“But now isn’t the time to mete justice,” I said firmly. “Now is the time to tend to the dead. Your mother will get what she deserves.”
Olivia’s eyes bore into me, cold and distant, as though my words were empty air, unable to reach the tempest within her.
With a heavy sigh, Malik, Marcellious, and I lifted Lee’s lifeless body together. The weight of him was more than physical—it was the weight of everything we had lost. We moved silently through the woods, shadows clinging to us like mourners in a solemn procession. Lee’s shed loomed ahead, where he had breathed life into wood and thread, crafting symbols of hope and dreams with his hands.
Inside, we cleared his worktable, brushing aside intricately carved statues and delicate dreamcatchers that whispered of his spirit and talent. We laid him gently upon the wooden surface, and the world seemed to dim around us. The stark reality of his absence settled on my chest like a stone, threatening to crush me with its finality.
“Goodbye, my friend… my mentor…” I choked out, my voice breaking as I reached to close his unseeing eyes with trembling fingers. “You were the best of us.”
Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying our shared anguish to the heavens. It was as though the forest itself mourned with us, swaying in time with the rhythm of our grief.
The door to the shed burst open, and Olivia staggered inside, her chest heaving from the exertion of running. She had exchanged her elegant caftan for a simple, modern dress, its fabric clinging to her in disarray. Despite the change, her face was still a mask of raw emotion—grief etched into every line.
She dropped a bundle of clothing onto a chair. “Here. Emily provided us with modern clothes. There’s a set for Malik, too. We can’t go around looking like this.” Her lip curled as she gestured toward my Ottoman attire, a hint of disdain slipping through her sorrow.
Wordlessly, I picked up a shirt and a pair of pants, stepping aside to replace my 16th-century garments with the familiar practical modern attire. The fabric felt different against my skin, a sharp reminder of how far we’d come—and how much we’d lost along the way.
“Emily’s watching the kids,” Olivia said in a rush, her voice trembling. “I don’t know what to do next. The clothes Emily gave me felt like busywork to distract me from my grief. It didn’t work.” Tears streaked her face as her words flowed out in a hectic, uneven stream. “We have to bury him. Can you... can you contact someone from his tribe?”
“Uh…” I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to do that.
“You saw my dad use a phone when you were here before, right?” she pressed, desperation creeping into her voice.
“Uh…” I said again, faint recollections of strange 21st-century communication devices flickering in my mind.
“Lee has an old-school landline in his office. Look around his desk for ten-digit numbers—those are phone numbers. Then, you pick up the receiver thingie…” She mimicked, lifting something to her ear. “And stab the numbers onto the little squares on the phone.”
Her fingers moved in quick stabbing motions, her exasperation growing. “Hold the handset—the receiver thingie—next to your ear. And listen. And talk.”
“Can’t you do it?” I asked, mystified and feeling overwhelmed by the task.
“I need to sit with Lee,” she said, her voice softening. “I feel it’s important not to leave him alone. You can do this, sweetheart.” She squeezed my bicep, her grip firm with a misplaced confidence I didn’t share.
I did not, however, feel reassured.
“If you can’t figure it out, come and get me,” she added, her expression softening as if trying to summon her faith in me.
How hard could it be? Nodding mutely, I stepped out of the dimly lit shed and into the unrelenting starkness of grief—a heaviness no sunlight could erase. The house loomed before me, alien in its familiarity, its walls steeped in echoes of laughter that now seemed like distant memories.
In Lee’s office, amidst the chaotic remnants of his life’s work, I found a name and ten hastily scribbled numbers on a crumpled scrap of paper—a breadcrumb left by fate. The note read, “Sioux Elder.”
I rummaged through the cluttered desk, searching for any sign of this “landline” Olivia had mentioned. Jack and Lee once showed me modern communication devices—small, rectangular gadgets that fit snugly in their palms. Yet, there was nothing of the sort here. Instead, my eyes fell upon a squarish object made of what they called plastic. A wire coiled from its back, confirming my suspicion—this had to be the landline.
I lifted the unfamiliar object—the handset, I presumed—and pressed it to my ear. A strange buzzing sound filled the silence, making me doubt whether I’d chosen correctly. Recalling Olivia’s instructions to “stab” the small squares in a specific sequence, I examined the device more closely. Each square bore tiny letters beneath the numbers, their presence turning the task into an exercise in deciphering ancient symbols.
Even in my fog of grief and confusion, I pressed the squares in the order scribbled on the paper. The buzzing hum ceased, replaced by a soft, melodic tone—tiny bells ringing in unison, clear and soothing.
My pulse quickened when a woman’s voice pierced the silence, warm and inviting. “Hello?”
Her words flowed like sweet honey, embracing me in an unseen comfort. Though I could not see her, her presence was palpable, as if she had materialized from thin air. My throat tightened as I prepared to respond, uncertainty weighing heavy on my chest.
“Hello?” I stammered, quickly reading the name scribbled on the paper. “Talia Redfeather?”
The name felt foreign as it left my lips.
“Ah, Roman,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of recognition. “I believe I know why you’re calling.”
“You do?”
