Author's Note: Tamora Pierce has the copyright for the Tortallan Universe and all the characters therein. HAPPY THANKSGIVING! (P.s.-I am thankful for reviews. What are you thankful for?)

Chapter 23: Good-byes Are Never Forever

August 445 H.E.

It was hard. Alanna felt like an infant herself, teaching herself how to live again. How to take baby steps away, how to leave the pain behind. It did not go away, and she carried this scar as if she earned it in battle. She did make good on her promise to Roald and Alan, and she held them constantly. She had always hovered by the nursery, but now she rarely left the room. She'd spend hours, playing and reading with Kally and Thom, and cradling her baby sons to her chest, relishing every breath they drew. Jonathan threw himself into his role as king with a new frightening fervor. Marinine's death brought them closer in a way they had never dreamed possible. Losing a child, losing two children, is impossible to bear by oneself; they did their best to comfort one another.

Jon, with his work, had his distraction; Alanna had her own. But she could perform her exercises, her tea parties, her duels, her own programs without thinking about them. Instead her thoughts were always on her lost daughter. Occasionally they drifted to the son she'd never held. When she was with Kalasin and Thomas and Alan and Roald, she breathed easier; she still had them-their lungs drew oxygen without trial, without effort. But away from them, Alanna found it hard. It was like swimming upstream in a very strong current. Months went by and the newness of grief had worn off, to be replaced by an eternal sadness. Alanna wore her anguish like a cloak. Her smiles became rarer; she hadn't entirely stopped, but the fierce happy light had dimmed from her eyes. This was worse than seeing the Kraken.

One evening, the queen was returning to her chambers from a Council meeting, one that had actually gone rather well for Alanna—she'd been able to convince them that public schools would greatly increase the well-being of the Tortallan people (it had been Thayet's idea), and that the choice of knighthood was going to be extended to girls (only girls in the Gold Book, but at least it was a start). She walked slowly along, and ran into someone she hadn't seen in front of her. She looked up, ready to apologize, but stopped short. It was the Goddess.

"My child, some time has passed since we have spoken."

Alanna felt the tenderness in that terrible, beautiful voice. She curtseyed to her patroness. "It has, my Mother," she said simply.

"Many things have occurred between now and then, have they not?"

Alanna nodded dumbly.

"You are in great pain, my chosen."

Alanna said nothing.

"It is not like you to remain silent."

"Turn to me, and be gracious, my Mother. For my heart is in distress." From Alanna's lips came an ancient prayer she had read in a book when she was younger.

"Why?" the Goddess asked, her beautiful dark eyebrows raised.

"Why?" Alanna repeated incredulously. "Why? I have lost not one but two children, and held one of them in my arms as she died!"

"You have other children."

"My other children are the greatest joys in my life. But don't you hurt when you lose one of those you consider your children? Am I not your daughter? Would you mourn me if I were to die?" Alanna demanded.

"It is as the world turns. You mortals do not live long lives."

Anger flooded Alanna's heart. For the first time since Marinine's death, true feeling coursed through. Blood hummed through her veins and pure life. She wanted to grab the Goddess and shake her, to make her understand.

"Mortals may live for short times, but we live. Unlike you immortals who sit on your heavenly thrones and watch us as if we were Players, caring not when our entrances and exits are, just as long as you enjoy the plot!" Alanna spat. Her vision had tunneled red, burning her through her. Could her patroness, to whom laboring women prayed, be so insensitive in her immortal state that she did not understand the desperate, horrible anguish within Alanna's breast?

The expression on that great, awful face did not alter as she listened to Alanna's rage.

"Alanna, I cannot help what I am. And you cannot help what you are. It is the way of life. But I know that it is difficult. I cannot feel the human pain that is buried in your heart, but I know pain, an infinite pain beyond your comprehension. Every child that is lost and every woman who does not live through labor, they are a part of me, as much as Marinine was part of you. You have lost two children, but I have lost millions."

Alanna lowered her head, ashamed of her rudeness. "Forgive me, Mother." The goddess placed a hand on Alanna's shoulder, and she could feel both the weight and lightness of the touch.

"'Turn to me, and be gracious. For my heart is in distress,'" the Mother said softly. "'My tears linger at night. But joy comes in the morning light.'"

