The old woman looked at him and smiled. The disease had not been kind to her; her features were thing and pale, but still she smiled at the little boy who stood by her bedside, one frail hand stroking his thin teal hair. He sniffed, but did not look away from his aged grandmother on her deathbed. In the corner, his older brother Grey sat quietly watching the scene, a ghostly chaperone that tried to remain as removed from the situation as possible.
“Sorranaya,” she whispered; death was on her breath, and the little boy tried not to flinch from the smell. The disease had hurt her on the inside, Grey had explained. The woman’s smiling mouth parted again; half her teeth were missing, and her tongue slid around like a grayish-pink slug, slow and wet in the dark pink of her mouth. “Are you afraid?”
“Yes, Granny,” the little boy answered. He heard Grey shift uncomfortably behind him. “Yes, I am.”
“But not of poor old me?” she asked, hopefully. He shook his head, and then laid on the bed next to her, where she continued to stroke his hair gently.
“That’s right, I didn’t think so,” she chortled. The sound rattled in her lungs, and she sucked in a breath that might have been wind rustling through reeds. It almost tickled the ears. “Have you been keeping up with your studies? Do you have any more pictures to show me?”
“Yes, Granny,” said the boy, and he turned to fetch the drawing he’d made for her. Once retrieved from his bag, he turned back and handed it to her. Grey leaned in curiously to get a better look, but it was too far to see clearly.
“It’s a map of the land of the Ritophs,” he said, barely audibly, in her ear. She smiled affectionately, her chest rising and falling less and less distinguishably. He pressed on, “Where all great elementals go once their free of their bodies, and their energy is released back to the centre of Terrassia. Checkers told me.” He promised me, he thought.
The map was pretty, full of color like all children’s drawings, but it was also organized, ordered. Green hills ran through valleys and forests where happy wisps flew, and the elemental gods, represented so crudely and idealized, appeared all over the picture. Granny was in the centre, a wisp with long flowing white hair, and was playing with the boy’s favorite goddess, Arania of the skies.
“I think I’ll do just that,” she said, pointing at herself. “That looks rather nice, and not so hard to breathe in, being made of air. Do you think Arania is a nice lady?”
“The very nicest,” he said, smiling earnestly at her. “You two will be great friends.”
She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, then looked over his shoulder to nod at his brother. He heard Gray rise, and felt fingers on his shoulders gently prying him away. He lead him to the door, and he was no longer afraid for his grandmother, but happy instead.
“I’ll send you a breeze,” she chuckled. Then the door closed behind them, and Grey lead him home.
That was the last he heard from her in words, but two nights later, after she had finally passed, and he sat at the top of a tree in the courtyard, the little boy felt a tickling breeze stroke his hair as she had, and he smiled.
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