I didn't feel good about Sylvia's death, but I felt better knowing what I'd prevented. Gremlins wouldn't be attacking jails, trolls wouldn't be eating people, bird-women wouldn't be cutting up dwarfs, baby dragons wouldn't be kidnapped, and children wouldn't die. Feeling good about taking a life wasn't going to happen, but if I could go back in time and kill Sylvia and Gremory before they caused all that pain, I'd do it, no questions asked.
Landa pushed open the door and said, "It's time."
Chapter 21: Elron
Standing on my own hurt. The wound from the werewolf would take days to heal, and until it did, each breath, twitch, cough, and turn would hurt. Michelle had used a second healing charm on me with limited effects. I'd declined additional charms. It would be days before she was up to producing more, and time would do the trick.
The events were still fresh enough that I had not had time to process all of them. That disconnect was giving me time to find perspective without being completely overcome. The pain in my chest was a good distraction as well. There was only so much obsessing I could do when I hurt this much.
She stood beside me, paler and thinner than she'd been yesterday. On Michelle's other side, her mother kept a close eye on her, darting the occasional assessing look in my direction. Her father kept his eyes forward, but I wasn't fooled; most of his attention was on his daughter. With the cold wind biting exposed skin, I was glad I had insisted she add an additional layer. Even so, I could see her shiver when an especially persistent gust blew through.
It was worth the chill to honor Varro. Death hadn't changed him as much as the end of the spell. The frail, worn-out husk on the altar bore little resemblance to the old but sturdy man in the woods.
Besides the four of us, Landa, Mander, Julius, and Baden were in attendance. Paxton would have been here, but it was still light out, and that would not have ended well for him. The small group seemed disproportional to Varro's sacrifices and dedication to improving the world, not just for himself but for everyone. Had I known if he had friends, or how to contact them, I would've delayed this until they could attend, but from all appearances, he'd kept himself apart from the world.
No one said the pointless, human words explaining why we were spending an afternoon in the cold. The memorial began when Julius stepped forward. He sat on his haunches, cupped his wings, and sang. It had been long enough since my last experience with gargoyles singing that I had forgotten the impressive and disconcerting nature of the sound.
The first note out of Julius was a steady tone. It was low and had a slight vibration. The note shifted down a step, his lips moved, and a sharp whistle joined the tone. Whilst Julius held the tone steady, the whistle moved up and down the scale. With a deep breath from him, the sound changed, and the whistle-like sound was carried and the deeper tone fluctuated up and down.
During his song, part of my grief eased. Varro's passing was sad, but I'd known since shortly after he arrived that his time was limited. In the end, he had completed his mission and passed along his legacy. It was a small thing, but he'd seemed to find satisfaction in teaching the two of us.
Sylvia's passing had its own emotional baggage. The past week had been spent coming to terms with one change after another, none of them good and each of them unwelcome. Last night had brought it all to a head, and the outcome had been surprising.
She was dead, and I had spent two centuries grieving the first time she died. This death did not summon the same emotions because I didn't have any grief left. It was time to put my guilt over her abduction to bed, as there was not a single action on my part that would have changed it then or now. Between the diary and her words, the meaning had been clear: she did not blame me.
Her other words had clarified the remainder of my feelings. Sylvia wanted me to move on, not fall back into grief. Last night, I thought it was the wound and shock that was preventing my grief. Today had changed that view. There was simply nothing left to grieve. I had mourned her death, been tormented by her return, berated myself over her abduction, and been overwhelmed by the guilt of my betrayal. It was time for me to move forward.
When the last note faded, we stood silently honoring Varro. I was sure each of us considered what we knew of the man and what we should say to commemorate his passing. I prepared myself for the pain of talking, only to be halted by a shape moving in the woods.
