Page 83 of These Immortal Truths
Seeing her confusion, Silas frowns. “They have not told you?”
The hushed laugh that leaves her is a shattered, jagged thing. She can feel its pointed edges in her throat. “They don’t tell me much of anything.”
Understanding lights his eyes, sympathy tinged with regret. “Ah.”
Anna’s not sure how so much meaning can come with a single syllable, but she can hear everything he has left unsaid. Can hear the connections he’s made between her bitterness and Khiran’s name. “He thinks it’s safer if I don’t know, and Eira respects his wishes too much to betray them.”
Silas looks into the fire, picking up the blackened stick Eira abandoned to stoke the embers. “He’s right.”
She groans, shaking her head. “Not you, too.”
“Some dangers only show themselves when we dare to look,” he says, voice soft.
“I’m not looking for danger.”
“You’re looking for answers. Sometimes, they are one and the same.”
“So you won’t tell me either?”
“It is not my truth to tell.”
Anna scoffs, bitterness darkening her words. “How honorable.”
“Not honor. Respect.” The fire reflects in his dark eyes when he looks at her, makes them warm despite the warnings they hold. “It is something we must have. Our lives are too infinite and our numbers too few. Trust takes time to earn, but can be broken irreparably in the span of a single moment.”
He breathes a sigh through his nose, eying her thoughtfully. “Eira is ancient. This land and this cottage have stood here for thousandsof years, and yet only a handful of us were ever trusted enough to see it. Do you know why?”
Anna looks away, unable to hold his gaze. “She enjoys her privacy.” The words taste thin—lacking substance. She knows it’s only a shadow of the truth.
“Once, she had full control over who could come to this place. It only took one betrayal to rob her of that. It cost her more than she’ll ever admit.”
Anna meets his eyes, curiosity and dread growing in equal measure. His expression is grim. In the meadow, Anna catches the sound of some of the children bickering over whose turn is next.
“That I am here at all is a testament, Miss Anna.” He places a hand over hers, strong and reassuring. “It is a sign of how much she trustsyou.”
Two weeks later, the number of children in Eira’s haven begins to wane.
Silas takes them in small groups of four or five, leading them to various places around the world. The mornings when he’s due to depart, Anna watches him go out into the meadow from the warmth of the cottage. With his hands outstretched, palms up and open to the sky, he looks every bit as wise and ancient as he is. A god communing with some hidden language of the earth.
Eira still doesn’t trust him—not completely—but her edge has worn away into something more blunt than sharp. Their alliance is tentative, held together only by Anna’s faith and the children’s best interests, but the partnership is there. Silas listens and Eira opens her paths to whatever corner of the world he asks for. By the end of October, most of the children they started with have gone. Their spots in the cottage replaced by the new, starving faces Anna has gathered into their care.
When the first snow falls, it feels as if Eira’s cottage has become arevolving door. The children stay long enough to gain some weight and gather their strength before Silas finds another roof for them to live under. Not all the destinations are ideal. Many find themselves in the care of an orphanage rather than a family. Silas assures her that every place he leads them offers them a chance they didn’t have before. The chance to live, if not with love, then at least with food and shelter.
Anna makes it her mission to provide the opportunity to as many as she can. Over the next three years, they relocate three hundred children. Anna still can’t help but feel like it isn’t enough. Not when the number of deaths out of the Soviet Union alone are estimated in the millions. Still, she never regrets taking the path Eira opened for her. Never regrets doing what she can to savewhoshe can.
So, when the sound of children stops echoing across the meadow, Anna looks over the empty cottage with so many mixed feelings she could become dizzy with them. Eira’s time-worn hand settles on her shoulder. “You did well, Child.”
She swallows. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”
Eira’s gaze is full of such sad understanding it feels both comforting and tragic. “It never does.” She pats her back. “Come, Silas has returned, and I have an old bottle of whiskey I’ve been itching to open.”
“Whiskey?” Anna murmurs, her laughter soft despite the ache in her chest. “I’ve never known you to drink.”
Eira hums, nodding. “Only on very rare, very special occasions. And only ever with those I care for most.”
“Oh?” Anna’s smile is wide. “Does this mean you’ll start calling Silas by his name, instead of Shepherd?”
She chuckles, the sound of it as warm and raspy as dried leaves. “Not until I’ve beaten him down into asking,” she says, opening the front door in invitation. “He’s a good lad, but could do with a little more backbone. Perhaps we’ll have another drink once I’ve worn him down.”
