And the Trees Crept In(71)

“Soul death,” I murmur, remembering how my father’s voice tried to lure me in.

“I went from being an old man, barely able to walk, to the young man I was when I lost everything—when I lost you.”

I stare at him, processing this news. “You… were an old man?” A deep and powerful affection settles comfortably inside me. “I wish I could have seen that.”

“Oh, I was crotchety,” he says, and grins. “By the end, all I did was sit in my chair and drink tea. Waiting.”

“Waiting?”

He smiles sadly. “I was just waiting to die. Hoping there was something more after. Hoping I would be with you again.”

I touch his face, trying to imagine it. “Ninety-two…” I pause. “I was in that place… living that hell… for seventy-four years?”

He nods, and I see it. I see in his eyes the life he has lived. The memory of him is similar but I can tell. It’s in the eyes. His eyes, right now, are ancient eyes, full of scars and memories and hurts. Wisdom, experience, and age. He is him, but more.

And I kiss him.

Gowan. My Gowan.

“You were out there, living. The whole time. Did you marry a girl? Did you have a family? Did the war happen?”

His smile is sad, and I know the answers before he tells me.

“No family. There was no one after you. There was just an endless life. Empty. Long. Survival. And, yes. I’m sad to say that the war did come, as people said it would. It was a terrible time. Many died. It was senseless. I signed up to fight and I survived five years as a soldier. I was almost glad, at times, that you weren’t there to suffer through it. I had no idea, of course, that you were trapped, suffering just as much as I was.”

“We were together in that, then, I suppose.”

He nods, and we stare out at the mountains. Nori and Cath are specks in the distance, shining under the sun.

“Such a waste,” I whisper. Our lives, both gone before we could really be happy. “I need you to show me something.”

He closes his eyes; he knows what I want. “I can’t.”

“I know it will be difficult. All of this has been… more than difficult. But… I have to see what happened when you found us.”

Gowan’s face is a waterfall in slow motion.

“But… why?”

“I need to face it. The… after.”

“It was… a dark experience, Sill. The most difficult thing I have ever…” His calm is gone. “Please. Let yourself be free.”

I smile. “I already am. But you’re not. Show me this last piece. Let me free you from it.”

The tension in his spirit is made suddenly and brilliantly visible. It hangs like a shadow—a heavy shadow, clinging to his shoulders and hanging down his back. A cloak of pain.

“Please… don’t make me. Don’t make me do this.”

I gather him to me. “Please.” It is a whisper. A word I said too often in my life. And in my purgatory. It is a plea. “Show me. I need this. And you do, too.”

He doesn’t answer, but the world around us shifts and changes.





A Story


Gowan Returns


The sun shines through windows that are no longer grown-over with seventy-four years of vines. The door bursts open. Silla watches as Gowan, so young, so mortal, bursts in, stumbling with the momentum.

“Sill?”

Breathless,

sigh…

the silence hits him.

“… Silla…”

He runs,

rushes,

up the stairs,

stumbling,

almost as though

“… please…”

he knows

“… no…”

what he is going

“—Silla—”

to find.


The room is dark, but he can smell… the rot. The death. The emptiness is horrifying.

He s

t

a

g

g

e

r

s

falls

to his knees.

“Silla—”

Chokes on her name.

Retches.

Vomits.

Screams.

“SILLA!”

He rushes

SillaSillaSillaSillaSilla—

to the bed

Nonononononononono—

falls upon her.

Gathers her into his arms, even though something is

dripping

from her hair.

He shakes her. Slaps her. Cries her name. Begs her to undo her demise.

Nori, so small, lies in the bed, still and gray. A husk, sunken eyes, not Nori anymore.

He hugs Silla for a long time, even though there are maggots and she is stiff and the smell…

He strokes her hair, his lips close to her ear. “Please. Silla.” He tenses, every sinew straining against the roaring pain of her loss. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

And he bares his teeth because there is nothing else he can do; the pain is ripping inside.

“I promise you,” he says, whispering low, echoing words from long ago, “I will love you forever.” His head falls onto her corpse. “Every night. I’ll be saving you in my dreams every night.”