No matter how many times I uttered the words—Thank you, thank you, thank you—it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
“Eleanor.” Joseph’s croaking voice cut into my brain. His hand lay weakly on my shoulder. His second hand moved to Oliver’s. “The Black Pullet . . . returns.” His head swiveled toward the pyramid.
I had forgotten the creature entirely. Again.
Eyes swollen, I strained to see. . . . Black scales—as thick as velvet in the graying dawn light—slunk over the sand. Several bone ibises continued to peck at it, but it barely seemed to notice. It simply moved toward us.
Toward me—for with the clappers, I was its master now.
“Stop,” I whispered.
It froze, yellow eyes shuttering. Then its breath huffed out. It spiraled in on itself and laid down.
The ibises continued their meek attacks.
“Sleep,” I ordered them. Then I turned my eyes to Joseph. Tears streaked through dirt and blood, and there was a hollowness in his gaze.
The pain of the living. The guilt of the survivors.
We would carry it with us forever.
“Come,” he murmured, shuffling toward the pyramid. Toward Jie. Toward Daniel.
Oliver and I followed, Allison’s cries for mercy howling after us. As we trekked on unsteady feet over the dunes, I paused only once. Beside the Black Pullet.
Its head was as long as I was tall. Yet it did not seem dangerous now. Its eyes brimmed with a sadness I understood.
I rested my left hand on its serpentine snout. “You were just a pawn,” I whispered, my words carried off with the wind. “I am sorry you were never given a choice.”
Then I resumed my stumbling journey to Daniel’s side. His head was still in Jie’s lap, and she still hunched beneath the obelisk.
But she was silent now. Stiff as stone. Empty as the rest of us.
Joseph fell to the earth beside her. I fell beside him . . . and Oliver beside me.
And together we wept on. For all we had fought.
For all we had given up.
And for all we were never meant to lose.
At the first rosy light of the wicked dawn, we burned my inventor’s body.
I looked into his face for the last time as he lay atop pine crates—a makeshift funeral pyre. The wind dusted sand over him, and as I brushed a final kiss over his waxy lips, flies buzzed on his chest.
Death was so coarse. So unforgiving.
I wanted to brand his face in my memory. I wanted to remember the shape of his hands, the lines of his jaw, and the sunny color of his hair.
But there was nothing left of Daniel in this corpse.
After Jie doused the crates in alcohol and Oliver found an ancient urn among the dunes, Joseph spoke.
He spoke of how he had met Daniel—in New Orleans. How he’d never seen a mind so sharp or a moral compass so true.
“All he ever wanted was a second chance,” Joseph whispered over the wind. “A chance at redemption. I pray he knows he had it. He redeemed himself a thousand times over.” Joseph scratched at his bandages, inhaling before he went on . . . but then his brow furrowed; his hand dropped; and he stared into Daniel’s face. “You gave too much in the end, Daniel. Too much.”
“Too much,” Jie repeated. Then she set fire to the wood and moved to Joseph’s side. As the flames licked up, they held each other. Just seeing the two of them without Daniel at their side was almost too much. . . .
I looked at Oliver. He stared at Daniel’s body with a horrified interest. It was as if he was seeing the future ahead of him—the future of all mortal souls. And he did not like what he saw of death.
I turned away.
I could not watch Daniel’s face eaten up by flames. I could not smell his flesh turn to ash. I could not look upon him as just another corpse.
I had seen too much death; I wanted to remember him alive.
So I left my friends to bear witness.
Yet as I summoned the Black Pullet to me and the poor serpent slithered my way, I saw Oliver turn his gaze east, to the rising sun. His brow wrinkled, his lips parted . . .
And a hint of wonderment gleamed in his hazel eyes. As if he did like what he saw of life.
“Come,” I mumbled to the Black Pullet, and we shambled to the obelisk.
A slash in my hand. By blood.
A bright granite sunbeam. By moonlit sun.
Though it was moonlit no longer, I dragged my palm down the obelisk . . . and crossed the spirit curtain.
I stepped wearily onto the dock. It looked as it always did. Truly timeless, truly disinterested in the world of mortals.
And before me, a long-legged ibis and a scruffy jackal awaited.
I took two steps toward them and flung all four clappers at their feet. Then I turned to go—ready to leave this world behind forever.
But as I twirled around, my gaze caught on the Black Pullet. Its golden eyes pulsed with fear. Its feathers shook. I ran a soothing hand over its wings.
And without thinking, I plucked a single golden feather.