Unchosen

by Jeffrey Cook

  You tried, she told him in her mind, her hand on the ring. You tried, and you failed, and I love you. But we got it done for you. Even when everything was built to keep us from it, we got it done for you. Y'all take care of each other where y'all are. I'll keep trying to take care of people down here.

  And then she'd return her focus to another memorial, another death that deserved commemoration, because no one should be scenery. She was involved in so many. She spoke with those memorializing at the T'ila, and with everyone restoring communications to families in Brazil, in Russia, and in Britain. She also got back to healing, because there was still so much pain.

  The Storm's Light girls, battered though they were, were always a comfort when they came through to coordinate the relief efforts. Celeste could even get herself to act normal.

  “I see y'all brought the extra cots. I'll make sure two get set up by Noriko and Kaida for y'all.”

  “Thank you. How's it looking?”

  “Well, Kaida's still not much for being awake and talking, so we'll need your help in making sure Noriko gets enough talk about how ridiculous she looks in the neck-and-shoulder braces. Especially in her tall form. I don't think she feels the subject has been addressed enough.” Celeste knew who would have been happy to make fun of her more.

  “She can change, right? She has the katana and fan.”

  “Oh, yes. Short to rest, tall when she insists on trying to move. But she still needs to follow some rules when she does. But enough about things here. Are the heroes of the hour busy in Japan?” she asked. “Emi, I hear you're filling in a lot at Ise for the high priestess.”

  “Yes, while she's been busy herself. Both she and His Majesty have been involved in a lot of diplomatic outreach, trying to encourage people and governments around the world to react properly, to not lash out or confuse traditional practitioners, local or foreign, with the cultists. Here's hoping they'll listen.”

  “Here's hoping.” Celeste lifted her hand to the chain around her neck. After everything that had happened, it was so hard to hope. And yet, clutching the ring, hope she would.

  ***

  “Hold on,” Dagny said, cradling an infant—verging on toddler—as she stood over Nils's bed. “How exactly did Hobie 'almost drown' in the desert?”

  “Wasn't water,” Nils said, and Celeste could tell from his eyes that he was grinning under the mask. “It was from breathing in all the dust. Powdered undead.”

  “In his defense,” Celeste offered as she checked the medical supplies. “Those skeletons would not stop twitching.” She'd offered to hold the baby, but Dagny had insisted she could multitask. Celeste didn't exactly blame her. If she had kids, it'd be a long time, after all this, before she'd want to let them go. As it was, she was mostly there to make sure Nils stayed in bed.

  “And literally breathing in the dead, that didn't put any of you at risk for the disease?” Dagny asked.

  Nils didn't even wince. “No, that curse was very specific. Not airborne, not bloodborne, not anything but curseborne.”

  “And it drove Edwin Nathaniel mad.”

  “Sort of,” Nils said. “The fear of the madness within the pain may have been the driving force as much as anything. That and some sort of general despair that fighting only brought suffering. At any rate, you've heard how he was instrumental in both our initial survival and our final triumph. It's on the record. I keep my deals.”

  “Right,” said Dagny. “So. Back to...”

  “To Hobie.” Celeste could see a lot in Nils eyes, but she knew Hobie stories, making sure Hobie got stories, made talking about everything they'd been through easier, not harder.

  “Yes,” said Dagny. “This was all before or after the boulder trap?”

  “Just before. Marshall had to work fast at convincing Hobie it wasn't cowardice to run away from a 20-ton rock.”

  “Oh, I'd be—” Dagny was interrupted by sudden cries from her child. “I...left the diaper bag with Astrid.”

  “Duty calls,” Nils said. “See you later.”

  When Dagny left, Celeste looked at Nils in the ensuing silence for a while. Finally, “How are you holding up?”

  “You said it was just a bit more bed rest.”

  “I mean … your brother.”

  “Managing. Making sure he gets his stories. How about you? You were family, too, you know.”

  “Managing's a good word for it.” She smiled. “They're good stories. Things were never boring.”

