Limbo’s Story Part 4

I drifted in and out of consciousness.

At some point I stopped wondering whether I was alive.

It didn't matter.

Dead men didn't have appointments.

Dead men didn't have missions.

Dead men didn't have sons waiting at home.

The world became sleep.

Sleep became dreams.

Dreams became wind.

The wind sang.

Not words.

Just...

comfort.

It reminded me of sitting on my back porch after dinner while my boys chased fireflies through the yard.

I reached for the memory.

It slipped away.

The wind remained.

Something rested against my lips.

Cool.

Sweet.

I swallowed without thinking.

Honey.

No...

Not honey.

Something cleaner.

Like rain remembered what flowers tasted like.

My eyes opened.

A pale root lay beside my face.

Pearly white sap beaded from a tiny split in its skin.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

Sticky.

The root slowly curled away.

Not frightened.

Finished.

As though it had given me everything it intended to.

I watched it disappear beneath the earth.

"...Thank you."

The words came before I realized I'd spoken.

The branches above me shivered.

Not from wind.

From...

recognition.

I pushed myself upright.

Every bullet wound was gone.

My clothes still carried the tears.

The blood.

But my body...

nothing.

Not even scars.

I should've been hungry.

Starving.

Instead...

I felt full.

The kind of full that comes after your mother insists on making one more plate because you "look too skinny."

I laughed once.

"You've been feeding me."

The great Weeping Willow stirred overhead.

Its silver-green branches lowered until they brushed my shoulders.

Not restraining.

Holding.

Like a mother checking whether her child still had a fever.

I leaned against the trunk.

For the first time since Ava...

since Davis...

since Eli...

I closed my eyes.

And nothing hurt.

Time passed strangely beneath the Willow.

There was no sunrise.

No sunset.

Only quiet.

Sometimes another root would emerge beside me.

The white sap would gather.

I never reached for it.

It was always offered.

Never demanded.

Never withheld.

The Willow asked nothing in return.

It seemed content simply because I remained.

I could have.

Sometimes...

I think I should have.

"But what if you didn't?"

The voice came from beyond the blue tree line.

The Weeping Willow stiffened.

Its branches lifted.

The wind, which had been warm until that moment, turned sharp.

I opened my eyes.

An old man stepped onto the hill.

Long white hair.

A walking stick polished smooth by years of use.

He moved slowly.

Too slowly.

Like a man who had never once been in a hurry because the world always waited for him.

He smiled.

"Hello, Pilgrim."

I frowned.

"I buried that name."

"I know."

"Then don't use it."

"As you wish..."

His smile widened.

"...Limbo."

Hearing it from his mouth felt wrong.

Like he'd reached inside me without asking.

He stopped several yards from the Willow's hanging branches.

He didn't step beneath them.

Interesting.

The Willow lowered another branch between us.

Not threatening.

Protective.

The old man chuckled.

"It seems she likes you."

"She?"

"The Willow."

He inclined his head politely.

"We've known one another a very long time."

I scratched my beard.

"I don't know you."

"No."

"You don't."

He rested both hands on his walking stick.

"But I know you."

"Everyone seems to."

He laughed softly.

"You've become rather famous."

I wasn't interested.

"I was sleeping."

"You were healing."

"I was left alone."

"I allowed that."

That got my attention.

"You?"

"I thought you deserved a few days."

I studied him.

Predators know predators.

Everything about him screamed harmless.

Which meant...

nothing about him was harmless.

"The voices."

He nodded.

"They brought you here."

"The voices wanted Simon."

Again...

he nodded.

"They usually do."

The name hung between us.

I looked at him.

"...You're Simon."

"I am."

I expected...

something.

Thunder.

Darkness.

Horns.

Instead...

he smiled like someone's grandfather asking whether I'd eaten.

The Weeping Willow trembled behind me.

Not with fear.

With warning.

Simon noticed.

"She worries."

"Should she?"

"I suppose that depends."

He looked toward the endless field of golden flowers beyond the forest.

Then back at me.

"What do you intend to do now?"

I shrugged.

"Sit here."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

"A year?"

"Maybe."

"A century?"

"If that's what it takes."

Simon smiled.

"I believe you."

He did.

That annoyed me.

“You’ve found the one place at the edge of my forest that asks nothing of you.”

"My forest?"

He gestured lazily toward the Blue Trees.

"The forest and I have an understanding."

I glanced around.

"This doesn't feel like yours."

"No."

His answer came immediately.

"It isn't."

He looked up into the hanging branches.

"This old girl belongs to no one."

For just a moment...

there was genuine admiration in his voice.

"I've always respected that."

The Willow relaxed slightly.

So did I.

Then Simon sighed.

"The trouble with gifts..."

He looked at me.

"...is that eventually people want something else."

"I don't."

"I know."

He reached into the pocket of his coat.

"I do."

He withdrew a small cord.

Three translucent pendants hung from it.

No larger than acorns.

They chimed softly as the wind found them.

I froze.

One bore Ava's name.

One...

Davis.

The smallest...

Eli.

The wind moved again.

The pendants answered.

Not with music.

With voices.

Laughter.

A little boy asking if he could stay outside five more minutes.

A woman laughing because she'd already said no twice.

Another voice...

calling...

"Dad!"

My knees weakened.

I took a step forward before I realized I was moving.

The Willow's branches tightened around my shoulders.

Holding me back.

Simon didn't move.

He simply held the necklace where I could see it.

"I found these."

My mouth had gone dry.

"...Where?"

He shrugged gently.

"They're no longer yours."

Another chime.

Another laugh.

My family.

Or...

what I desperately wanted to believe was my family.

I reached.

Simon drew his hand back only an inch.

Not teasing.

Waiting.

The Willow's branches wrapped around my arm.

Not forcefully.

Pleading.

The wind rose.

The necklace fell silent.

Only the Willow could be heard now.

Its leaves whispered against one another.

Soft.

Breaking.

Like someone trying not to cry.

Simon looked at the tree.

Then back at me.

"I won't ask you to choose."

He paused.

"You already are."

I looked at the necklace.

Then...

at the Willow.

The root beside me surfaced once more.

White sap glistened in the light.

Waiting.

Offered.

Never demanded.

I closed my eyes.

"I'm sorry."

I didn't know whether I was speaking to the tree...

or to my family.

Maybe both.

My hand reached out.

The necklace settled into my palm.

Cold.

Almost weightless.

Behind me...

the Weeping Willow wept.

Not violently.

Not accusingly.

Its branches slowly lifted away from my shoulders.

The root retreated into the earth.

The sweet sap stopped flowing.

For the first time since waking beneath its canopy...

I felt hungry.

Simon said nothing.

He didn't need to.

I turned.

The Willow stood alone on its little hill.

Still watching me.

Still mourning.

I touched its trunk one last time.

"I'm sorry."

Its bark was warm beneath my hand.

Almost...

forgiving.

I walked away.

The hunger followed.

Simon waited until I stood beside him.

Then he smiled.

"Good."

I looked at the necklace hanging from my hand.

"...Now what?"

He tapped his walking stick against the ground.

"We need to see an artist."

Somewhere beyond the Blue Trees...

the wind changed direction.

And for the first time...

the Weeping Willow did not answer it.