It was faint and indistinct at first, but as it drew closer, I recognized the leshy. He came out of the forest and went to Varro, resting a hand on his forehead. Leshy Apalchen gently moved Varro's head, sliding a leather necklace off him. After realigning Varro's head, the leshy unknotted the end and pulled two medallions off the leather thong. He pressed one of them into my hand and the other into Michelle's.
The medallion was shaped like a crescent moon, but it was exaggerated, with the ends almost touching. There were raised portions that seemed to be text, but with the dirt encrusted on the surface, I could not identify the symbols. Michelle's hand was clenched around her medallion, not revealing so much as an edge. I did not need to see it to guess the shape; it was almost certainly a circle that rested inside this crescent.
Leshy Apalchen returned to the altar, scooped up Varro, and walked into the woods. He did not say why he was taking Varro's body, and none of us were brave enough to ask. Considering that the forest had been his sole companion for many years, it would not surprise me if the leshy considered Varro one of his charges and was taking him home for a proper sendoff.
"Was that a forest spirit?" Michelle's father asked.
She nodded. "That was Leshy Apalchen."
"He seems to have taken a shine to Michelle and Elron. All for the best, really; it's much nicer to live somewhere if the area likes you, and there's no ally like the environment," Landa interjected with forced cheer. Her ploy worked.
Michelle's mother agreed, and her father refrained from commenting.
Landa gave me an assessing look before continuing to shuffle all of us in the desired direction. "You need to rest. Back to the lodge."
I'd only made it a few steps when Nancy's voice stopped me. "You should come to Michelle's apartment. I'll take a look at you and see if there's anything I can do."
"Thank you." I turned around. "Anything you can do would be appreciated. The charm Michelle tried didn't do much."
"He wouldn't let me try a second charm," Michelle piped up.
"Which might've been the right choice." Nancy turned her attention back to me. "Let's go. I want to see what's under those bandages."
"Of course." I resumed my shuffle, carefully placing my feet to reduce the risk of stumbles, which would hurt in ways I didn't want to ponder.
Back in Michelle's apartment, Nancy had me lie on the sofa, naked above the hips.
"Werewolf?"
"Yes."
"Hmm."
As she poked and prodded, I tried not to make too much noise or scoot away. Not that I could move much, trapped as I was between her and the back of the sofa.
"Don't move," she said before placing a hand at each end of the wound.
My skin warmed before getting hot, as if someone was holding a flame on me. As the burn increased, the itching began. I caught my lip between my teeth and bit down, holding my breath as the sensation intensified. When I thought I would have to push her away or do something unforgivable, she stopped.
"There, that will speed things along." Nancy leaned back, brushing her hands together.
What had been deep cuts going into the muscle tissue were now thick scabs that had leveled the wounds with the undamaged skin on my chest. A week or more of healing had taken place in seconds.
"Thank you—that feels much better."
Nancy laughed. "The process is miserable, but it's worth it in cases like this. Be careful—you can still reopen those, but you should be able to move more easily and take a real shower."
I thanked her again. The last suggestion had real appeal. Last night Landa and Paxton had given me a sponge bath and washed my hair in
a bowl. If I had been any less wounded, the experience would've been humiliating. As it was, I had been grateful for the aid. I needed to think of a way to thank them, or at least Paxton, who was more of an acquaintance than friend but had willingly helped me in my time of need.
Michelle handed me a plate of finger food to enjoy whilst she had dinner with her family. I must have fallen asleep shortly after that because the next thing I knew it was morning and Michelle was poking me awake.
"Do you want to dispose of the ashes?"
Chapter 22: Michelle
Elron didn't look comfortable, but rearranging the seatbelt helped. The lap portion was fitted snugly, but the shoulder part was behind his back rather than running over his wound. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing, and I figured any cop who pulled us over for that would understand when they saw the partly healed claw marks.
Half the jars were stowed in a partitioned and padded bag that was resting behind my seat, and the rest of them were still at home. Varro had told me to spread the ashes over the water, but I wanted them over different bodies of water at different times, so I was saving the rest for my next trip to Ellijay. A different river ran through there, and I figured Wells would get some joy in dumping the last remains of the demon.
