Rthan

Rthan and his men slipped the canoe into the river. He leaped in first. The warriors climbed in and crouched behind him. All were dressed in full war regalia. Meira, his daughter who was not his daughter, glowed blue from her seat in the prow, where she leaned on the graven head of the war canoe. She looked so small and out of place, like a child playing where she didn’t belong.

As if sensing his continued reticence, she turned to him with his daughter’s solemn face. “Never forget what they did to me and mama.”

He saw again the hideously charred bodies, burnt and twisted. He didn’t need her reminders or her faery games.

“It wasn’t you they murdered.” He reminded himself more than her, not from disloyalty but for his sanity’s sake. Of late, he found it easier and easier to forget who she really was. “You’re immortal.”

“I speak for her because she can never again speak for herself.” The blue faery child didn’t flinch. “Will you avenge me, Daddy?”