As A Stranger Or A Friend?: The Swallow And The Drowned Sailor

Fay - 9 Sun's Dawn, 1246 A.D.

"Hello, my dear." I heard Alma's soft voice say from behind me.

I turned to look at her from my place near the window, finding her gaze was as earnest and loving as it had ever been.

At least I haven't forgotten that.

"Hello, Alma." I croaked out in a pathetic response.

My voice was hardly more than a whisper after not being used for some time. Though I shouldn't say it so vaguely, I knew exactly how much time had passed. It would be five days as of this evening. Just five short days ago, my world had been pulverized to nothing. And I didn't even know how or why. I could remember nothing about that night. All I could recall was Wilkes and I talking about boom chains, and then I woke up on the deck of Fostra's ketch. The time in between was just...gone. It was not unlike me to be missing blocks of time from my mind; I'd been struck in the head enough times for something like memory loss to be routine, but it was not usually this severe. It was as if a wall had been erected in my mind to obscure whatever truly happened.

She approached and sat beside me, gently wrapping her arms and a woolen shawl around my shoulders. "How are you?"

"Alive. I think."

"Why don't you have a bath, my dear?"

I shoved her off me weakly. "I don't want one."

"Are you hungry? Perhaps having something to eat—"

"No."

I knew she meant well, but I didn't want anything. I didn't want to see anyone. I didn't want to talk. I just wanted to remember!

"My son is worried about you. Consumed with it, my dear." She said quietly.

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Don't talk about him."

It was quiet again, but she didn't leave. She simply sat there, looking out at the sea with me. Were she anyone else, I would have already screamed at them and sent them away, but I couldn't do that to her; she was too special. But her words gave me pause. If Wilkes was so worried, why would he not tell me what happened? He'd told me it was a surprise attack by the Pale Navy and that we'd narrowly escaped as the roof above our heads collapsed. It was then, he said, that they struck us with such overwhelming force that the rest of our settlement was pounded to dust. But somewhere deep down, I felt like that was a lie.

He'd not told me what happened to the Mirage nor given any explanation as to how we all came to arrive on Fostra's ketch or even how we were able to leave undetected. If the Pale Navy had indeed attacked us with the intent of destroying everything, why did they let us get away? They had to know that leaving Wilkes and I alive would be a mistake. He'd also not elaborated on how many ships were involved in the attack or any other details about why so few of us were alive. Would we not have searched for survivors? And why did everyone but him not remember what happened? And where was my wedding ring? He said it must have slipped off in the shuffle, but that didn't make any sense. It had never been a loose fit. And why didn't he stay here with me? Why didn't he talk to me? Nothing made sense...

"Perhaps it is not the same, but I know what it is like to lose my home. When we adopted our sweet, nameless boy, it was difficult at the start for all of us, but we only got through it because we leaned on one another for support. The world is already such a lonely place, my dear, don't close yourself off from it further." She implored softly.

I shut my eyes and felt my chin begin to quiver. "Mama, it hurts..."

"Yes, I know, my dear. I know." She pulled me closer so that I could lean into her.

With that gesture, my grief finally split me open, and I clung to her, weeping loudly.

"Cry, my dear, for you have been hurt." She held me tighter and kissed my head.

How many times had she spoken those words to me? More than I could count. My life had always been a tragedy, so these intense feelings of grief and pain were not new. But I would not take whatever happened lying down. Whenever my memory returned, I would suture myself together, as I always did, and settle something far more gruesome upon the shoulders of those who sought to crush me. I would sing that deadly song, decorate my head with a crown crafted from the knuckles of their spines, and bathe in their blood. Yes. Then, and only then, would all be right again.