The Blade and The Bird

Chapter 3

Sidra knew there was one thing she needed to do before looking for that book. Sidra leaned forward and gently closed her grandmother's eyes before she stood up and went to find a shovel. Out behind the house stood an oak tree. It's roots dug into the ground, cracking the earth around them, and the night breeze gently rocked the branches of the tree. It was her grandmother's favorite, it stood in direct view of the kitchen window, and she had seen her grandmother admire the strong branches in the kitchen.

It was the spot.

Sidra was soaked through when she was done digging into the earth. It had taken several hours, but the constant relentless drizzle was familiar as she worked, so she didn't mind. The wetness and the cold didn't compare to the grief she was feeling deep in her heart.

It took well over an hour for Sidra to get her grandmother out to the grave she had dug. Sidra was breathing heavily and covered in sweat as she placed her grandmother into the earth. A limp body is awkward, heavy, and hard to maneuver. Especially for one person. She'd wrapped her grandmother in a blanket but that hadn't made her any easier to carry. One of her grandmother's arms had flopped out of the blanket as Sidra had carried her and she noticed once her grandmother was nestled into the Earth. She leaned down and tucked her arm back into the blanket before she climbed out of the hole.

"One last thing, Grams," she said as she looked down into the earth. She walked back into the house behind her and brought the lantern into her grandmother's kitchen. This was the place she belonged, she didn't belong in the ground. She looked at the herbs her grandmother had, in their little jars along the wall of the kitchen, and hoped the one she was looking for wasn't scattered on the ground. She found it on the far right, a little labeled jar that sat there looking almost forgotten. She grabbed it and held it tightly in her hand as she walked back out to the spot beside the massive oak tree.

"Sprigs of Rosemary," she said when she returned, "for your memory, for our happy memories as a family, and for how much love you brought us. You taught me about it." Sidra gently tossed the rosemary on top of the blanket she had wrapped her grandmother in. Then, with a sigh, Sidra grabbed the shovel and began to fill the grave with dirt.

When she finished she felt like she should be crying by now but no tears came. It was just that sharp ache in her heart. She sat there beneath the oak tree, looking at the spot where her grandmother was, and let the grief wash over her. When she saw the sun rising, she knew she had to find that book her grandmother had spent her dying breath to try and tell her about.

**

Sidra cursed as she dug through another pile of books. Where was the book her grandmother was talking about? Each minute that passed the further away Selene could be. She thought about her sister, alone and scared, just a kid who wanted to read all the books in the world, and she fought back the knot in her throat at the thought.

She'd looked through her and her grandmother's room first, looking at all the titles. Looking for what book she could have possibly meant. Sidra knew many of the titles already, and they didn't seem as important as what Grams had taken the time to tell her with her dying breath. She tried not to look at the stains on the floor as she dug through the room. She'd taken the man out as well, burned him outside, but she felt uncomfortable looking at the trail of blood where she'd dragged him out.

She looked through Selene's room next, most of the books were the little stolen handhelds that Sidra brought home for her from the market. She got up with a sigh and went to look through the mess in the living room. Whoever had been here before had dug through everything in the small house. All of the books were thrown about, beds and couches and blankets were thrown around. They'd broken pictures, thrown around pots, it was depressing for Sidra to look at. She was exhausted, having spent the night taking care of her grandmother's body, but Sidra didn't think she'd ever feel comfortable enough to sleep in this home again.