Aria Blackwing's Arc

Chapter 23 of 24

Aria did not pick the willow bark back up. She sat on the sill log beside the old man who had just named himself her uncle. Derek stood a few steps off, holding the hammer loose at his side, giving them room. The half-built wall framed the sky behind them. Inside the cabin, the raven made a small, dry sound. "Say it again," Aria said. Eldric folded his hands over his knees. "Your mother was my sister. Her name was Wren before she took your father's name. I was younger by four years. She left home when I was nineteen. I never found her again." Aria studied his face. The green of his eyes matched what she saw in the water bucket every morning. The shape of his brow was her mother's brow. She had known for two days. Hearing it did not feel the way she expected. It felt like a door she had been leaning against giving way. "You look like her," Eldric said. He was not smiling now. His mouth trembled once and settled. "When you came out of the cabin the first day, I thought I had gone soft in the head. I thought I was seeing her at your age." "I don't remember her well," Aria said. "I was seven." "I can tell you what I remember. If you want. Not today. When you want." Aria looked at the frame. She looked at Derek. Derek gave a small nod, the kind that meant he would follow whatever she chose. She turned back to Eldric. "I want you to stay," she said. "Not for the wall. For the winter. For after." Eldric's eyes filled again and this time spilled. He wiped his face with the heel of his hand like a man used to doing it alone. "I have a room in the village," he said. "Rented. I can bring what's mine in three trips." "Bring it," Aria said. Derek stepped forward and set the hammer on the sill log. He held out his good hand. Eldric took it and stood. The old man's grip was thin but steady. "There's a bunk to build," Derek said. "In the new room. We were going to do a shelf. We'll do a bunk instead." "I can hold the rope," Eldric said. "You already did." Aria picked up the willow bark and stood. The pouch was warm from her hand. She walked to the cabin door and stopped there. The owl watched her from its perch. The raven shifted. The hawk turned its head toward the sound of the men outside. She had wanted a haven for wounded songbirds. She had not planned to take in the man who had lost them all. She opened the door and held it wide for him. "Come see the birds," she said. "They should know who you are."