by Ben Meeks
He leaned with an arm against the roof. “Hey, Farwell, good to see you again.”
Farwell looked Hank in the eye and rolled the window up without breaking his stare.
“He definitely doesn’t like us,” Hank said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. He was chatting my ear off before you showed up,” I said. “Did you bring everything?”
“In the van, come on.” Hank led me to the back of the van and opened it. Inside were stacks of blankets, some clothes, and bottles of water. “Want me to help you out?”
“Nah, I need to go alone. We will know if it works soon enough,” I said. “Before I forget, are you still having problems with those knockers?”
Hank put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Yeah, they burrowed passageways to just about every room in the clubhouse. I have to get them out of there soon.”
“I have a friend that could use some company. I think they would be a perfect fit,” I said. “I can swing by and pick them up tomorrow, if you don’t have any objections.”
“By all means,” he said. “I’ll have them ready to go.”
I grabbed a stack of blankets and headed down the trail about thirty feet to a clearing where I had arranged Petra’s statues in a semi-circle. After Petra disappeared the museum was glad to be rid of the statues. I think they freaked out more than the receptionist. Naylet was on the left, with the babies in the front, not unlike Petra had set it up at the museum. I put each baby in a blanket and draped one over every adult, except for Naylet, who still had her clothes from when she was turned. I pulled the pink bunny out of my pocket and put it in the blanket with Stephanie. Stepping back to survey the scene, I decided it looked as good as it was going to get.
“Thera,” I said to the open air, “I need to talk to you.”
I waited. The birds chirped, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, but no Thera. Calling her was a little unorthodox for sure. Normally she just popped in when she wanted something and that was that.
I had decided she wasn’t going to show, and opened my mouth to try again, when she spoke from behind me. “Why are you calling me, Obie?”
“I need your help,” I said.
She looked a little confused at my statement. “You aren’t injured.”
“I need your help with something,” I clarified. “I was talking to Walasi and he told me that you were life. I thought he was saying I should focus on my duties to you and he was right, but the more I thought about it, I realized that he was also speaking literally. You are the essence of life. These statues used to be living people. The demon that was attacking you attacked them as well. I called you here to ask you to put them back to normal, return them to life.”
“I can do this,” she said. “But why would I? We are surrounded by life already and it would take more to restore them than I would get from them.”
Thera was too removed to feel any kind of attachment or responsibility for a single life, or a small group of them for that matter. She was more of a big picture kind of gal. I knew a heartfelt plea about humanity and how everyone was special wouldn’t mean anything.
I said the only thing I could think of that might have a chance of working: “Because I’m asking you to.”
“What right do you have to ask me for anything, especially considering how we came to know each other?” she said.
She was referring to how I had gotten Cearbhall’s attention by summoning that demon when I was a boy.
“That was a long time ago. I’ve done a good job for you for well over three hundred years,” I said.
She scoffed. “Do you know how long three hundred years is for me? Imagine three hundred breaths and then convince me that I owe you something.”
“It’s not about you owing me something. You don’t owe me anything, I know that. They didn’t deserve this,” I said, waving a hand at the statues. “They are victims of that demon, the same as you. I’m asking you, not out of expectation or entitlement, but simply a desire to help them.”
“It won’t bring her back. Her mind is gone,” she said.
“I know.”
“And you would still want her restored, even if it means you could never be together again?”
I shrugged. “It’s not about me,”
“I’ll ask Cearbhall. If he agrees then I will restore them.”
She vanished from in front of me. Cearbhall was resting at the clubhouse. His wounds weren’t as serious as Holt’s. I didn’t expect Thera to get a second opinion. After smashing the soul stone on the bridge, could I really count on him to back me up on this? I waited, trying to figure out what the chances were that Cearbhall would support me. After a few minutes, Thera returned.
She looked past me to the statues. “I’ll need your help. I told you I have trouble with precision on this level.”
“What do you need me to do?” I asked, relieved.
“Put your hand on each one,” she said. “I can use that to focus on them.”
I went to Naylet and touched her face. It felt cold and gritty, no longer smooth and warm like I remembered. Thera raised her hands, making vines and brush grow rapidly to cover Naylet’s stone form. We repeated the process for each person. The vegetation engulfed the statues, forming cocoon like shapes that closed in tight around them. A light, pure and white, shone through the cracks as Thera’s magic went to work. When we finished with the last statue, I could start to hear muffled cries coming from inside some of the cocoons. I turned to see Naylet pulling her way free, looking confused and scared. I wanted to run over and help her, but when she saw me she ducked back behind the brush in fear. I knew I wouldn’t be the one to help her.
“Thank you,” I said to Thera, who had already vanished, before going back up the trail to where Farwell and the T.O. were waiting.
Hank met me on the trail when he saw me coming. “Well?”
“It worked. They are ready for you,” I said.
He waved to the rest of Tom C. that was standing around and they went down the trail to help everyone. Hank arranged for all of the adults to get the help they would need to have some kind of normal life again. The babies were returned to their families, since the lack of a memory wasn’t an issue for them.
“Thanks, Hank. I’ll be by tomorrow to get the knockers out of your hair,” I said.
“You’re not going to stay? You don’t want to talk to her?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’ve thought about it a lot and the thing is, she doesn’t know me. That’s not the Naylet I knew. She’s going to need some time to figure out who she is. I’m not going to drop a bomb on her like that. It wouldn’t be fair for me to be hanging around with these expectations.” “Anything she needs, have Adan put it on my account.”
“I will,” he said. “We’re going to take real good care of her.”
I gave Farwell a thumbs up. He was still in the car with the windows up with no sign of coming out. I got back in the truck and drove away. Maybe one day Naylet and I would end up back together. She would need time to figure herself out. It would happen if it was meant to, but in the meantime, I had work to do. I was going to be busy training Holt, dealing with the mess the Queen started, and that imp was still out there somewhere. He would show up again, and when he did, I would be ready.
T H E • E N D
Acknowledgements
First, I would like to thank all of my family, especially Ashley and Lily. They kept me going when I thought I would quit, and put up with the times when I was preoccupied with an idea, problem, or just trying to finish that chapter. Their encouragement and support made this possible.
Jaye Manus and Sam Hoy, my editors, whose attention to detail gave me confidence I needed in the finished book. I also need to thank a group of close friends who served as beta readers, were there to flesh out ideas with, and offer a helping hand. Thank you, Tucker, Andrea, Claire, and Sean. Also, my artist, Lauren, one of the most talented people I know.
Special than
ks to Maria (Mab) Morris. I’m lucky to have made such a good contact and friend in the writing community.
Last, I would like to thank you, the reader. This book has been a labor of love and I hope you found as much enjoyment reading it as I did writing it.
About the Author
Ben Meeks is a North Georgia native, and world traveler, who prides himself on using real world experiences to add realism to his fiction. He was a medal winner in a martial arts competition, been in a high-speed car chase, had a late night phone call from the Secret Service, who he hung up on, and been shot. When not writing about himself in the third person he is hard at work writing Contemporary Fantasy and Science Fiction.
You can connect with Ben on his website at www.authorbenmeeks.com or follow him on Instagram or Facebook, user authorbenmeeks.