by Sam Coulson
“So it was just an accident,” I whispered softly into the darkness. “I happened to be in just the right place when the terraforming began. But why was I here?”
I turned around as the question swirled in my mind, and then, a glint in the darkness provided me the answer. I think I knew what it was from that first moment. I walked slowly, moving my light from side to side. On the edge of the Tevarite was a shard of metal. On one end was a hand-spun leather handle grip, the other a half-forged blade.
There were scratch marks on the Tevarite nearby. I had been forging the blade.
As I turned the knife in my hand, I could see the memories that had been hovering just out of reach. The face of a young Thar’esh, a boy sleeping on a feather bed at night. A ceremony that never was.
It had been for my child.
My son.
I had been forging his blade when the terraformers hit.
I fell to my knees and wept for my son who was gone. I wept for all the lives that had been swept away that day when I had been spared. I thought of Lee, of Lor’ten, of Filian and Taro. But most of all, I thought of Ju-lin.
When I was done I set the unfinished blade in the center of the Tevarite and buried it under a pile of stones. It was one, small, grave to mark the passing of a fallen people who were once great.
When I got to my feet, my eyes were dry and my spirits were light. Fanto’s ship lifted off at noon, and I would be on it.