Grandpa was fading fast.Melisara couldn’t imagine a future without Grandpa in it. He’d been a part of her life for so long—all her life, in fact—that’s how grandparents work, you know? Although at times like this, Sara wondered how her classmates would feel. Someday, they’d learn all about parents and grandparents and a family. So many orphans, so many people without family…
Sara felt like she was about to join them, even though most of her family was still here. Ziz and Dad were still here, and so were both of Sara’s brothers, and Sara’s cousins were all alive, and so where all of Sara’s aunts, uncles, and auncles. So why did she feel like her family was dying off?
Well, in a word, Grandpa. He was a veteran of the Fifty Years war, having fought in the last decade of it against Above, and having raised his family in the aftermath. His words were rough, colored as a soldier’s tended to be, and full of rants against his old enemies and his ancestors’ old enemies. As a child looking forward to going to a cosmopolitan boarding school when she grew up, Sara had been embarrassed by Grandpa. She’d been mortified that someone might know that she was related to him, that one of her relatives was a bigot and a racist, and had killed people with his own hands. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know about him, even as she took care of him every day and kept him company.
Sara had never hated herself before, but she did now. She hated how she had wasted that time with Grandpa, hated how she’d been ashamed of him—sure, he was old-fashioned, and he said hateful things about nice people, but he was still her grandfather, and he had so many wonderful qualities—good stories, good advice, strong hands, and boundless love for his family. She’d never known a more generous man, one who had been so strict on hospitality and so precise in paying his debts. If Sara could be half like her grandfather and half like her zither, then she’d be the best person she could possibly be.
Sara stroked the back of Grandpa’s hand. His fingers had been so strong once, but now their strength ebbed and flowed. One minute his hand would be tight like questing roots in a graveyard, and the other they’d be gentle like mist on Haunted Hallows. More than anything else, Sara knew that this meant that the end was near. She knelt at his bedside and continued to run her hands over his bony ones, as though she could capture his spirit in the memory of what his hands felt like.
“Talk to me, Sara,” he whispered, his voice no stronger than a breath.
“Yes, Grandpa,” she said. Then she paused. “Ah don’t know what ta say.”
Grandpa didn’t laugh. He was an easy laugher, Sara thought as tears and snot ran down her face. But he wasn’t laughing now. He was smiling, but that wasn’t the same. Intellectually, Sara knew that laughing costed him now. He was weak, and laughing caused his lungs to go into convulsions. Used to be when he laughed he made the sun come out. Now all that happened when he laughed was he hacked and retched. All he could do was smile, but it wasn’t the same. Not in a single of a million ways. “Tell me about yer school,” he said. “You went off ta Demon-land this year, didn’tcha?”
Sara shook her head and blinked tears out of her eyes. “Nah, Grandpa, that was three years ago now.”
Grandpa shook his head. “Cain’t be,” he said. “That’d make ya, what, seventeen years old? And you ain’t seventeen, Sara.”
“I am, Grandpa,” Sara croaked. “Ah’ve been seventeen fer a coupla months now.”
Grandpa sighed. Sara’s breath caught in her throat—was this his last breath? Thankfully, it was not. Grandpa took another breath. “Alrahght, Ah’ll trust yah on that one. So yah’ll be outta school soon?”
Sara nodded again. “Yeah.”
Grandpa turned his head to look at her through rheumy eyes. “Then y’ll come back home?”
Sara bit her lip. “Nah, Grandpa. Ah was gonna go to school in Asphodel—”
“Thought yah already was!”
Sara laughed. It wasn’t much of a laugh, but it was enough. Grandpa smiled again. “No, Grandpa, Ah mean college,” she said. “Ah’m gonna go to Asterion t’ learn about people.”
He quirked an eyebrow as best he could. “Y’all can’t do that in Zephyros?”
Sara shook her head. “Asterion’s got a more dahverse population—what’s the pointa studyin’ anthropology if’n yah cain’t practice on yer classmates?” That wasn’t the only reason—she wanted to go to Asterion because it had an excellent program, but also because that diverse population—well, Sara liked being among members of many different races. To return to Zephyros after walking alongside Grimm and Kumiho, races long thought extinct, and Nagas, Bakeneko, and Nixie, races no one had ever known existed? How could she go back to that? Diversity was a drug, and she didn’t want to go to rehab. She wanted to go to Asterion, study her heart’s true love, and come out an even better, even wiser person than she’d been before.
Grandpa nodded. “That makes sense,” he said. His voice was back to being a whisper. He turned his head away. “Anthropology, huh? Well, yah always lahked watchin’ people…” He fell silent for a while, then suddenly he turned his head towards her. “Sara,” he croaked. “Yer always takin’ care a’ people. Yer good at that. But if yer gramma was here today, she’d want me to tell yah this.”
His grip tightened on her hand to that old intensity she remembered from her childhood. “Y’ can take care a’ people all yah want, but if yer gonna get anywhere in this world, yah gotta learn how to let other people take care a’ you. ‘Specially if yah love ‘em. If yah love ‘em, and they love you, and yer gonna spend the rest of yer lahf together, yah can’t be greedy. Yah can’t be the infallible one all the tahm. Yer a person, not a machine—you’ve got weaknesses same as anyone else. And if yer gonna be happy, yer gonna have tah acknowledge them. Don’t refuse help just ‘cause it hurts yer image a’ yerself. If yah need help, and someone who loves yah offers it to yah, let ‘em help yah. Ah had t’ learn that lesson mahself when Ah was just a bit older’n you. Y’ can’t let lahf run yah int’ the ground. Y’ gotta learn how to lean on someone. Ah don’t need to tell you who,” he added, and his gaze intensified. “Ah know yer heart’s bigger’n mahn, Melisara. Ah know you love people Ah hate, and yer ancestors hate. Hate kept us alahv throughout history, but Ah don’t know, all this stuff Ah’m hearin’ about this new world, Ah’m guessin’ that if love ain’t the thing t’ keep us alahv, then we’re all gonna be dead real soon.”
He pulled her hand towards his chest. Unable and unwilling to let go, Sara followed him, leaning in closer. “Learn—how t’ let people love yah, Sara. Learn how t’ let people in, and let ‘em hold you up when you cain’t hold yer own self up. Love who yah love, Sara.”
His arm relaxed. “Yer just lahk me,” he said softly. “But yer better. Sara…”
His grip relaxed.
It did not tighten again.
Sara let out a long howl and let her head fall forward onto Roland Ramorth’s chest as his spirit left his body to join the Empress’s kingdom among the roses.