Alanna nodded, hearing the old prayer. She gazed out the window where the stars twinkled from the dark sky. A bright falling star left a streak of light in its wake as it moved across the heavens. She looked at the Goddess and noticed another figure next to her. It was the murky silhouette of a young girl. As she looked closer, the girl became less foggy and her features emerged. Faint coloring dusted over the child. Alanna could detect rosy cheeks, tiny brown freckles, and orange hair. Harshly she drew a breath as the ghost child took the Goddess' hand and looked up at the immortal.

The Mother smiled sweetly. "Yes, Marinine, this is she."

Alanna found it difficult to breathe as she looked at her daughter. The girl's sapphire blue eyes fixed on her mother's with an eager look. Alanna realized that she had not once since Marinine's eyes opened for the two days she had held her.

Tears welled into Alanna's eyes as she reached for her child. Cautiously, the ghost put her own tiny hand out as well. Slowly, their fingertips touched and Alanna felt a coldness sweep through her bones, but she did not pull her hand away. Beneath the chill of death, she could feel the pull she felt for her other children—the humming of love that told her that this little girl was her own flesh and blood, that this was her daughter, that this was her Marinine. Alanna was afraid to touch the child more, but Marinine threw herself at her mother. She scrambled up the short queen as if she were a tree. Her arms went about Alanna's neck and her legs about her waist. Alanna hugged her to her fiercely, trying to hold back the tears.

She tried very hard to be happy that she at least had this. She was at least holding her Marinine one more time, but an awful, aching thought would not leave. She would never have the opportunity to see her this way, where her daughter's limbs would be warm from playing in the sun.

"Mama, Mama!" the child whispered. "Don't cry." She brushed Alanna's tears away with her fingers. Her voice was sweet and high, so like her sister Kalasin's. Alanna cried harder, her chin shaking with the effort to stop. "Mama, you mustn't cry. You've cried an awful lot and I don't want to make you cry more. Oh, it's all my fault!" The child burst into tears.

Alanna became alarmed. "No, no, my love. Don't cry. Oh, it's not your fault. Don't you ever think it's your fault!"

"But if I had fought like you and Papa wanted me to, you wouldn't have cried! I watched you and all you did for months was cry."

Alanna began to stroke the child's hair, desperate to make her stop sobbing. She couldn't bear to make her daughter cry; children mustn't worry about their mothers, and she didn't want to distress the girl. She felt the same instinct for her children as for the spirit of her child; she must protect her from pain. And to think that she was the one to cause her pain!

The Goddess stepped forward now and placed a hand on Marinine's shoulder. "You promised you wouldn't distress your mother if I brought you, little one." Marinine nodded, but her tears were not yet dry.

"Mari, I won't cry anymore if you won't," Alanna said, still clutching her daughter. The little girl nodded, her blue eyes flowing. "You mustn't think that you caused this. It's not your fault."

"It's not yours, either," the Goddess pointed out.

Alanna swallowed, but nodded. "I love you, my Marinine." She kissed the girl's icy temple and closed her eyes.

"I love you too, Mama. And I love Papa and Kally and Thom and Alan and Roald. I miss them, even though Alan would kick me when he was hungry. When we were inside your tummy."

Alanna felt something like a laugh bubble from her. "I shall tell them. They miss you and love you too, Mari." The familiarity with her family brought shivers to her heart, good shivers. Marinine was still part of their lives.

"Oh!" The ghost girl's eyes went wide and she clapped her hands to her cheeks. "I forgot! I met Grandfather Alan and Grandmother Marinine—she and I have the same name! And Grandfather Roald and Grandmother Lianne! And someone named Francis. Grandfather Alan said to tell you," the girl's face scrunched up as she remembered, "that he was sorry for never being a better father to you, and he is proud of you and Uncle Thom. Grandmother Marinine says that she loves you and wishes she had met you. Papa's mommy and daddy say they think he's doing a wonderful job and that your family is beautiful. Francis said to tell you that he's proud of you when you saved Jon. Is Jon Papa? Did you really save him?" Marinine's eager face thoroughly convinced Alanna that this truly was her second daughter. She looked exactly like her sister, eagerly awaiting the next tale. The Goddess cleared her throat, and Marinine looked at her. The Goddess raised her eyebrows. "Oh, Mama! There's one other person that is here to see you."