  An affirming sound from Nils, then another pause. “Dagny's baby has no Tainted blood. None of the younger kids do. When the Gisting is rebuilt, there will be no one Tainted there anymore.”

  “Except when you go home,” Celeste pointed out.

  “That will generally only be for visits. As soon as we're well enough to give the people of the T'ila their tower space back, Noriko wants to be close to her sisters for a while. We'll stay in Ise until the Hikari is rebuilt. All the towers will need researchers.”

  “Then the Hikari will have the best.”

  “What about you?” Nils asked. “I'm sure soon-to-be Headmistress Williams has invited you back to the new Academy. I hear they may put the sarcophagus under the new foundation-stone.”

  “Yes, but she's also hard at work making sure new supplies of pathstones are made. None of the new towers can afford to be isolated.”

  “Of course. Rebuilding in this brave new world and all. So what's your plan, Celeste?”

  “Well… would you and Noriko mind making room for one more?”

  “You're always welcome. You know that.”

  She nodded. “There is another thing.”

  He lifted a brow, hissing breaths coming through the mask as he waited for her to continue.

  Celeste reached for the chain and removed her necklace with the ring on it. “I know now isn't the time for proposals, but hopefully the time will come. When it does, could you ask her with this?”

  Nils looked surprised, not moving to take the ring just yet. “The ring Marshall gave you? I'm honored, but—”

  She pressed it into his hand. “I think he'd want it to stay in the family. I know I do.”

  ***

  Ethiopian Orthodox funerals seemed to use a lot of white cloth. As it had been in Japan, this had led to difficulties in keeping everyone, after everything, looking clean. While Celeste had all respect for the sanctity of the ceremony, part of her figured that was just fine. Let the people of the T'ila show the dirt, show what they'd been through. The saints as Mr. Gebramlak had known them would no doubt understand.

  Celeste had to take great care with the ancient words she had reviewed before, but she was honored that the remaining T'ila leadership had asked her to participate in the ceremony. Mr. Gebramlak had prayed for her to the end, and now Celeste prayed for him.

  Everyone in the community of the four towers who could be spared from safeguarding survivors and re-sealing sites came to this service. Celeste could not quite escape the sad fact that the funeral sanctuary was still able to accommodate them all.

  She met Yodit's eyes, during the service, and, like so many eyes lately, they were hard to look at for long. Like Noriko, the young woman wore back and neck braces among the paraphernalia of her many injuries. She had to stay seated when not assisted, particularly with the concussion, but Celeste knew that wasn't just physical pain and dizziness in her eyes.

  “I hope Mr. Gebramlak will forgive my terrible Ge'ez,” Celeste told Yodit after the service had cleared.

  “I certainly hope so,” Yodit said. “My Ge'ez isn't very good, either.” A long pause, as Yodit ran one hand over her scalp. She'd gotten assistance shaving it smooth again. Celeste both knew she didn't understand the importance of certain cultural mourning rituals and felt she understood anyway. “But maybe we shouldn't start trying to sort out what I'm good for.”

  “Definitely don't start it like that. You did more than anyone could have expected in the circumstances, and the sword ended up where it could b
e used.”

  “But if I'd done better, I could have prevented just a little more death. Maybe I was supposed to...”

  “How can we say 'supposed' anymore?” Celeste said earnestly. “By most views, nothing has happened the way it was 'supposed' to happen. But it happened. And we're the ones who survived.”

  “What is the American saying ... 'When you are going through Hell, keep going'?”

  “Yeah. And I guess you keep going as you're coming out of it, too.”

  ***

  Finally, there was only one funeral left, and that one required a longer trip. It had to be done right.

  Noriko practically had to hold Nils up, but he insisted on standing throughout the ceremony at the ocean-side. Kaida insisted on the same, with aid from Aki. Emi and Ms. Williams sat together in their wheelchairs next to them.

