"Grief 2" by A.M. Guynes

“Shandi knows not to run off, and Ama shouldn’t wake up,” Kendara said. “It’s mother’s birthday. What better day to present Ama to her?”

“All right,” Tardrik said. “I promised your father I’d come get Jedary and take her to see Haydrian. He’s going to keep her while Lord Ethander’s gone.”

“That’s right,” Kendara said. “He’s visiting Urythsia and Galideen this sennight, isn’t he?” Tardrik nodded. “I’ll bring the girls to Haydrian’s pathla when I’m done with my visit.”

“Ikahi, ne salan,” Tardrik said. “Misha, mind your mother and be a good girl.”

“Papa,” Mishandi said with a smile. She babbled something else; the only clear words that the two parents could easily identify were “good girl”, “mama”, and “sissa.” Kendara stepped onto the teleportation platform. She concentrated for a moment, triggering the spell set in the stones around her. The world bent and twisted, and her husband’s anxious face was replaced by the shadowed clearing that held her destination.

Mishandi clung to her mother’s hand, her young face a little green around the edges. Amalathi whimpered slightly but settled down again. “Mama’s sorry, little bird,” Kendara said, as she knelt down and hugged her daughter close. “But this is a long way to walk for such a little girl.”

“Big girl,” Mishandi said stubbornly. Kendara smiled in spite of the heavy weight on her heart.

“Yes, little bird,” Kendara said. “You are a big girl now.”

“Sissa s’eep?” Mishandi asked.

“Yes, your sister’s still asleep,” Kendara said. “Come. We need to present Ama to your ymindia. Then we can go visit Uncle Rian and Aunt Jeda.”

“Jeda!” Mishandi cried happily. She adored her young aunt. Kendara stood back up and took Mishandi’s little fingers firmly in her own. She walked down the ramp on the teleportation platform and moved along the path. The soft, white sand glimmered in the morning sun. It was pleasantly warm, with the sun shining brightly in the sky. Kendara felt all too keenly the stark contrast between the beautiful day and the darkness of her own soul.

Kendara took her daughters down the winding road until they came to a pale rose marble statue. The statue was of an incredibly lovely Elven woman, with sapphires for eyes and glittering gems sparkling all over the stone dress and through the hand carved hair. “Ma’hela, mother,” Kendara said, bowing deeply to the statue. “Our little bird has grown into such a lovely little girl. And now we’ve added a sweet little flowerling. We have given her the name of Amalathi.” Kendara and her daughters approached the statue.

“‘Mindi?” Mishandi asked.

“Yes, Shandi,” Kendara said. “This is ymindia. You won’t remember her, for the gods claimed her before you were born.”

“Mindi,” Mishandi said firmly. She reached up and touched the monument. “Mama ‘mindi?”

“No. She was my mama,” Kendara said. She took a wreath of Lycantha blossoms off of her infant daughter’s head and laid them at the feet of the statue. “Ana’hala, nekansa omarnis.”

“Mama cry?” Mishandi asked.

“Yes, Shandi,” Kendara said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Mama is crying.”

“Mama no cry,” Mishandi said anxiously.

Kendara dried her tears on the edge of Amalathi’s blanket. “Come, let’s go find your Aunt Jeda,” she said huskily. “Perhaps she’ll have a sweet to share with you.”

“Jeda!” Mishandi tripped along happily beside her mother while Amalathi continued sleeping. They paused at the foot of the ramp. Kendara tilted her head so the sunlight struck her face. The warm caress, so like her mother’s touch, brought a little light to her soul. She smiled and lifted Mishandi up onto her hip. “Mama, ick.”

Kendara laughed. “I know, sweetheart. But it’s the only way.” With the same mental command, the Elven mother carried her children back to the world of the living.

Ne salan – my beloved
Sennight – “seven night”, a.k.a. one week
Pathla – This is a cross between a bedroom, an office, and a room for the treating of mild injuries in the Healers’ enclave.
“Ikahi, ne salan.” – Be at peace, my beloved. (A very common farewell between married couples among the Elves.)
sissa – Childish reference to a younger sister.
Ymindia – this is the childish form of a much more complex phrase that is used to indicate a deceased loved one, usually a grandparent or an aunt or uncle
“Ma’hela, mother.” – “Light keep you, mother.” A very formal greeting from a living child to her deceased mother.
“Ana’hala, nekansa omarnis.” – “My soul cries for you, mother of my heart.”