The Fox (41 page)

She took my hand and said, “No, dear. The trip didn’t cause his illness. He’s been ill for several years. Actually, I think the trip to Scotland did him a world of good. He would have been lying here, just waiting, if he hadn’t gone. No one is to blame here. Death is a part of life. Mr. Weymouth wants you to know that what is happening is all by his choice. I am sort of a coach. I create a comfortable and peaceful death for those who ask me to help. He and I have been planning this for several days now. I have helped him create a place he feels secure in. And he has asked me to do certain things that help him feel like his work here is done.”

I wondered if that included saying goodbye to his friends. Why didn’t he call me?

“Aine,” Sarah whispered. “Come sit here.” She pushed a straight-backed, padded chair in line with George’s chest. I sat.

She reminded me of my mom. When she spoke, her golden hair brushed the tops of her shoulders and she leaned her head to the right. About sixty years of experience softened her kind face. She seemed to glow, even in the dim light of this room. George’s friend was an angel.

She leaned over George and gently tapped his shoulder. “George, Aine is here. And I am going to burn your memories now.”

His eyes fluttered; his eyelids looked translucent. When he opened them, it seemed his intense blue eyes were pale and unfocused.

“Do you need another pain patch?” Sarah asked.

“Mmm. No.” George’s eyes found me and a light seemed to come on inside. “I want to be clear. Those things are wondrous, but they take me away.” He looked at me, and I knew he was telling me he would stand the pain for a few minutes, for me.

“George. Do what is best for you. If you are in pain, treat it,” I said.

“Aine. I’m fine. I want to talk. How are you?”

“George. You are not fine! Why didn’t you tell me… or Marc? Does Marc know?”

“No. Marc doesn’t know.” His arm slid out from under the covers, and his hand lay palm up on his bed. I slipped mine into it. His skin was dry and papery, thin blue veins visible.

“Why is this happening? Why are you dying? I don’t think I can take this, George. I feel like my links with my past will all be gone. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, maybe I made a mistake there, Aine. But I really wanted you to concentrate on getting your life back. And why am I dying? It is my turn, Aine. We all do it, just in different ways.”

Sarah carried a stand topped with a bronze bowl to the other side of his bed. “I have the memory strips here, George. Aine, George and I have written some of his foremost memories on these strips of paper. Some are things he loved, and others are things he wishes to be forgiven for. Memories to release.” She laid a small bundle of strips of paper, tied in red thread, in the bottom of the bowl. She dropped a lit match into the bowl, and the paper ignited, flashed, and was gone. No smoke or flame. I was shocked.

“How did you do that?” I asked.

“We used flash paper. No danger of fire,” said Sarah.

Flash paper. A life gone that quickly.

“Sarah, thank you. I do feel better.” George turned his head on his satin pillow and faced me again. “What do you believe happens after death, Aine? Do you believe we go on, pass over to another side?”

“George, I don’t know what’s on the other side. I really want to believe we cross over and spend eternity with those we love and meet all those who came ahead of us. Or maybe even come back someday, ourselves. But right now, I’m trying to understand why you are here. I’m not ready for this. I want you around for many more years.”

“No. I am dying. I don’t want to, but I’ve no choice. The only choice I have left is to die the way I want to.” His arm waved around the room. “With ceremony.”

He laid his arm back on the bed, and I took hold of his hand again, determined to hold it as long as I could.

“We do everything we can to stay alive, but we haven’t found the eternal springs yet. So. We do what we can to make the situation better around us after we die. Do you think Donny planned on dying? Do you think he wanted to become a hero, a martyr? No. He would rather have lived to watch his kids grow. But life just didn’t give him that chance. He did what he could at that particular time. He saw the chance to save his buddies and did the best he could with his life.”

His other hand came out of its warm cocoon and rested on my cheek as he looked directly into my eyes.

“I am ready. I believe there is something else after death. I’m not a church-goer, as you know, but there’s another place to go. I know it. I’ve talked to Sophie. She comes to me now, and I’m ready to go to her.”

His hand fell from my face, and he grew restless. “Sarah, it’s time for another patch.”

She went to a table by the wall, entered something into a laptop and brought over a band-aid-looking patch. “This is morphine. He’ll sleep soon.” She further softened the lights in the room.

I remembered. Sarah told me to say goodbye. I pulled the labyrinth out of my pocket and gently laid it in the hand I was holding. “George. Here is your labyrinth. Meg said you love it.”

His eyes grew moist. “Thank you. I’ve been dreaming about this today. I’m so glad it is here. After, when I don’t need it anymore, I want you to have it. It brought me peace. I know it will help you.”

“Okay.” Now was the time to do what I was here for. “George, you know I love you. You’ve been so kind to my family and me. You took over for my dad in so many ways when he died. I’ll miss you, but I know you want to be with Sophie. Go be with her, George; leave the pain here and be with her. I will be fine. You have given me all the skills I need to survive, and now your labyrinth for strength.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek. When I straightened up his eyes were closed, his hand lying loosely in mine.

Sarah walked over to a tape player and turned it on. A voice came through the fog in my brain and I recognized it. Meg Smyth. Then, I understood what she was saying. She was reading some letters addressed to George. They were the love letters Sophie wrote to him while he was gone on his many projects. She couldn’t go along, she was teaching, but they kept their love alive through these letters. Meg’s voice wavered and hesitated often as she read them. I realized the sacrifice it took for her to do this. Meg loved George. She was sending her love to him for the last time by reading these letters to him. No wonder she couldn’t be here.

Time seemed to stand still and rush by. George’s hand was still in mine. Sarah brought me strong tea and buttered toast. I’d not eaten all day and was grateful. It was about midnight when George turned slightly to his left and whispered, “Sophie. Sophie.” I looked and couldn’t see anything. Was she really there? Could he see her?

