Page 11 of Where the Shadows Land (Garden of Hope #1)
ASTORIA
T he days passed under the fog of grief and apathy that clouded Astoria’s every waking moment.
A few moments of clarity broke through the unending gray.
When Astoria stabbed her finger with the needle, when her stomach growled loud enough to wake ghosts from a tomb, and when Bastian cried for her attention.
Those things shook her from the haze, but she slipped back into it once the pain and noise faded away.
She had nothing to hold on to, nothing to tether her to the present moment in her body.
Astoria didn’t mind it much, though. The haze made time move faster.
She made herself clothes. A pair of boots.
When the end of the week rolled around, Astoria finished a warm coat made of the viridian hide of some unknown creature.
Astoria ate twice more. She dried what she couldn’t finish of the rabbit meat over her hearth, but she left the meat over the flames too long and it tasted like ash on her tongue.
Still, Astoria couldn’t convince herself to eat anything else.
She hadn’t gathered the strength to bathe or tend to the wound on her thigh.
It now produced a foul, thick, piss-yellow puss.
The infection grew worse each day, but Astoria didn’t possess the energy to tend to it.
What was the point in living if she would never know joy again?
What was the purpose of doing anything that extended her life when all living did was extend her suffering?
Astoria didn’t deserve to be well. She didn’t deserve joy, peace, or comfort.
She failed everyone she ever loved and could never go back to them.
In the eyes of those she cared most about, Astoria was already dead.
Her husband, daughter, and her best friend were all dead and rotting. Perhaps she deserved to rot, too.
Astoria only bothered to make the clothes because if the monster returned, she needed to have something to show for herself.
She didn’t want them to eat her. Yet, she’d allow herself to die from an infection.
Damien died from sickness. Allowing the infection to take root in her blood and take her life was a twisted way Astoria could get close to her husband again.
Her body would rot in the Rholctai’s garden instead of at Damien’s side, but at least her death would be a mirror of his.
Both of them burning from the inside out.
Bastian did everything in his power to encourage her to tend to herself.
Her pack now had two permanent holes from how often he lifted the thing in her direction.
She still did not take out her healer’s kit.
There were too many steps involved to tend to an infection and draining the puss hurt in the best situations.
The promised agony, mess, and effort were too much.
The fever hit her in the middle of the night, scalding her insides like boiling water. Bastian woke her from her humid nightmares with sharp, panicked barks. In the communication that was not words, but understanding they shared through their bond as Orsean and familiar, Astoria heard his pleading.
Bastian barked, begging her to wake up and tend to her wound.
Weakly, Astoria reached for him and brought him to her chest. She stroked him from ears to tail, then back again. The texture of his fur scraped against her fingers and soothed her spirit .
“I can’t. Damien and Inara’s second death anniversaries are coming up in a few weeks. I promise I tried Bastian. For almost two years, I’ve tried to live without them, rotting because that is all I’m capable of. I can’t do this any longer. I can’t,” Astoria cried.
Bastian nudged her face with his snout and scraped his paw over her chest. Pushing her to act, but Astoria wouldn’t budge.
“I am so damn tired, Bastian. I am sorry I have failed you, my sweet boy.” Astoria stroked him behind the ear and tears filled her vision. “You will find happiness once you’re free of me.”
Bastian growled his disagreement and nuzzled closer to her.
His faint, broken whines were a plea Astoria could not and would not answer.
He would hurt, but he would heal. Without her, Bastian would be free from their bond.
He could live wild without worrying about watching over a simple human.
He deserved that after all he had done for her.
Mairuk lived alone in their desolate village, alone for far longer than she had.
No life or laughter blew through in many years, it seemed.
Astoria recognized the pain in them each time they looked around and found only ghosts.
The way they worked to pass the time. Mairuk ached, too, but they were far stronger than Astoria.
They lived despite their pain. Mairuk woke up every day and took care of their tasks.
