Worlds of Ash

Part 2 (Chapters 6-11)

Chapter Six

Though it had been his idea to speak only at that lake, Steven still wasn't able to say all that much there. A few hesitant hiccups, more of an apology than a true farewell, spilled past him as he haltingly made his way through a couple of, "Dad, I...I'm sorry...I," gasps that-somehow-he did manage to fit in between long swallows of air.

In the end, he finally just gave up and looked over at Rachel who gave him a quick hug before she added in her own words. She started with a story. Something Ash had never heard.

"The first time I met Henry," she said. But then she shrugged at Peter and at Ash. "Sorry, I mean the first time I met Poppa Henry, he told me there was a touch of magic upon me."

She laughed. Some sweet note of harmony that caused everyone to feel better.

"It's true." She stared at each of them, as if expecting a few mumbles of doubt. But no one said a thing. "Steven, you'd stepped away to talk to your mother, and he just came up. He said he was sure I had a touch of magic; it was a grace within my eyes. He even told me why that magic was there, and it was then that I heard the most amazing thing. The first time the wonder of Penthya ever reached my ears."

She went on, but Ash couldn't follow all of it. Each time her mother mentioned the tiny kingdom of Bayden-which was Penthya's neighbor and rested between it and the Northern Reaches-or when she spoke about the Marsh of Lumbrica and all the Wiggans who lived there, Ash lost herself in trying to remember if Poppa Henry had once said the same. Her mother may have created an amazing list of things which tied up Poppa Henry and Penthya perfect, but Ash truly did miss most of it.

But she could never miss the fact that she'd been wrong. It hadn't been her brother, it hadn't even been her father, or she herself. Instead, it had been her mother who'd said the right thing to send Poppa Henry off.

And, when her mother was finished, her father brought out an arm to pull her close. It was clear it was time, and everyone stood quiet. Together, he and her mother leaned forward, her father tilting the urn as the wind rose to help.

Ash watched as a swirling cloud of gray cascaded out into the world. It was taken in the air to dance for a while before it all came to settle near to the center of the lake. It was a beautiful moment. One Ash was glad everyone who had ever loved her Poppa Henry had been there to see.

Except not all of them had seen it. Peter was still looking at the other side of the lake, but Ash shrugged that off. It was his loss alone. If he was more interested in remaining obsessed about some weird figures, then she was sad for him, yet, really, there was nothing she could do.

Besides, no one could have been over there anyway. Also, even if they had been there they were obviously all a part of all that magic, and that happy, Ash really didn't want to think about anymore so why let them linger. What mattered was putting her grandfather to rest, and she was so glad she hadn't missed a second of it. If Peter didn't want to do the same, then she was sure it would in no way affect how the rest of her day would play out.

As Ash turned to leave, following her mother and father, who were already walking arm in arm away, her mother snugged tight into her father's side, Ash could even see-so clearly-how perfect the rest of the day would be. It would be more quiet introspection. It would also be a few more tears, and a lot of hugs, and though that had seemed oppressive back in the car, it now felt familiar enough to be fitting.

Nothing else could be said to eulogize Poppa Henry, but someone would try. On the ride home, or at their house, someone would clear their throat and begin to speak, and, soon, that would lead to laughs and smiles instead of heavy silences. Hours would be filled with how he'd once said that or how he'd once sighed after certain jokes, and Ash saw how that could be wonderful. Painful, yes, but with Poppa Henry put to rest, it was the only thing they could do.