Sarah took his other hand in hers and softly chanted, “Go George. Go with Sophie. You have been released George. Go with Sophie.”

“Go with Sophie, George,” I said. “I’ll be okay. I’ll find myself. Be at peace.”

George sighed and stopped breathing.

After sitting with him for a few moments, I went to the brightly lighted lobby. No one was sitting in the chair behind the desk. I called Meg on my mobile and told her. She sobbed and hung up.

After a minute more in the glaring lights, I went to the chapel.
Oh God, I hope there’s more. Another side. I have people I want to see again. My mom, my dad, my brother, and now George.
There was one more call to make. I dialed.

I heard a sleepy “Hello?” and then I cried out, “Marc! George is gone. He just died. I was with him. Oh, Marc. I need you!” I sobbed. “Please come to London.”

“Aine? Oh, gods above. I’ll be there as soon as I can. You’ll be all right, honey. I’m coming.”

C
HAPTER
23

JAHNA

82 AD April

Firtha walked to a waist high stone, picked up a goblet with her free hand, raising it so all could see. The flames of the fire reflected off it as a golden halo. I thought I saw it vibrate in Firtha’s hand.

“In this cup, I have water from the sacred stream. It will give strength to the one who will sacrifice his all, his soul to the gods. The one who drinks from it will carry our plea to the gods. That person will be resurrected in the gods’ presence.” She walked back to our small circle, goblet still held above her head.

“One of you will speak to the gods with our voices.” With her statement, our eyes searched each other, waiting for the other one to say, “I am the one. I want to die for our people!” But no one spoke.

“We all must be ready to give one life,” she said, “to keep the blood of our people from being lost for all time.” Rhona’s words rushed back into my head. I remembered her story about the boy who was sacrificed to save her life and continue her family line.

“The Goddess Scotia has demanded one earthly life for all. One life for our king and his people, our families. She has given me dreams of difficult battles and seemingly impossible times ahead, however she has also shown me that we will triumph in the end. But she grows annoyed. We have stopped following the ancient ways and we must act soon if we are to have the goddess’s help. She wants a human sacrifice - one who talks to the gods from this side. I vow the one who dies will live on in our songs and memories, this life will not be lost to time. This sacrifice will live through the ages. Scotia has spoken to me and promised me this.

“I have seen the chosen one in my visions.” She stopped behind and between Moroug and Coira. They held hands and stared into each other’s eyes. I imagined they were saying to each other, “If it is me, I will not go without you.”

“It is not either of you,” Firtha said, keeping the goblet high. “You would not be able to deliver our message alone.” She moved on to Rosston and Uilleam. Rosston smiled and looked up at her. Did he know what she was asking? Maybe not, he was so young. I doubted he had even seen a sacrifice in his village. Slaves taken in battle were traded, not sacrificed for many years.

Uilleam knew. I could see him start to curl up into himself, trying to make himself as small as a mouse and skitter away unseen.

She rested her staff against her shoulder as she stroked Rosston’s cheek and said, “The gods do not want an innocent. One who knows nothing and cannot tell them stories of our world. You have not even begun to scrape the hair off your face, it seems. You do not know enough.”

She turned and looked at Uilleam and said, “The one who goes must be brave. It must be a person who will not cower in front of Bel and Morrigna. You would try to find a place under their table, not in front of it.” His shoulders dropped a fraction, as if in disappointment, but I watched the fear release from his eyes.

How could we just sit there, accept her insults, and then permit her to choose one of us? Did not the others understand what was happening? I grabbed Lovern’s arm and tried to get him to look at me. I wanted to stand and shout, wait! You are asking us to leave our life here! You are asking us for the ultimate self, our souls. How can you so be cruel?

Then, as if a shaft of light fell on me, I understood. We shall lose our families, our way of life here if we do not win the battle with the Romans. All the way to this fort, we talked about the best way to get the ears, the attention, of the gods. How better than to stand in front of them and ask for their blessings? How better to save Crisi? Am I not ready to give my life for hers? Firtha must have the perfect messenger. “Yes!” I tried to say it under my breath, but both Lovern and Rhona looked my way. They gave me a nod of understanding. They had come to this conclusion long before me.

Nathraichean stood and reached for the cup. “I will give my life in this way. I am ready to speak with the gods.”

“Ah, Wolf. I agree you are ready. But you will have to wait. I need you here, in my band. We will protect the king, and I need your life force with us during his battles. You carry the animals of the forest within you, and the voice of the wolves will rise, howling above the din of battle.” He stepped back, a look of contentment on his face. He may not be the one chosen for this deed, but he knew his value was understood.

“Rhona,” Firtha turned and said, “your knowledge and calmness will be needed in the coming days. Your life experiences and being a seer will be invaluable to the king and me. You will also stay here.”

Rhona stood, took Firtha’s hand, and said, “Yes, I have seen this, too. I know what comes to pass is necessary.” Then Rhona sat down facing me.

It was to be me. Rhona was sitting in front of me to acknowledge that I was the chosen one. Breathing rapidly, I closed my eyes, fingered my labyrinth bag, and calmed myself. I was ready to reach for the cup when Firtha stepped behind Lovern. I stood and tried to reach the goblet.

“I will take the cup,” I said. “I am the one who already talks to the gods. I help the dying cross the river of death, and have seen people from the other side. I know of the path to the gods. I have had visions since I was a child. I am the chosen one. I am the one to go.”

Rhona, standing now, gently guided my hand away from the cup. I looked at her in confusion. Why was she doing this? It was so right for the chosen one to be me. I was ill and would cross Death’s river soon. Lovern would stay and take care of Crisi. She would need a strong protector. Why wouldn’t Rhona give me my hand back?