Absence

As Taliesin and Lysandra approached Dunmouth, the autumnal wind warmed with the rising sun.

Townsfolk today slogged at the morning chores, some of them dozing off, and some homes never woke.

Laying ahead like before, Gryfalcon’s Perch marked the center of the town. The home still waking, while Borus waited.

“There.” Taliesin pointed.

Lysandra inhaled sharply. The bird tilted its head and studied her as she walked. “Amazing,” she muttered.

Taliesin knocked on the door.

Silence.

Near the entrance stood a wheelbarrow used to move Bryndall earlier. Dried blood caked the wooden grain.

“It’s me,” Taliesin said.

Seren’s voice cracked under its weight. “Go away.”

Taliesin pressed his ear against the door. “Seren. Where’s your father, is he there right now?”

Silence again.

Taliesin carefully opened the door. “I’m sorry, I—I’m coming in.”

Inside, a slightly sweet scent permeated, with an underlying rotten smell. As Taliesin stepped, a clay shard clattered around in a puddle of water. Seren sat at the edge of Bryndall’s bed, and on it—the final moments of her father.

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” she cried.

On his side, the skin around the wound bulged. His chest rose and fell rapidly, but his eyes stayed closed.

“Seren.” Taliesin offered her a comforting hand. “How long has he been like this?”

“Since last night, I—I closed the wound, but it’s gotten worse since,” she said.

Lysandra walked in the room and glanced at the wound. “Is this the gryfalcon— oh, I see,” she said. “Is he your dad?”

Seren nodded.

“I saw him fighting. That wound. Neroresians have a name for it.” Lysandra scratched her head, before saying it. “The—” Her face grimaced. “The killing bulge.”

When Seren stood, her legs trembled. “Has he been poisoned? The dagger?”

“No,” Lysandra replied. “It happens from normal cuts too.”

“What can I do?” Seren asked.

Lysandra turned away. “Make him comfortable when he meets Nostu.”

Seren’s wobbled and swayed and held herself up with the edge of Bryndall’s bed.

Tears ran down her cheeks; she pleaded to Lysandra. “That can’t be right. That—”

“I can tell from the smell. My brother doesn’t spare details unfortunately,” Lysandra said.

“I don’t understand. I closed his wound. I stopped the bleeding. I did everything right.”

Lysandra kneeled in front of her. “If I hadn’t been so scared to fight against the harvesters. I’m sorry.”

Seren’s hand whipped across Lysadra’s face. “Don’t say it’s your fault.”

On the bed, Bryndall moaned and pulled Taliesin’s sleeve. “Taliesin.” He struggled to keep his eyes open. “Graygin. Kitchen.”

“I understand,” Taliesin said, walking towards the fireplace. Once he started a fire, he rummaged through the cabinets, finding a pot and a small jar filled with dried graygin—small, black, and bulbous flowers.

Seren paced behind him like a shadow. “What’re you doing? What’s graygin?”

She asked more, but Taliesin drowned her out, focusing on the task he was burdened with, focusing on easing Bryndall’s pain.

After finding an extra water jug, he dumped it into the pot, staring as he let it boil. It didn’t take long until the water simmered; the water hissed back at him before he dumped the dried flowers in. He grabbed a towel once it finished and poured the water into a mug.

Seren grabbed his shoulders with both hands once he turned around. “Will that heal him?” she asked.

In response, he grimaced and gave her a false smile with a nod. It seemed to calm her; she released her arms and let him pass.

Then he walked slowly back into the room, careful not to spill a drop. Taliesin blew on it before handing it off to Bryndall. “It’s hot. Is that alright?” Taliesin asked, with eyes that questioned more than Bryndall’s preference.

Bryndall stared at him and then into the mug, slowly bringing it up to his lips. Before drinking it, he closed his eyes as if in prayer, and swallowed it. “Thank you.” He then slumped back into his pillow, his breathing slowed, and his muscles relaxed..

Lysandra turned away as if a light flashed in her eyes.

“No—” Seren rushed over and pushed Taliesin to the side.

Bryndall brushed her hair, wincing as the poison burned within him. “Remember what I told you.” He winced once more, but kept his eyes open taking a final image of his daughter with him. Even with his final breath, his eyes stayed open.

Taliesin closed them.

Seren ran out of the house. Borus squawked after her.

A quiet fell after.

The two sat in the silence, until Taliesin broke it. “I’ll see if she’s alright,” he said, and left the home.

Once outside, the sound of sniffles and quiet whimpering emerged from the storage shed near the house. Taliesin approached it. The door, loosely shut, creaked as it opened. Inside, Seren sobbed, squatting on gryfalcon feed—her face buried in her arms.

“Leave me alone.” Her voice crumbled.

“I—”

“Shut up.”

“Seren,” he said softly.

“What do you want from me?” Her voice was now firm. “You brought this here. All of it. If it weren’t for you, he’d—” She dropped her head before finishing.

“I know,” Taliesin said.

Her eyes glazed over, her jaw trembled. “Who gave you the right, why do you listen to him? Why—what makes, why did he—” Then, her gaze snapped to his. Her eyes smeared with a red haze. “Why did he leave me?”

Combing through his thoughts, Taliesin wanted to pick something Bryndall would say. “He—” His current thought vanished with Seren’s begging expression. Her mouth arced downward, quivering, while she waited for an answer. Scared to answer her question, he turned away. “It’s best I go,” he said instead.

Lysandra blocked his path. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “You’re just a puppet. A plaything for Cylar. We all are.”

“Whatever I am,” Taliesin replied. “I’m done. He can poke me with needles for all I care. I’m just a walking graveyard to everyone else.”

“So, that’s it?”

“That’s it.” Taliesin sidestepped, but she moved with him.

“Tavean, is that where you want to go?” Seren asked. She had stood and wiped away most of her tears. Most of it remained though.

Taliesin nodded.

Seren’s lips tightened and she cleared the mucus from her voice. “My father told me to take you to Shone. He wanted you to figure everything out. To help us.”

“Help you—I can’t. I don’t even know what good I’ll be.”

“Please Tally,” she begged.

The air around them thickened as they waited for him to respond.

“We can’t go to Shone.” He replied finally. “They’ll likely kill Borus before he finds a spot to land. It was always impossible to get in. That’s why I told them…” He bit his lip.

Seren shook her head. “Then Ormstormyard. We’ll find Runners who can take us. We’ll sneak in.”

“That— that’s not what— There’s no way your father wanted—”

Seren stopped him. “It was his final wish.”

“Then it’s settled. Taliesin, if you’re not going. That’s fine. Go enjoy life,” Lysandra said.

Taliesin rubbed his eyes for a while, then said, “I’ll go.”