There would be time enough for everything else.
Spain was lovely this time of year. Especially up in the hills, overlooking the rolling valleys and forested slopes. She made her way back to the sloping lawn, the quaint little two-story farmhouse coming into view. She went further, out to stand at the edge of the slope, looking over the broad valley, clear blue sky framing a gorgeous day.
She could’ve laid Zac to rest anywhere. Anywhere on four worlds—no one would deny her that—and the fact of that was humbling. How far have I come? At first her impulse was to bury him where he fell, where his ceremony was held, to mark that spot on that snowy field of battle, but that wasn’t where he would take his final rest. Of all possibilities, of all places that had meaning, this held the most. This was home. This farmhouse in Spain was the wonderful end to that magical day. Where they had their first and only “date”, a day of fun with no other distractions. Intimacy, laughter. She remembered the carnival and how hard they laughed on the rides. It was like she could easily carve out the horrible parts interspersed within, choosing to remember only the good. She recalled that wonderful dinner in the restaurant with no roof, just vines. Fresh croissants on the sidewalk of the little European café. The night at the club, where they danced. Followed by that tense night in the midst of pandemonium, then a day of passion, a few hours of heat amid those frenetic events. This, here, and she glanced back toward the old farmhouse—through the very window where it took place—was where they first made love. This was where she talked to him over dinner of running away, of leaving it all behind and making a life together. Never really believing it could work but so desperate to just be with him, forever and as long as they could, ready to do anything to make it happen, to live happily ever after.
She and Zac had many happy moments.
After a long time standing there, reflecting on the intensity of their time together, she turned and walked slowly back along the curve of the hill, along the edge of the slope to the furthest point on the property, directly above the paths leading down to the rows of old grape trellises, snaking down the sides of the hill toward the valley below. Nothing in her peripheral view, mountains rising across the other side of the forested gorge. It was a spectacular panorama and one that drove her thoughts to a higher plane.
Zac was gone. To where she could not know. Thoughts of that no longer troubled her. At last she had faith in the power of their bond. They would be together again, as he said. He was right in that. They’d found each other once, after a thousand years, and would do so again. Perhaps next time they would find peace. Time to be and to love, time to live, time to do all the things they hadn’t during this chaotic union.
She looked forward to that day.
In the meantime she had a son to raise. One who would have his own story to write, who might help bring that peace, who might lend himself to the forging of new worlds, where people could be free, where dreams had a chance, where all who wanted could become great.
She looked down.
Still too early for a baby bump. That day, though, was fast approaching. She laid a hand on her belly. Their son was in there, waiting.
Ready.
She had a feeling he would be every bit as strong as his Kazerai father. Haz was right, she could see that now. Their son would grow to become a great man. He would carry on Zac’s legacy, and hers.
For a moment the ache found its way back in.
Zac would’ve made such an amazing dad. With his wonderful temperament, his youth and enthusiasm, his good humor, his laughter, his bright-eyed take on the world … any child would’ve been lucky to have him. How cool to have a dad that could bend steel? Tireless. Patient. Loving. And as she imagined all the things Zac would never get to do with his son, the ball games, the bike rides, the building a fort, she brushed away tears.
Zac would miss his son’s birth. Miss holding him as he greeted the world. He would never hear his child’s first words. Never see him learn to walk. Never take a picture with him blowing out his first candle, never witness him smooshing his first birthday cake in chocolate-iced glee.
Never see him lift his mommy over his head, or leap his first tree.
She laughed, a bitter-sweet laugh and the tears fell.
Yes, their child would be strong.
She took a deep breath.
Zac was gone. It was real now. Zac was gone, yes, but conviction buoyed her. One day he would hear the story of their son. And she would tell it to him. Tell him everything; the laughter, the tears, the joy and the pain, the amazing achievements and how their son treated everyone he knew and how he grew strong, and great, and how he became an incredible young man and how the world loved him and the whole story of his life. Until then she would remember it for him. All of it. Until then she would enjoy those moments for them both. Though their son would never know his father, he would take after him. She could foresee that much. He would carry on his incredible legacy. Honor it. Extend it.
And just as she would one day tell Zac the tales of his son, she would tell their son the tales of his father. She couldn’t wait, in fact, to share those things. The stories of his dad, the things about him she loved so much, the things of which their son would, in turn, be proud.
With a sigh she looked down at her belly. Their son. She could almost feel his power. Knew he would likely exceed them both, in all ways. A powerful force. One who would be spoken of far into the future, a part of history when even she and Zac might long be forgotten. And as these feelings washed over her she smiled, with a purity, with a love that only a mother could have.
And decided to name him after his father.
Zac would be proud.
Star Angel: Prophecy Page 73