Another murky figure appeared by the Goddess. The person who emerged was taller and older than Marinine, but not much. His face was cut similarly, with the same red hair and blue eyes, but the cut of his features were so familiar, Alanna realized that this had to be a son of Jonathan's.

"Jasson," Alanna breathed. The boy approached her and too threw his arms around her.

In that moment, Alanna's heart left the still, dead place it had been for so long and lifted until she thought it would burst from the top of her skull.

"Mama," he said gravely, "I'm so glad to finally meet you."

"I love you," was all Alanna could say. She put Marinine down and wrapped her second son in her arms and squeezed. Then Marinine pouted and had to be included in the hug.

-x-x-x-

The Goddess cleared her throat. "Children, we must leave now."

Both children groaned. "Must we?" "Please, let's stay longer." Alanna, seated on the floor, holding their icy hands, had to resist the urge to pout as well.

"You promised," the Great Mother reminded them sternly. Immediately, the spirits rose from the floor. Alanna too stood up. For the last half hour, she was in heaven. She was with the two children that she had grieved for, telling them stories and laughing with them and touching them.

"You have to go?" Alanna asked, aware that she sounded just as childish as her children.

"Yes," was the firm answer. "I would not have let you see them if I did not think you could bear it. You were so miserable I thought it would relieve you to see that your children are not gone." Here the Goddess smiled faintly. "Mortals believe that we are cruel because we take your loved ones. We are not that cruel. Your lives are short, and Death is inevitable. You have free will and always will have it. Because we do not set in stone your fates, that much is in your own hands. The world works without our interference and we let it alone when we see fit. Therefore, some die at a young age; some die at an old age; some die in-between. I would not have taken Jasson and Marinine away from you purposefully." The Goddess sighed. "But you shall be joined again, in eternity, in the Peaceful Realms. Good-byes are never forever. You must remember that, my daughter."

"Yes, my Mother."

"Say goodbye, children."

Once more, Alanna gathered her second son and second daughter to her. Once more she kissed their copper hair. Once more she patted their freckled cheeks. Once more she heard their voices, telling her not to cry and that they loved her.

"Oh, and Mama!" she heard as they faded from her vision. "You must take care of our new sister. She will need all the help she can get!"

And then they were gone.

New sister? Alanna wondered. She heard her name but did not respond. She stared at the window she stood by, knowing that she was being watched. She gave a little wave.

"Alanna! Who are you waving at?" She turned and found Jon standing behind her. He looked tired and worried. His gaze scanned her face. "You've been crying," he said softly. He took her upper arms in his hands. "Oh, Alanna…" he seemed to be searching for something to say.

The tears flowing freely again, Alanna laughed. "Jon, it's alright. I'm alright." She tried to wipe away her tears, but gave up.

"What is it?" Jon's grip tightened and he shook her slightly. "Alanna, you can't have lost it now."

"I may have," she laughed. "But I've been told that Alan has always kicked when he was hungry, and his target was usually Marinine."

"You have lost it."

"No," Alanna said, and told him what had happened. Jon's face went from incredulous, to worried, to shocked. His cheeks were wet.

"Why didn't you come find me? Why didn't I get to meet them?" he demanded, trying to wipe his face with his sleeve.

"I'm just glad you believe me," Alanna admitted. "I don't know, besides the Goddess is my patron. But they love you. I was told to tell you several times."

Jon leaned back in his chair, trying to take it all in. He shook his head as he took Alanna's hand. "This really happened. Our children really visited you." Alanna nodded, feeling exhaustion in her body as they made their way to their chambers. "Any other news from the Peaceful Realms?"

"Your parents approve. They think you're doing a wonderful job. Francis of Nond is there. Oh, and something was said…about taking care of a new sister? Did they mean Kalasin? I don't think she needs taking care of."

Jon's eyes widened and he looked at her stomach. "I think…oh no. You don't suppose…"

"Suppose what?"

"That…you…"

"That I ?"

"…Couldbehavinganotherbaby."

"No." The blood left Alanna's face and her knees felt weak. Another child? She'd gone through so much with the last three times she'd become pregnant. A fourth time?

Would she be meeting a third ghost child?

Well, I need a tissue. What do you think?

The prayer "Turn to me and be gracious, for my heart is in distress..." comes from an arrangement of In Remembrance that I had the fortune of singing with a most wonderful group of people.