Blind Spirit

100-150 words

The two Elves standing before me were dead—the first I
understood, the second I did not.

Verily, I knew Cameron was dead, Aust’s father had
been killed when Scourge raiders attacked the village. But dressed in suede
pants and a fine ivory tunic with his quiver stocked and slung across his back,
the male looked as vital and solid standing at the crux of the rivers as he had
my entire sixty years of life.

Shifting my gaze past our intimate group, I tried to
discern if anyone else saw him. Aust? Elora? At the very least my brother
should, Galan being the Sentinel of Souls, after all. But though the eight of
us had been granted the ability to see Tham’s spirit during his Veil ceremony,
Tham seemed to be the only spirit the others saw.

“Lia, it is your turn, little one.” Galan gestured to
the water’s edge.

Oh, yes. I stepped down the slight slope to the water’s edge, the green leaf-pod
I crafted that morning cupped in my palms. After choosing the brightest mallow
leaves and the most succulently scented flowers in the rainforest, I wove them
as tightly as I could, to honor our fallen brother.

May Tham’s spirit sail on e’ermore.

As the little leaf-shaped vessel bobbed in the
shallows, I recited the wish penned on the parchment sealed in its belly. “My
wish for you, Thamior, is that your heart remains as full of life and love in
the next phase of your Ambar Lenn as it has in this one. Blessings and
abundance, brother-mine.”

“Blessings and abundance,” the group repeated.

I nudged my offering, sending it past the lazy ripples
lapping the bank, to where the pull of the current snatched it up and swirled
it down the river to join the others.

Brushing my damp fingers against the fabric of my
gown, I straightened and stepped to stand before Tham, the male who—whether
born of my blood or not, deceased or not—was my brother in every sense of the
word.

He stood before me as all males in our Elven race:
handsome, proud, lithe, lean, flaxen haired and fair of skin. But Tham held a
mischievous light in his Highborne-blue eyes no other ever had and I doubted
ever would again.

He was the purest joy, the truest love.

Stepping close, I whispered his soul name for our last
goodbye. “Amin melalle, Quynn. You were taken from us far too
soon.”

He winked and raised his fingers to my cheek. I could
not feel his ghostly touch, though I knew the warmth he exuded.

Amin mela lle, my sweet Ryanne. I love you as well.

Tham’s speaking of my soul name was, as always, the
most intimate sensation. It kindled warmth beneath my skin and brought my most
private, guarded emotions to awakening. Soul names triggered a joining of
souls. A merging of love. And now, with him having lived a mere century and
one, he would never speak it again.

Galan handed me a handkerchief and after the others
launched their wishes, we followed the sounds of celebration and headed to the
ceremonial ruin site above the village.