There was just my godfather: ageless, eternal. I couldn’t know if there was a heart beating within that monstrous chest of his, but I guessed not.
Why would a god need a heart?
Which left only me, and the realization of my singularity folded over me like a hand closing into a fist.
“You live here?” I asked, looking up at him. It was a strain on my neck, trying to meet his eyes.
“As much as one of us ever lives anywhere, yes.”
“All alone?”
“Not alone,” he corrected me, and I scanned the wasteland again, hopeful I’d missed something. “Not anymore.” He patted my shoulder with an awkward attempt at affection. “Now I have you.”
“Oh.”
My godfather looked out over the valley with a frown. “I see now, though, that this might not be the best environment for a growing girl such as yourself. It’s a bit…”
“Desolate?” I supplied, and was surprised to hear him chuckle.His laughter was a rich baritone and warm as spiced cider. It was not the laugh you’d expect from the Dreaded End.
“Yes, I suppose it must seem that way to you. What would help? Whatever you want, it’s yours, you only need name it.”
I pressed my lips together, awestruck by the sudden power given to me. No one had ever asked what I wanted, at least not in the way my godfather was. Sometimes Papa would say “Do you want me to box your ears?” but I was certain this was different.
“How about…a tree?” I said, deciding.
Surprise colored the Dreaded End’s face. “A tree?”
I nodded.
“What kind were you thinking?”
My shoulders raised. “I don’t know…. I’ve only ever seen the ones that grow in our forests—pines and firs and alders. They’re very nice, but…” I struggled to find the words as my insides filled with a sudden hunger. Not for breakfast or lunch, though I’d missed both of those in all the day’s events. I was hungry for something bigger. I wanted to see something more than just the Gravia. Something strange. Something new.
“That sounds very green.”
My godfather spoke in that voice some adults use when forced to converse with children they’re never around. It could have been irritating, but I thought it endearing instead. Of course the Dreaded End wouldn’t be practiced in the art of conversation.
“It is,” I confided, as if it were a secret.
He laughed again. “Then, Hazel, my dear, I think you shall quite enjoy this.”
He gestured toward a patch of level ground atop the embankment across from us.
At first, I didn’t see anything and felt disappointment twinge inmy chest. Perhaps there were limitations to even the Dreaded End’s powers.
But then: a sliver of movement, sly and snaking. There was a sprig of green pushing its way free of the glassy basalt ground, breaking the stone around it as it climbed higher and higher, growing firstin inches, then feet, widening from a little shoot to a sapling, growing bark and limbs, twigs and leaves. It grew taller than me, taller than my godfather, filling the space with a lush and proud canopy. The leaves were slick and glossy, and I gasped as flowers began to form. Not the tiny pastels of our meadows, but ones bright and bold and wider than my fingers could spread. They burst open like the frothy skirts of dancing women, and the pink of those petals left me breathless with wonder. I’d never seen such a vibrant hue. It was warm and wild and made me wonder what marvels lay outside the Gravia, what spectacles the world must hold.
Again, that hunger in my stomach began to rumble.
When the tree finished expanding, it gave itself a little shake, as if stretching, before falling back into wondrous placidity.
“Do you like it?” my godfather asked, worry ringing in his question.
“It’s the most marvelous thing I’ve ever seen,” I said, climbing the embankment for a closer look. “What is it called?”
He shrugged. “It’s the first of its kind. What would you like to name it?”
I’d been on tiptoe, reaching up to touch a blossom, but his words brought me to a sudden halt. “What do you mean?”
