28

  Writing again, because there was much that he couldn’t say anywhere else:

  She was never my wife, but I loved her and always shall. Thanks to Firelord’s gift, we had her extended lifetime together, in a sideways place created by one of the gods.

  It was a beautiful, wooded coastland with a chain of islands offshore. None in the sky, though, and no other people at first. But I know how to work and to set up an encampment, and I did my best to make Lana happy.

  Easy enough to forget, as time went by and the children came, that it wasn’t forever. Not for me, at any rate.

  Reston was born, extending her lifespan a bit and bringing much joy. I am an elf, so I remember past timelines. Lana and Jillian didn’t… and thank all the gods who love me for that.

  I hope that I made it all up to her. The gods walked among us and brought in more people, so we weren’t alone very long. As a town sprang up, I built her a shop, with goods to barter that came mostly out of my faerie pockets, to start with.

  By the time Kellen arrived, Center Point Trade was a thriving business, and Lana smiled often, shooing me out when I got in her way. Small Kellen restored much of her youth, bringing another ten years of deep gladness.

  There is only so much baby-tending I’m good for, though. When Kellen was three years old, I kludged together a boat and set off to explore distant islands and hidden fjords. Couldn’t build anything like a real ship without a sentient keel, so that was my goal, but I was never longer than two or three weeks from home. Time flows differently for mortals, and I had to stay near to keep Lana safe from its ravages.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Her son Bek shot up and flowered like a young tree, growing to manhood while Reston was still a young child. I taught them both to hunt, fight and sail. Important, as they had my head for business, not Lana or Jillian’s. No future shop-clerks, there.

  Bek’s life, like Jillian’s, I couldn’t extend. My stepson was married and settled, with children of his own, when Merrilee came along. Kellen was all babble and questions, by that time, while Reston turned into a sullen, rebellious young tween.

  Bek liked me better than Reston did, and he named one of his own boys ‘Galadin’. Say what you like about mortal smirching, I am proud of that fact, and that Bek’s family went on to settle Big Island, across the sound from Town.

  It was after one of my journeys that Lana fell sick. An eater struck her, deep in her stomach and womb. I could keep the thing off or extend her youth. One or the other, because real life isn’t at all like an Epic. I chose my love’s health, keeping her sound of mind and limb until time called in its due.

  Can’t even consider myself a widower, as we were never officially wed, but pen, ink and journal cannot convey my grief at her death. Lana is gone now, I know not where. Loved and loving, right to the end. So very beautiful, despite whitened hair and deep smile lines. Worried for me and the children, instead of herself.

  Afterward, the torches were set to her pyre by Bek, Reston and me. We were supposed to speak words of farewell and leave gifts, but Kellen just clung to my leg. Merrilee kicked and pounded my chest, begging us not to burn up her mamma.

  “She’s gonna get up! She’s gonna get up! Wait! Please wait! Mamma, mamma, c’mon!” cried our little one, trying to fight me and drag back that crackling torch.

  Thank all the gods, Merri did not have to stay and watch when the flames took hold, because all at once, we were shifted away. Back to that long-ago village and battle. Just me, Reston, Kellen, Merrilee and a howling, black-and-white mutt.

  Our time together was never more than a loan, and there is only this place… only my journal… in which to set down who Lana was and how very much she mattered. All five-foot-nothing, shining black hair and grey eyes of Lana Clothier Tarandahl, the mortal woman I loved. Who I will never stop listening for, expecting a sudden embrace or a quick, stretched-on-her-tiptoes kiss.

  Forgive me. I can write nothing more today.