They didn’t give into the bleakness of an empty existence.
They built something beautiful from the ashes of what they lost.
Astoria wished she was that strong, if for no other reason than Bastian.
His continued cries shattered the remaining fragments of her heart, but it was too late to do anything now.
Two weeks of festering put the infection deep in her blood, and she was too weak to use her magic now.
No salve or poultice would get rid of the infection before it took her.
Astoria closed her eyes and swallowed the sour taste of regret that lingered on her tongue.
She should have asked Mairuk how they survived, how they made it through the yawning gray that swallowed her whole. Now, she would not get the chance .
In truth, Mairuk impressed her. They were skilled in various trades, and for a monster so large, they moved with silence and grace.
The emotional fortitude it took to live in a cursed place that held bitter memories without destroying themselves went beyond anything she possessed.
They built the village on their own. Did they do it as a way to pass the time, or did all this work give them the strength to survive? How did they make it so long all alone?
It didn’t matter what their answer was. Not really.
Astoria couldn’t live like this. Not only in this village, but in the horrible haze she rotted in since the death of her family.
Her world held no color, no laughter, no joy.
Nothing other than the expanse of grief so vast and dark that it swallowed her whole.
The red of rage or the midnight blue of loss tainted those few moments when she felt anything besides grief.
She couldn’t find any glimmer of hope, any bubble of joy.
All she found was rage, pain, and emptiness.
Astoria tried to find the light. She took every ounce Blythe offered her, but the gods never heard Astoria’s prayers.
The Wizened Four never answered her, never comforted her, never brought her peace.
Each time she prayed, those beings were out of her reach.
Beyond her. It never mattered how much she offered, how earnestly she reached out.
The gods didn’t want her. Her entire life, they ignored her and her mother insisted it was because of the Orsea tainting Astoria’s blood.
She was told the gods were benevolent and loved all of their children, that they always answered prayers and brought comfort in dark times.
For everyone else, that seemed to be true. For her? It wasn’t.
None answered when Astoria begged her daughter to breathe.
In her most earnest prayer to the powers that moved the world, begging for the small babe she cradled in her arms to breathe, none answered.
The gods let Inara’s body grow cold in her arms. They didn’t have the decency to ease her suffering, either.
Even Soleil, the Great Goddess of Light and Hope, turned Her back on Astoria.
If the gods wouldn’t help her, then what could ?
Bastian’s cries grew louder. He begged her to fight, to stay, to do anything other than fade.
Astoria’s bones grew heavy with the weight of her decision.
The small creature on her chest didn’t understand.
He couldn’t understand. She soothed him with quiet coos, but she didn’t make promises to remain.
Death was the only way Astoria could escape the pain.
She would not die tonight, but perhaps in the morning or the night after.
The cold shadow of the grave crept ever-closer.
It danced in her periphery, a promise that would soon be fulfilled.
She would fade. Death would soon reap her soul and take her to the beyond, where the promise of peace whispered against her fingertips.
Astoria expected fear, the final dying push of her instincts to survive, but it didn’t come.
Peace filled her awareness. Acceptance. This was her Fate, and there was no running from it.
Astoria closed her eyes and let her hands fall to her sides. Her mind spun, and she faded into the black haze of a dreamless, fevered sleep.
~
The fox’s scream shattered the barriers of Mairuk’s deep slumber.
The cry was pure grief and panic. Desperate.
They rolled out of their bed and slipped on a pair of pants.
The human hid away in her cabin for days, and it was the middle of the night.
If she had left, or if something else came in, the trees would have told them through a change in their song.
The only alert came from the fox, three doors down in Astoria’s residence.
Mairuk ran and made it to the human’s front door in a few heartbeats. Their meaty fist knocked against the door so hard the wood groaned. “Human, do you require assistance? Answer us, Astoria!”
No response came. They smelled her in there, the stench of rot and decay heavy in the air. The fox cried again, louder this time, in a clear plea for assistance.