home without waking her. Everyone thought she was a sweet kid, that Megan.
Sweet, nothing , thought Meredith—she was delicious .
***
Chapter Three
Woden’s Day
Since Meredith had no real memories of her father other than those gleaned through his letters and the things her grandparents spoke of, her images of him came mostly through dreams. In one dream that recurred often, she found herself wandering the halls of Valhalla, the place of fallen heroes, looking for him. It is said that in Valhalla, there are more than six hundred and forty doors; in Meredith’s dreams, she knocked at all of them, but found nothing.
She told Michael about these dreams—he laughed, and quoted from one of the Eddas :
“At every door
before you enter
look around with care;
you never know
what enemies
aren’t waiting for you there.”
Meredith didn’t tell him about her dreams after that.
O O O
Meredith had only been to the place where her father was killed once, with June, right after she had come to Silvertown. It was a pretty stand of elm and maple trees, with a few oaks scattered around for substance. Since everyone in town was still preoccupied with the events of the night before—nothing was working, yet, and no reason had been established for the extraordinary circumstance—Meredith suddenly felt compelled to revisit the site. Perhaps it was because of Michael’s death; not that she would admit to any overt sentimentality where he was concerned, but he had raised Meredith as his own, and loved her in his way. She had, in a manner of speaking, lost a father on three separate occasions: first, when Vasily left Vienna, and again when he was killed, here; and then Monday, when Michael was slain by Hagen-something-Gunnar-something.
Meredith’s grandparents held a strong grudge against her father for leaving. Granted, it had been their daughter who had had the affair, but like her own people, the Gypsies, they believed that a man should defend what is his, and guard his honor. Meredith’s grandmother believed he left because he couldn’t deal with the betrayal; her grandfather, however, believed that Meredith’s father left because protecting his honor would have meant killing his wife as well as her lover—and that would have left a child who would one day learn her father had killed her mother. Rather than force both of them to endure that, he simply left.
What was unforgivable to Meredith’s grandparents was that he gave his blessing for her mother to marry Michael. Whether this made him a romantic or a coward, she never examined too closely.
The spot where he’d been killed was bare of grass; the plants scuffed away by the police chief’s investigations. Nothing had ever turned up; nothing substantial enough to use, anyway. There were no marks on the body, no sign of a struggle. If it wasn’t for the fact his head was missing, one might have suspected he’d simply wandered down and fallen asleep beneath the trees.
Suddenly, Meredith realized something had changed—there was a pile of brush beneath the tree that did not belong. Looking closer, she realized the dried up fragments tied in a bundle had been flowers—cut flowers. Someone had been to this spot fairly recently, and had left flowers where her father had died. But who? Other than the Kawaminami’s, Meredith’s father had no close friends in Silvertown, or anywhere else, for that matter. He had worked as a day laborer for the shipping companies that came through the Seaway, and had companions he drank with, but no one she’d met in the months she’d been here was the kind of associate who’d leave flowers.
I must think on this , Meredith resolved.
Troubled, she looked around a final time, then headed back into town.
O O O
As morning came, the extent and scope of what they were grappling with began to be clear; smoke filled the sky horizon to horizon. The tragedy of Brendan’s Ferry was not a solitary one. Once or twice more, planes
Sweet, nothing , thought Meredith—she was delicious .
***
Chapter Three
Woden’s Day
Since Meredith had no real memories of her father other than those gleaned through his letters and the things her grandparents spoke of, her images of him came mostly through dreams. In one dream that recurred often, she found herself wandering the halls of Valhalla, the place of fallen heroes, looking for him. It is said that in Valhalla, there are more than six hundred and forty doors; in Meredith’s dreams, she knocked at all of them, but found nothing.
She told Michael about these dreams—he laughed, and quoted from one of the Eddas :
“At every door
before you enter
look around with care;
you never know
what enemies
aren’t waiting for you there.”
Meredith didn’t tell him about her dreams after that.
O O O
Meredith had only been to the place where her father was killed once, with June, right after she had come to Silvertown. It was a pretty stand of elm and maple trees, with a few oaks scattered around for substance. Since everyone in town was still preoccupied with the events of the night before—nothing was working, yet, and no reason had been established for the extraordinary circumstance—Meredith suddenly felt compelled to revisit the site. Perhaps it was because of Michael’s death; not that she would admit to any overt sentimentality where he was concerned, but he had raised Meredith as his own, and loved her in his way. She had, in a manner of speaking, lost a father on three separate occasions: first, when Vasily left Vienna, and again when he was killed, here; and then Monday, when Michael was slain by Hagen-something-Gunnar-something.
Meredith’s grandparents held a strong grudge against her father for leaving. Granted, it had been their daughter who had had the affair, but like her own people, the Gypsies, they believed that a man should defend what is his, and guard his honor. Meredith’s grandmother believed he left because he couldn’t deal with the betrayal; her grandfather, however, believed that Meredith’s father left because protecting his honor would have meant killing his wife as well as her lover—and that would have left a child who would one day learn her father had killed her mother. Rather than force both of them to endure that, he simply left.
What was unforgivable to Meredith’s grandparents was that he gave his blessing for her mother to marry Michael. Whether this made him a romantic or a coward, she never examined too closely.
The spot where he’d been killed was bare of grass; the plants scuffed away by the police chief’s investigations. Nothing had ever turned up; nothing substantial enough to use, anyway. There were no marks on the body, no sign of a struggle. If it wasn’t for the fact his head was missing, one might have suspected he’d simply wandered down and fallen asleep beneath the trees.
Suddenly, Meredith realized something had changed—there was a pile of brush beneath the tree that did not belong. Looking closer, she realized the dried up fragments tied in a bundle had been flowers—cut flowers. Someone had been to this spot fairly recently, and had left flowers where her father had died. But who? Other than the Kawaminami’s, Meredith’s father had no close friends in Silvertown, or anywhere else, for that matter. He had worked as a day laborer for the shipping companies that came through the Seaway, and had companions he drank with, but no one she’d met in the months she’d been here was the kind of associate who’d leave flowers.
I must think on this , Meredith resolved.
Troubled, she looked around a final time, then headed back into town.
O O O
As morning came, the extent and scope of what they were grappling with began to be clear; smoke filled the sky horizon to horizon. The tragedy of Brendan’s Ferry was not a solitary one. Once or twice more, planes
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