Elron was silent, but that didn't surprise me. After the past few days, I wasn't in a chatty mood either. The return of his memory, and his certainty that I was the one for him, puzzled me. After everything, I would've expected him to be in mourning for Sylvia, but other than being less talkative than usual, he didn't seem particularly upset.
I looked at him quickly before returning my attention to the road. Whatever he was thinking didn't show on his face. He'd spent every moment he could with me since the demon slaying, but he hadn't been chatty. With any other person, I'd say the behavior was creepy, but Elron was different. He was unwilling to engage in idle chatter and spent most of his time focusing on a wall or window, lost in thought.
Given the choice between this behavior and the days he'd spent sequestered after learning about the diary, I'd pick this. He wasn't the most enjoyable company, but he was giving me fewer reasons to worry about his health and well-being. That alone was worth the oddity of his behavior.
Maybe I'd feel better if Elron said something, anything, about Sylvia, but other than admitting to his returned memory, he'd kept quiet about his feelings. His mention of a date did give me hope that we could move past this and reclaim some of what we had before things got so complicated.
That was giving both of us a lot of credit I wasn't sure I deserved. There was something weird and wrong about dating a man after killing his wife. Then again, Gremory was the real root of the problem. He'd murdered the woman Elron loved the day he abducted her. Sylvia had never had a shot at a normal life after that. With the way things worked out, she'd died while killing Gremory. That was the way I had to think about it.
If I told myself that every day, maybe I could escape the guilt. It was the only rationalization that took her death from something horrible I'd done to something horrible that wasn't my fault.
I snorted as I turned off the road, ignoring the questioning look Elron sent in my direction. Sure, I could tell myself that, but it was my fault she'd burned alive. If I'd been smarter, stronger, or better, she would've been dead before the flames had engulfed her.
We crept down the dirt road as I tried to make the ride as smooth as it could be while we were dodging potholes. After ten minutes, we made it to a packed-dirt clearing that had a sign with an arrow pointing down a path. I didn't need to read it to know it directed us to the Etowah River.
It was the largest body of running water in the county and would do nicely for the ashes. Even if we'd somehow failed to destroy the demon, which was exceptionally doubtful since Julius assured me he'd seen the spirit die, this much water would prevent anything from using or coming out of those ashes.
Before I got out of the car, I stuck my purse under my seat and my keys in my pocket. After grabbing the bag of ashes out of the back seat, I helped Elron out of the car. Locking the vehicle was habit but unnecessary. We were alone out here.
The walk down the path was slow; Elron wasn't up to fast progress and needed to pick his steps carefully. Along the way, the trip changed for me. It was less of a chore and more of a commemoration. This would be Sylvia's funeral and an end to Gremory's involvement in my life.
When we got to the riverbank, I gave Elron the two large jars and kept the smaller ones for myself. He needed this more than I did; after all, she'd been his wife. He gave me a sober nod of thanks and set off downriver.
Taking the hint, I picked my way to an area that looked inviting. It was a lovely spot and ideal for our purposes. This was one of the nicer banks, sloping gently to meet the river, with more silt and pebbles than true mud. The few bushes didn't inhibit travel, and the view was beyond compare. Across the water, a hill rose up, with stately trees holding on to the last leaves of fall. The water was crystal clear; showing off the smooth stones a foot under the surface. The water tumbled gently over the rocks, creating little swirls, small rapids, and the beginnings of white water. From past experience, I knew it was icy cold.
The wind was gentle today, gliding through the trees and ruffling the hair that had escaped my braid. The knot in my heart eased. There wasn't a better spot to lay Sylvia to rest while continuing her mission.
I set one jar by my feet, held the other in my hand, and started unscrewing the lid. Sucking in a deep breath, I tried to find the right words. "I'm sorry."
