“The stone is white,” Beana had said, “but you hardly see that for the brightness that shines upon it. A silver lantern of delicate work older than you can imagine. And within that lantern shines a wonder. Like a star, yet unlike as well.”
Rose Red gazed at the lantern that sat, as her goat had told her, atop the marker. It was like a small, brilliant star she could hold in her hands. But the light was warmer than starlight, like a home fire upon a hearth for comfort, though of purer quality. A white light but full of colors like the sunset, just like Leo had once told her in his story long ago.
She could feel the Dragon trying to draw her back. His impotency in his own realm infuriated him, and the heat of that fury reached her even here, where he could not come. She approached the light, her ears stopped to his voice, alone on that empty plain save for the lantern and the grave.
The wind blew again, and it was cold. This she did not mind. She knelt at the grave. The letters in the stone were elegantly carved and foreign, and she doubted that she would have been able to read the writing even had she been taught as a child. They looked nothing like Southlands writing, but like something much, much older.
Suddenly, to her surprise, the markings on the stone shifted. As though dancing, they lifted and moved across the stone. They became images, like paintings come to life, yet not paintings either. Moods and expressions springing right into her head.
She read and understood.
Beyond the Final Water falling,
The Songs of Spheres recalling.
While you walk the Path to Death’s own throne,
You will walk with me.
The wood thrush, her Imaginary Friend, sat on the handle of the lantern. You know my song, he sang, and she understood his words the same way she understood the strange writing. The music of his voice pierced her heart.
It has been with you from the time you were a babe. Falling from the sky, ringing through the mountains. Your father hummed it as he worked, and the trees surrounded you with their chorus. All sang my song to you.
Rose Red swallowed. Her own voice when she spoke was nothing but dirt and clay. “You still left me alone.”
You are not alone, my child.
“You’re no better than the Dragon,” she said, standing and stepping away from the stone, from the lantern, from the bird. “You want me for yourself.”
I want you for yourself. I want you to be everything you were intended to be before the worlds were formed. Everything this death-in-life has prevented you from becoming.
“You sound like the Dragon. He calls me a princess.”
I call you my child.
She shook her head at him. “Both of you want something from me.”
Yes, sang he. We both want your love, your loyalty. And you cannot give it to both of us.
“What if I don’t want to give it at all?”
The bird’s voice became sad, a trill of notes that might have broken her heart had she not set herself against him. But he replied, I will never take something from you that you do not wish to give.
She did not answer. She thought of the Dragon and his demands, and she shuddered. “I’m afraid of you,” she whispered. “I’m afraid of giving you—or him—anything! What will be left of me if I do?”
Give me nothing, then, said the bird. I will love you even so, though you break my heart.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know if I can believe you.”
You may, said he. Will you accept a gift?
Rose Red did not answer.
This Path you walk is perilous, and Death waits at its end. Those without hope will not survive. So please, my child, take this lantern. Take Asha in your hand and hold on to its light.
The light was so warm, so full of comfort. Rose Red remembered Beana’s words: “The folks who see the lantern, they take it with them as they walk the path. And the light guides them through the darkness, keeping at bay all the terrors of the Netherworld.”
As long as you carry Asha, sang the bird, no monster of this realm may harm you. It is my gift, my protection.
Hesitantly, she put out a hand. The bird spread his wings and flew from the handle even as her gloved fingers closed around it. It is my protection, he sang once more even as she lifted the light from the gravestone.
It remained in place. Simultaneously, it came away in her hand.
There were two lanterns now, only not really. Rather, the lantern remained unbound by time, so it was at once both in her hand and upon the stone. Either way, it was where it belonged.
Her Imaginary Friend was gone. But somehow, Rose Red no longer felt alone.