Persephone's Orchard (The Chrysomelia Stories) by Molly Ringle Page B

through him. She ended up sitting in the pale grass with her legs folded, and he sat in front of her, looking more comfortable than she’d ever known him to be in his life. Even before a stroke cut his life short, he’d been riddled with arthritis. But he seemed free of pain now and stretched his legs easily out in front of him. That comforted her.
    He was naturally curious about how she and Adrian and other living folk were able to visit here. She didn’t know the answer. All she could say was Adrian brought her, and wanted to show her around—she didn’t know why yet. She looked back at where Adrian paced in the field, out of earshot, throwing a stick for Kiri. One of the souls stood near, talking with him, a young man whose features and dark hair suggested he was from India or the Middle East. They both looked over at her, as if talking about her. She turned away, facing Grandpop once more.
    “Maybe I’ll be able to come see you again,” Sophie said, standing as their conversation wrapped up. “I don’t know. I don’t quite understand what I’m doing here. I’m a little freaked out.”
    “Oh, don’t be. I have a pretty good idea what you’re doing here.” Grandpop stood too, and winked.
    “Really? Can you tell me?”
    Grandpop smiled in Adrian’s direction. “I think I’d better leave that to him. I wouldn’t want to get the etiquette wrong.”
    The soul of the young man said goodbye to Adrian, smiled at Sophie, and wandered off. Adrian walked over to join them. He nodded deferentially to Grandpop, then looked at Sophie. “Ready to move along?”
    She nodded.
    Grandpop waved her onward. “Love you, Sophie, honey.”
    “I love you too.” Her voice cracked, but she smiled for him before following Adrian down the slope. She looked back only once, to see Grandpop still watching her, waving. She waved back.
    After steadying her lungs with a deep breath, she asked, “So he’ll be here forever, waiting for the rest of the family?”
    “Probably not forever. It’s likely he’ll wait for some of you, but the souls—well, come see.” Adrian led her toward the river and walked alongside it, following it downstream.
    In a few minutes they came to a rock wall, bumpy with stalagmites. Into a tunnel in the wall the river flowed, its bank disappearing. The only way to keep following the stream would be to jump in and let it carry you along, which, Sophie supposed, would be extremely dangerous.
    But the souls were what commanded her attention. A thick crowd of them milled near the rock wall. Every few seconds, a soul stepped off the bank as if to plunge into the water, but instead of falling, they began to soar. And, like birds, each swooped downstream, flying above the river, their glow reflected in the ripples. A glimmer in the tunnel, then they were around a bend and gone.
    The souls in the crowd, Sophie noticed, were saying goodbye to each other—those who were flying away bidding farewell to those who were staying. Most did, at least. Some walked up to the river and dived away without a final word to anyone. On the faces of those left behind was a poignant smile, not grief or terror. The scene struck a quiet awe in her heart.
    “Where do they go when they leave?” she asked.
    “They’re reborn. We were all here, heaps of times. You, me, everyone. And when we were ready, we left and were born into a new life. Over and over. Never remembering this place till we died again.”
    Sophie watched the souls in their migration. “This is what they’ve told you?”
    “Every one. Ask someone if you like. Or you can go back and ask your grandfather. He’ll tell you.”
    Sophie remembered Grandpop’s strange comment about having a good idea what she was doing here, as if he had indeed gained a lot of otherworldly knowledge lately. She lowered her gaze to a clump of pale-leaved blue wildflowers growing next to a rock, and touched them with her sneaker’s toe. This impossible realm was real down to every