But now, having seen her with Austrum, he wasn’t sure he could ask her anything. He wasn’t sure he could even speak to her without finding a way to turn it into an attack. All he could think about—when not dwelling on his guilt for Farshaun’s death—was how much he wished that Austrum had never come into their lives and how badly he wanted Mirai back again, whatever the nature of the accommodation they might be able to find, so long as it didn’t include the big Rover.
But he might as well have wished for time to move backward for all the good it was going to do him. All he had the right to hope for now was a reasonable end to his efforts to save Redden. If he could manage that much, he would have gotten all he was entitled to.
So when the Quickening set down toward sunset, descending to a broad meadow of tall grasses and wildflowers cupped in the valley of a series of massive peaks, high above sea level and well hidden from everything that couldn’t fly, he turned his attention to doing what he had promised both Skint and himself he would do. With the entire company in tow, he left the airship and walked with the big Troll down into the meadow and laid Farshaun Req in his final resting place. The air was sweet and unexpectedly warm; the meadow seemed to be encapsulated in its own climate zone. Birds wheeled overhead and butterflies and bees zipped about through the wildflowers and grasses, oblivious to what those gathered were doing. Farshaun was lowered into the earth still wrapped in the sheeting, a stone marker was set in place at the head of his grave, and Railing stepped forward.
“I’ve never known a better man,” he said, his voice resonating loud and clear in the stillness of the moment. It echoed off the peaks, sounding eerily distant and disconnected. “He was admired by everyone who knew him. He was my friend, and he understood my dream of flying airships and taught me most of what I know. He taught Mirai and my brother, Redden, too. We all loved him, and we will miss him terribly. I wish we had been able to keep him with us a little longer. I wish I had never agreed to let him come on this journey.”
He paused, steadying himself. “But Farshaun was never someone who let others dictate his choices, and I don’t expect I could have done so here. I take comfort in knowing he died in the place he loved most—in the air, aboard an airship, with airmen he admired and the world at his feet. I imagine he is flying somewhere now, off in the blue, off on another journey. I can’t imagine him doing anything else. I will always think of him this way.”
He stepped back, shaking his head, fighting the tears, drained of words and emotional strength. He stood with his head bowed as the Rovers sang a short, traditional song that was meant to speed the dead on their way to a place of safety and peace and to help the living let them go. Challa Nand closed the proceedings with a pronouncement calling on the forces of nature that inhabited and protected the mountains to take notice of their loss, and include their friend.
Then it was back to the airship, the light failing quickly now, though the air remained warm. Night was coming on, darkness speeding its way out of the east in lengthening shadows and a dimming of the skies, the winged herald of day’s end. Railing trudged back to the airship with the others, walking close to Skint. He was vaguely aware of Mirai walking with Austrum, but he refused to look at her, not wanting to be troubled by their body language or wonder at the nature of their words. He was suddenly exhausted, and felt like he could sleep for a week.
“That was well said back there,” Skint observed, dropping back to walk beside him. “I was right about you and the old Rover; you and he did have a strong connection.”
Railing gave a desultory nod. “Well, it’s gone now.”
The Gnome Tracker snorted. “Oh, I don’t think so. Such things survive death. They live on in the hearts of the living. They help keep the dead from being forgotten. Didn’t you know that?”
He moved away. Railing walked on for another few moments, and then he stopped where he was. He watched the others move ahead of him, so despairing that he no longer wanted to keep their company. Instead, he turned around and started back toward the grave site.
“What are you doing?” Woostra asked as he passed him.
“Just spending a little more time with Farshaun,” he answered, not bothering to slow. “I want to be alone with him. I’ll be along.”
Woostra grunted something, but by then Railing was too far away to hear it. He breathed in the unexpectedly warm air and smelled the meadow flowers and wished for things he couldn’t have. He glanced at the darkening sky, but didn’t mind that the light was going. He preferred it dark. He wanted to disappear.