Epilogue
And so an end, there has to be.
Yet tales go on eternally.
I
It was a difficult transition, Jorden could feel that. It was very much longer in duration than most and it actually brought about a certain nausea, and with it a sense of wonder. Why would someone undergo such a transition willingly?
He laughed within. He was doing it. At least Taf wasn't there. At least Taf had the sense to stay on the Katerina where she belonged. The aestri had seen quite enough, and done quite enough unnecessary damage in the last few days. Hura would probably not have let her come even if she had wanted to.
But Hura had managed to talk Jorden into the trip... to Boston of all places. The Katerina, and the witch-god's hastily constructed ship-board lab, was within a few thousand footfall of the West-Pacific Line, and that was effectively the other side of the world to Boston. That helped explain the difficulty of it. Jorden tried for several moments to calculated the local time before giving up. Hura said it was afternoon, and that was good enough.
All that was certain was that timing was important, and Hura had spent days setting up for it.
Then Jorden looked around. He was in a cemetery.
That was odd, but it was just another odd thing amongst so very many. So much about the witch and her world were odd that even his brief taste of reality had seemed positively strange. The cemetery itself was blue and it shimmered as if seen through extremely violent heat waves, and it was somehow fainter than his home and the rig had initially been. He knew that Hura was at the limit of her power and it would be a rather short stay.
For what? There was a solitary woman standing near a well kept grave, a statue of flesh that Hura went forth to hug. It was an unusual display of emotion for the witch. She seemed so hard most of the time, a hardness that did not suit her façade of youth.
Jorden looked to the headstone, it said:
Helen Garret
1988-2006
And nothing else.
An eighteen year old woman who had died three years before. It all didn't make a great deal of sense.
“Who's she,” Jorden asked as Hura Ghiana backed from the living ornament of a woman she had hugged.
There was a touch of moisture in the witch's eye. She wiped it. “A friend of long ago, Jorden, so very long ago.” She shook her head. “You see, my dear Jorden, this was once my world as well, and this was my city. Now there is just that reminder.” She pointed to the headstone. “I have changed my name since.”
Jorden looked and it clicked. Nothing made any more sense after the realization than before, yet the pieces of the puzzle fit nicely. “You're dead?” he managed to vocalize.
The witch chuckled. “I think that perhaps I am, but I did not die here and my body is not buried. I am dead to this world however. I can never return, not after so long. Even if I could return to the state in which I left, I wouldn't. I was not in the best of health.”
“Damn,” Jorden swore. “And you come here to give your old friend a hug even though she can't see you and... Three years!” The outsider said in realization. “You've only been away for three years.” He knew that time and life-span were warped, but not quite that warped.
“The point that I have been trying to make. Time is on your side,” Hura sighed, “and I think that Finesilver is waiting for some of that time. I have taken enough, and she feels for you like no other could, Jorden.”
A very old, and very tired mind gazed toward the man through eyes of youth. The twisted realities of the shard worlds had made him a very old friend, someone she felt she knew well even if he knew very little of herself. But that was something he was yet to face in his own very difficult future. “You will now be staying with us for a little while, of course,” she added. “I offer all that I have.” And the witch bowed ever so slightly, only a hint of a smile upon her lips.
“Yeah,” Jorden mused, his thoughts of Taf and the other close friends he had made amongst the nightmare. “As I said, a few days perhaps.”
Hura snorted and directed him back toward the portal.
.o0o.
About the Author:
Amos T. Fairchild is a farmer, writer, dog collector and destroyer of worlds too numerous to mention who is currently based in blissful and often cyclone ravaged northern Queensland, Australia. Born in April 1962 and author of several novels and short stories, he is currently documenting several significant events in a number of parallel dimensions over a period of some seventy-three million standard years and releasing the details in an ebook format of your choice.
For the latest news and releases please read the author's blog at: https://amostfairchild.blogspot.com/
The adventures of Jorden Miles and the entities of the Domain and beyond continue in the Time of the Dula Kaena – The Second Book of the Shards of Heaven.
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