The wind pushed my hair into my mouth, and I tucked it behind my ear before I continued. "That hardly seems adequate. I can't say I liked the parts of you I got to see, but I admired your strength and conviction. I'm sorry we met this way, and I'm sorry for the way I killed you. That was a horrible death that no one should endure. I didn't see another way, and that was my failing."
Tears were falling freely at this point, obscuring my vision and leaving wet streaks down my face. "Maybe if I'd had more time, been smarter, or tried harder, I could've found a way to spare you. But you didn't want to be spared, did you? Was this as much suicide as a way to kill Gremory? You're the only one with the answers to those questions.
"And that's not all I wanted to ask. Am I supposed to move forward, pretending I didn't commit murder for the sake of killing one of the greatest evils to roam the earth? How do I start a relationship with Elron after I killed you? You were his wife. How do I move past that?
"You gave him your blessing in the end. Did that extend to me? Does it matter? I see you dying when I close my eyes, and no amount of forgiveness on your part is going to change that. How can I love a man when I see that?"
I turned the jar upside down and shook the ashes into the water. My tears had turned to sobs, but it didn't slow me down. The second jar was in my hands, and my lack of vision was irrelevant.
"Can you tell me how to live with this? Can you forgive me? I need you to forgive me. I don't know how to forgive myself," I yelled as I dumped the second jar into the water.
My legs gave out, and I ended up on my butt with the dampness of the riverbank soaking through my pants, crying into my hands.
"One day at a time, until it hurts less. That is how you live with it. That would be how you live with anything you do not know how to manage." Elron's voice was rough but steady. "I can forgive you. Sylvia would not think there is anything to forgive."
He knelt down next to me and rested his cheek against the top of my head. "You regret the unchangeable, worry about the unavoidable, and show concern for the feelings of others. Neither Sylvia nor myself hold you responsible for the events of her life or death. If you cannot move past that, I will remain your friend, wishing I had not lost the chance to be more. If you can, I will be here for you, come dates at the garden or nights with the demon."
Sniffling, I scrubbed my face on my arm, leaving wet streaks and a glob of snot. "You said you needed time, and how can it be t
hat simple?"
"Age simplifies things. You did the right things in the best way you could at the time. The rough edges will fade. As for us, Sylvia and I were done years ago. Yes, we were still married, but you didn't kill her as much as you helped her kill her captor. She was collateral damage."
Elron sighed and kissed my forehead. "I do need time. I need to be sure I do not bring parts of the past into our relationship. Along with that, both of us need distance, a few weeks or so, between us and the harshness of reality before we can truly move forward. While we are getting that distance, we can work on our foundation."
"Oh." I sat there, the cold making my butt stiff and my brain trying desperately to process everything he'd said. "Are you sure she wouldn't blame me? That was a… horrible way to…"
"Sylvia changed during her captivity, but she was never petty, and she always believed in the greater good. She would not want you to be upset over anything that happened. Now, you are welcome to stay on the ground, but I need to stand." Elron squeezed my shoulders before moving to his feet.
I felt bad. He'd knelt down to comfort me even though that had to hurt. His wound hadn't healed enough to make those movements comfortable. I rubbed my eyes and got to my feet.
"Are you okay? You shouldn't have been kneeling like that." I scolded him, looking for signs of pain.
"I am fine."
Leaning down, I picked up the jars, capped them, and placed them in the bag with the jars he'd emptied. "Men always say that."
"You ruined your pants."
"What?" I stood up and glared at him. "Were you looking at my backside?"
"Irrelevant. You sat in mud." He smirked.
I twisted around, trying to get a good look. The first thing I noticed was a bright red-brown smudge. My eyes darted to the ground, where I saw an imprint of my rear end in a slick of Georgia clay. I groaned. Elron was right—the pants were toast.
Looking him over, I didn't see a single fleck of clay. "How did you manage to stay clean?"
A Witch's Trial (Witch's Path Series: Book 3) Page 23