LOST

Stew sat on a log at the edge of the clearing, in thought, in meditation and in mourning. The rest of the group stood on the other side of the grove, giving him some privacy. He had never known love as he did with Alex. It extended out from his heart for an eternity in the future and an eternity into the past. He felt that even before Wiz told him about Astrid. He hadn’t prayed since he was a very small child. Perhaps that’s why he had felt lost for so long. Now, he figured setting himself on fire would probably be a good time for some spirituality.

“Lord,” he said, quiet and a little nervous as he hung his head, “I’m not sure where all this fits as far as religion goes, what the future holds or what any of this means. I don’t think I even want to know. But I do feel that, somehow, you had a hand in this. At least part of it. These new people that have come into my life… thank you, God, for sending them to me. They risked their lives to save mine. If I ever have the opportunity, I will do the same for them. I know I haven’t prayed in a long time, but if I can just ask one thing… please… take care of Alex. Thank you for letting her be a part of my life, even for the short time that she was. Amen.” He cleared his throat, successfully keeping himself from breaking down, but he could not hold back the tears. He looked up, not expecting an answer, but as a symbolic gesture of looking God in the eye, man to man… so to speak.

“Stew,” Wiz said, walking over to him. “Are you ready? We’re running out of daylight.”

“Yes,” he replied as he stood up. “I’m ready.” Stew walked over to the stone obelisk that had been a wooden stake so many years ago. It stood only a few inches taller than he and it was roughly eight inches thick. He turned around and stood with his back to it and shuddered with the thought that he was standing where Alex had died only moments ago.

Wiz gathered some wood and placed it around Stew’s feet. He bent down, but before setting flame to fuel, he looked up at Stew. “Remember when I said you would feel no pain?” After a nod from Stew, he looked back at Brandr and Tófa. He looked back up at Stew with regret in his eyes. “That’s not the whole truth.”

“It’s okay. I will find solace in experiencing what Alex did when she died. If anything can help me overcome my fear, this is it.” Stew was very calm, considering the circumstances, whether due to grief, acceptance of his fate or perhaps something else.

Fire jumped from Wiz’s palm into the dry wood, but the flame was immediately extinguished. With the force of a hurricane wind, Wiz was knocked on his backside. A sword was stuck in the ground, glistening in front of him. “What the hell is that?” Wiz asked.

“Why do I feel tingly all over?” Stew asked, looking down at his feet. “You didn’t light it yet?”

“Hold on.” Wiz slowly rose to his feet. “That’s the ritual sword. It disappeared when you…” His eyes grew wide with revelation.

Stew pulled it from the earth, brought the blade up to look at it and closed his other hand around it, then gently slid the edge of the blade across his palm. Once the sword hung, point down, by his side, he opened his hand to reveal his palm, devoid of blood. Not even so much as a paper cut.

Wiz stood, astonished at the sight. “All you had to do was come back and finish what you started. You already burned twelve hundred and fifty years ago. That was the hard part. You’re one of us, Stew.” The smile Wiz had on his face was the biggest he had had in a very long time. Stew, however, could not bring himself to return it, disappointed for not getting the opportunity to feel connected to Alex one last time.

Wiz felt snowflakes landing on his head and they came quicker the longer they stood there. “Perfect timing,” he said as he turned and walked toward Marie. “Looks like we don’t have to make a trip to the hospital after all.”

“What are you talking about?” Marie asked, baffled by Wiz’s nonsensical statement. “If I don’t get stitches, it’s going to make a huge, ugly scar.”

“Rain nymphs.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on,” he said, urging her out into the falling snow. “Do you trust me?”

“I’m not sure she does,” Regan told him as she sat on his shoulder.

“I trust that it’s snowing and we didn’t bring any winter clothes,” she replied as he pulled away her hand that held the makeshift bandage on her wounded shoulder. “What are you doing?” He removed the blood-soaked cloth and then stepped back. “What the hell? Snow is not going to take the place of—” She began to feel a tugging on the skin around the cut. She looked down at it and saw that some invisible force seemed to be stitching up the deep laceration in her shoulder. “Rain nymphs,” she said, remembering what Wiz had said before.

Wiz raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Uh-huh.”

“But it’s snowing. Not raining,” she said as she continued to watch the invisible medics work. “Yeah. They come out in the snow, too,” Wiz said. “It’s precipitation in general they’re drawn to… as long as there are maple trees close by. Don’t ask me why. I don’t understand it myself.” Marie nodded but her face was still distorted in confusion. Wiz walked back over to Stew. “Feel better, Brother?”

“Yeah. I’m just a bit… overwhelmed.”

“I can understand. We’ll go back home, get things straightened out and you can begin your training for fourth tier.” They started to walk back to join the others when Wiz reached in his satchel, hanging by his side. “I almost forgot. I want you to have this.” He handed Stew his journal. Stew took it, but was confused as to why Wiz was giving it to him. “I started it the day I bumped into you at the coffee shop in Salisbury. It helped me a lot. Maybe it can help you, too.”

Stew wanted to thank him, but couldn’t open his mouth through the tears that ran alongside the melting snowflakes down across his lips. He looked up, letting the snow gently tickle his cheek. “I never got the chance to tell her the truth,” Stew confessed to anyone who would receive it. “And I never told her that I love her.”

“Stew,” Regan said, flying inches from his face. He looked at her and noticed that her hair was dark magenta. “She knows that you love her. It was impossible not to notice.”

“Thanks, Regan.”

As they walked back through the woods to the road, Samal moved to where he could walk beside Stew. “It’s my fault,” he said, hanging his head. “I knew Mr. Raven was up to evil things. I should have stopped him while I had the chance.”

“Some of the blame falls on me, as well,” Wiz told him.

“Blaming ourselves is not going to bring Alex back,” Marie pointed out, saying what no one else could.

“You’re right,” Wiz said as they approached the fence separating the park from the street. “Talking about what we could have done differently is not going to change the past, only muddy the future. Let’s go to Øl Hus, have a drink and figure out where to go from there,” Wiz suggested. “Maybe there’s a shop open where we can get some dry clothes, too.”

The group of friends, old and new, walked down the road to Øl Hus, a tavern just a few blocks from the park, to put an end to a long, hard, emotionally draining day.