or in the common tongue, “Isle of Wysteria.” She opened it up, revealing the blank pages within.
Dipping her quill into her ink vial, Athel thought for a moment, then kissed her baby on the head, and began to write:
My dear children,
By the time you are old enough to read this, I suspect Wysteria will have changed so much, that many of the things I have witnessed will sound impossible to your ears. Much has changed, and there is much left that must still change. It will fall upon you and following generations to continue the path that we are now on. To make our forest the way it should be. But, with the help of Milia and Veritus, I am confident in what is to come. I have never been a skilled storyteller, but I would regret it forever if I did not make a record for you to read while it is still fresh in my mind and heart.
Privet stirred, snoring a little. Trillium dimly woke up just enough to reach out and wrap a branch around his finger, and then the two of them settled back asleep. Athel dipped her quill and continued.
I’m going to tell you a true story. The story of a foolish and mean-spirited young girl, and the boy who taught her to be wise. A boy who loved her so completely that it changed her heart. A boy whose love was so pure, it saved her, and the world.
My dear children,
I write this to you so that you can know who your father was, and why he can’t be with you as you grow up. I can’t bring him back, but I can honor his sacrifice by moving forward, and trying to live, even if it is without him. That’s what he would have wanted for me. For our family.
Who was your father? Your father was a dreamer. He dreamed of a place where boys wouldn’t be afraid to grow up, a place where husbands and wives would sing together as one. His heart made it happen. His heart changed me, it changed Privet, it changed Spirea, it changed Mandi; it changed all of us. His was heart so strong, it remade the forest anew.
Your father was a true man.
Bunny Bubbles skipped in and threw an incense crystal into the fire before leaving. The scent crackled peacefully, filling the room with the sweet aroma of vanilla. Outside, Deutzia slept peacefully, swaying in the evening breeze. Without realizing she was doing it, Athel ran her fingers over the scar across her heart.
My dear children,
I hope you have a happier life than I had. I think all parents wish that for their children. Your father and many noble souls like him fought and struggled and gave their lives to create a world that they would never get to see. The peace you enjoy is their gift to you. I hope you treasure it, for it was purchased at such a high cost. My dear Ash, by the time you take the throne, you will have heard that there was a time when Wysterians made war on one another, if only to create a place where such a thing would be unthinkable…
Ash stretched and yawned, and Athel set her quill down to sing to him softly. When he had settled again, she moved to write some more, but thought better on it. In her youth, she always made it a point to read the last page first before beginning a story. Now, it seemed only fitting to write the ending first.
She picked up a mirror off the nightstand and looked at her reflection. Every time Deutzia healed her, a litte more of her sight returned. At first, there were only shadows, then hazy colors. Now, she could close her good eye and clearly make out her child’s face, even if it was a little fuzzy. But, even after a dozen sessions, her scars hadn’t faded at all.
She wanted to look away from her horrible reflection, but instead forced herself to look. Trying to get used to it, trying to accept it. Her eyes didn’t match anymore. Her right eye was brown, but her left had little specks of other colors. Flecks of hazel, grey, white, and black. She ran her fingers through her long hair. It had lost much of its color, a more dull red than it had been before.
Inhaling deeply, she forced herself to smile. It looked so false at first, so she tried again. She tried to make it look like it had when she still felt young, when she still felt beautiful and whole. She practiced for several minutes, until she was confident that it looked sincere enough.
Setting the mirror back down, Athel flipped the blank pages of the book to the final one, then dipped her quill freshly.
From now on, I will save my tears for quiet times. When I am around others, I will always be smiling. I do this to honor him. To honor what he did for me, for all of us. The fact that I am alive is proof that he existed. The fact that I am sitting here right now with my husband and children is proof that he lived. Proof, that there was once a man named
Alder Forsythia…
…and that he loved me.
The End.
About the Author
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I come from a family of ballet dancers. (I know, right?) My parents actually met dancing at Ballet West together. So, the first few years of my life were spent backstage at productions like CATS, Dreamgirls, and A Chorus Line, where I developed a lifelong aversion to stage makeup. My parents even appeared in a few movies and TV shows, like Girls Just Wanna have fun, and the Tracy Ullman show, but that is about as much namedropping as I can currently muster. I spent two years living in Argentina as a missionary, where I became addicted to mayonnaise, and developed a crippling fear of small dogs. In college I studied aviation, and was well on my way to becoming a commercial airline pilot when I suddenly developed a rare illness that left me with severe heart damage. Bedridden for about a year, I began writing, as it was one of the few things I could do. I spent the next decade writing books and taking care of my kids while my wife worked, waiting for that letter to come in the mail which never came. (Should have written about sparkly vampires instead) When my son Stephen passed away in July of 2012, I decided that I was going to dedicate my first book to him, and I wasn’t going to wait for anyone’s permission to be published anymore. I was going to do it myself.
Dedicated to Stephen
8/7/2003-7/3/2012
Isle of Wysteria: Throne of Chains Page 47