  The crafters did wonders in building the single boat. The remains were wrapped in a bear-skin cloak, and laid out in the boat, and the charred and broken remnants of a D+ shield were placed over Hobie's chest.

  Dagny had regaled them on the way with the long-awaited saga, but now, she looked to Celeste for a moment. Celeste tried to keep her contribution to the service simple.

  “We ask for rest for Hrobjart Bjornsson, in whatever way he'd feel most needed, but remembering that he was always more than he gave himself credit, and knowing that he got what he most wanted: to help in something that would outlive him. Amen.”

  She looked at the boat. We love you, Hobie. Say hello to Marshall for us, but tell him we'll be a while.

  Finally, Celeste stepped back, moving to give both Nils and Noriko a hug, before stepping into place to support Nils, while Noriko pushed the boat out into the water, then stepped back to join the group.

  Four archers lifted their bows, while an arrow lighter moved down the row. While they readied themselves for the signal, Dagny stepped to the shore and began to call to the early morning skies.

  "Heill Dagr,

  heilir Dags synir,

  heil Nott oc nipt!

  Eina dottir

  berr Alfra

  athar hana Fenrir fari;

  si scal riða,

  Tha er regin deyia,

  modvr braunow, tir mer”

  “Sól ek sá,

  svá thótti mér,

  sem ek sæja göfgan guð;

  henni ek laut

  hinzta sinni

  aldaheimi í.”

  Celeste knew this one. He'd loved the stuff about the post-Ragnarok golden age. The call to the day and the Day-sons, to 'Night and all her sisters.' To everything that needs to know, she supposed.

  The idea of the poem was that the sun goddess was swallowed by a wolf, but she had a daughter, to follow the mother's path across the sky when the old gods were all dead.

  She listened as Dagny repeated the last stanza in English, for good measure.

  “I saw the sun.

  And it seemed to me,

  I was seeing a glorious goddess.

  To her I bowed,

  For one last time,

  In this world of time."

  And the last bear-sark's boat was set alight.

  Acknowledgements

  There is never enough room in this section to thank everyone who really deserves it.

  Thank you to our spouses, our families, and Matthew Lewis for their support and patience.

  Thank you to Christopher Kovacs and Theodore and Melissa Ashford for their artistic contributions. Thank you also to David Burke, Beki Knox, Aiden Manalang, Ivy Hope, and Elizabeth Madonna for lending their own particular talents and enthusiasm to the promotion of our books.

  Thank you to everyone who reads a book, and then leaves a review. Those really do help authors a lot.

  Thank you to Emily French, Sechin Tower, Nikki McCormack, and to the AweThors for the marketing collaborations.

  Thank you to our wonderful beta readers. Some have found their names elsewhere here, for the rest, thank you to Benjamin Perkins, Lora Christine, Kayla Vanderbilt, and Jason Cline. Your feedback on the good and the needs-some-work was appreciated.

  And thank you to Mia Labar for her willingness to lend her experience and expertise to our research on short notice.

  And finally, thank you to Elli, Gregory, Milo, and Pudding. Four legged family is family too.

  www.authorjeffreycook.com

  www.clockwordragon.net

  www.punkwriters.com

  About the Authors

  Jeffrey Cook lives in Maple Valley, Washington, with his wife and three large dogs. He was born in Boulder, Colorado, but has lived all over the United States. He's the author of the Dawn of Steam trilogy of alternate-history/emergent Steampunk epistolary novels and of YA contemporary fantasy series the Fair Folk Chronicles. He’s a founding contributing author of Writerpunk Press. When not reading, researching, or writing, Jeffrey enjoys role-playing games and watching football.

  Katherine Perkins lives in Ontario, Ohio, with her husband and one extremely skittish cat. She was born in Lafayette, Louisiana, and will defend its cuisine on any field of honor. She was editor of Dawn of Steam and the co-author of the Fair Folk Chronicles and of various short stories and novellae, including for the charity anthologies of Writerpunk Press. When not reading, researching, writing, or editing, she tries to remember what she was supposed to be doing.