The fact that she worries almost makes it all worthwhile.
Almost, but not quite. Almost, because for all their efforts - all their impossible trials through time and space - it had been for naught in the end.
It’s not the entire truth, of course. The adventure itself has played out again in his dreams, almost as often as the langoliers appear in his nightmares. It’s terribly thrilling to relive the splendor and terror in equal amounts. In the moments of sleep, it feels like every step can be his last. He can feel the tar pit sucking at his feet. His heart pounds as Oorn, the giant mollusk, pulls him free with its tentacles. He’s free but he’s moved ever closer to its devastating mouth. It clanks and chitters menacingly; saliva curls and drips from the corners of its lips… He sees the alien sky, though, too. Just before Oorn clamps down, his eyes trace the galaxies and star trails far above. It’s mesmerizing, and as the shelled behemoth yodels its victory, he watches the light play across dying world, almost oblivious. He wakes with his heart pounding and muscles tensed to escape. These nights are manageable, though. The ground feels and smells like the Dale, and he always knows he’s been dreaming. Unlike the end of the world and the langoliers. When he dreams of them, they seem to follow him into consciousness. When he is awake, they are still there, clanging in the corners of his mind.
He’s grown because of it, too. He’s also grown independent of it – his coat has peppered, more gray than black, he’s filled out and muscled – but this doesn’t matter as much. What he’s learned about himself and others (about the vanities of the magical and the hidden strength of the forgotten, too) has given value to his quest. It wasn’t a total failure. Despite only moving the black anchor part of the way home, but not all the way, they had succeeded in some small way. He thinks Gail knows this and doesn’t resent them for it. He hopes she can see that her loss (of her proper place amongst Beqanna’s living) has been a gift split six ways.
Ramiel’s thankful to be a part of the whole, even if he’s still learning his place and purpose in it.
“Wrynn is well,” he says in response to her worry, hoping to assuage some of it. “She’s rather taken with the young spirits who sent her back. She tries to give them a glimpse of the Other Side for their benefit.” The young stallion smiles at the thought, proud to relay the news to Gail. This symbiotic relationship between the dead and living is new for all of them, and he’s glad the bay girl has forged her own path. “I’ve not met with the others yet, but I will.”
Graveling’s eyes bore into him the entire time he is addressing Gail. It might have disturbed others to have the unflinching gaze of a dead girl focused on them, but not to the boy-who-became-a-ghost. His golden eyes, like diluted honey in this form, simply mirror her curiosity. What is he? He thinks he knows, thinks the answer is easy. But he’s learned that nothing is easy in this lifetime, no response fully explains every nuance and oddity that his new-self possesses. He wants to tell Graveling that he is a ghost, but he doesn’t, because he often isn’t one. “I wish I knew, exactly. I am alive most of the time, back in Beqanna. But I can become like you and Gail, a spirit, whenever I need to.” He disappears then, slowly blinking out of existence. It’s as good of an explanation as any for the young girl (he doesn’t know that she’s lived longer than him, stuck like Gail in a different medium). He comes back quickly but not all the way, finding that he is unable to. They can still see through him to the beach beyond.
The older woman speaks again and he turns back to her. It’s clear from her tone that he’s found the right question to ask. It’s obvious that she’s been waiting for their return, that she does have a request burning in the back of her brain. He waits, receptive to whatever she will ask. Of course he will do it, and try not to fail this time. When she gives a voice to her thoughts, though, it is his turn to worry. Wrynn told him there are rules, and though he’d been bitter and angry over it at the time, he’s come to accept that she’s right. The dead belong here, their sanctuary by the shore. He doesn’t believe it will work to bring Graveling back to the Other Side. But who is he if he doesn’t try? “If you think it’s possible and that’s what she wants, I will take her back.” He looks at the girl, because it is her decision as much as it is theirs’ – more so, even. “Graveling, will you accompany me to Beqanna?” Ramiel smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. What will Gail do when she’s gone? Who will keep the iron in her eyes and sustain her spirit? Her worry will become his when he thinks about her alone in the afterlife.
r a m i e l
what a day to begin again