Renato laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. “That sounds like Father. I am surprised that he didn’t make you promise to marry her yourself.”
“I did, after a fashion.” I then related the entire conversation to him.
“He has a point,” Renato admitted. “I have seen some of those women he talked about.”
“Your sister will not be like that.” There must have been something in my voice for he turned and squinted at me through the darkness.
“You seem convinced,” he observed with mild amusement.
“I told you I tested her myself. Your mother has raised her well.”
Just then a faint flicker of brown sugar slid across my tongue. I lifted my head and reached out toward the origin of the sending.
“Sense something?”
“Yes, I must go. Neleck needs me,” I told him. But before I hurried off, I turned to him. “Remember that you cannot tell anyone, and you must convince your mother not to visit your sister.”
“I understand,” he agreed. “Now go. May the goddess bless his crossing.”
I nodded and then slipped into the foliage in the direction of Neleck’s quarters. The goddess’ blessing wasn’t what old Neleck needed, but I understood that Renato meant well. Since the former Sept Son’s conversion to a follower of the Almighty a few years ago, he and I had sought the same source of strength, the all-powerful God of the universe.
It took only a few minutes to jog across the compound to the low bungalow that housed Neleck and his shrinking world. Upon my return from the Caelestis Novem, I discovered that the former Sept Son wasted no time in moving out of his old quarters and into the smallest building on the grounds. There, ensconced with his books, writing utensils, and faithful servant, Bonaventure, he wiled away his last months in study and rest. I quickly found myself envying the man his silence. After the long hours of work, I would occasionally visit him for a meal, discussion, or both. His fountain of experiences and knowledge constantly challenged me to learn more about the world I live in and the people I interact with everyday.
Slowing to a walk, I arranged my garments as I approached the last turn in the path before the cottage door. A soft glow greeted me. Bonaventure, a tall fair-skinned old man, waited beside the open door. When he spotted me, he inclined his head.
“Master Aleron,” he said in a deep voice. “Master Neleck is fading fast. His children are ready to leave and it is time for the wait to begin.”
I followed him into the familiar front room now cleared of its customary clutter to make way for the guests, his two sons and three daughters. I quietly greeted each, murmuring the appropriate words of condolence. The oldest, a graying middle-aged blacksmith, grasped my hand last.
“Thank you for giving him these last three months of peace and quiet. If you hadn’t accepted the selection when you did, he wouldn’t have stopped until he dropped dead.” He held up a brand new leather bound book. “He was able to finish this for us. It is a record of our family and the years of his service to Pratinus.”
“He is a good man and he has served well.”
“Aye,” he agreed, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “He was a good father to more than just his children.”
The door to the bedchamber opened, interrupting the hushed conversation. The healer’s assistant emerged and scanned the room. As her eyes met mine, she hesitated. “Sept Son Aleron?” she asked.
“I am he.”
“He is calling for you.” She stepped back, indicating that I should follow her.
Neleck’s bedchamber breathed of his personality, warm and comforting. Bookshelves full of memories lined the walls, stacks of books crowded the bed with a few volumes laid on the side table, and candlelight flickered over the wood-paneled walls. Neleck lay on the bed, his white beard contending with the purity of the pillow beneath his head. His gaunt face was so still and lifeless that for a moment I almost believed he had left already. But then, his eyes opened. Dark and deep, the brown orbs brought life to the haggard features, a ghostly shadow of the man that was leaving.
“Hadrian,” he sent. His familiar smoky taste teased my senses. Lifting a weak hand from the covering, he greeted me.
“I am here,” I answered, crossing to grasp the brittle fingers. Only days before, the same fingers had encouraged me to not give up hope. Now it was my turn to offer comfort. Gently I returned the hand to its resting place on the bedding, but I did not release it. I understand that his time has come, Father, but I don’t want him to go. I still need him.
Even as I prayed the words, I knew the answer that the man before me would give. Pointing out that the Almighty promised to supply all that I needed, he would order me to seek Him. Tears pressed against the back of my eyes as I struggled to focus them on the beloved face of my mentor. I need him, Father.
I knelt beside the bed, bringing my head level with his. His breathing grew shallow and stillness filled the room, pressing upon us both. I could feel the life ebbing out of the fragile shell on the bed before me. I brushed his mind. “I shall miss you.”
His face didn’t move, but his presence touched mine. It was a sending of peace and joyful anticipation. I understood. He wasn’t thinking of what he was leaving behind. His thoughts were looking forward to the face of the beloved Redeemer that he would see at any moment. Pushing away the grief and sorrow that would demand my attention soon enough, I joined my heart
