“Solo?” said Enoch, incredulous. “Solo!” He stepped forward and wrapped his old friend in a great bear hug. “My God, man, where have you been? I’ve needed you.”
Solomon smiled, his old familiar twisted half smile. “I fell at Karakorum, my lord, as well you remember.”
“Then what am I doing here?” demanded Enoch.
“I think, my lord, that we are in the land of the dead. I’ve been waiting for you,” replied Solomon.
“Waiting for me?” Enoch repeated.
“Aye, my lord. So we travel onward together and face whatever comes next.”
Enoch frowned. “Solo,” he began, placing a hand on his old friend’s shoulder, “I’m not done yet. I need to keep going.”
“You could be done, if you wanted to, my lord,” replied Solomon.
“I know,” observed Enoch, suddenly feeling very tired. “I know. But there are things I’ve yet to do, brave one. Move on without me. I’ll join you in the end.”
“If it’s all the same to you, my lord, I’ll wait for you here a little longer,” said Solomon stubbornly.
Enoch sighed and embraced his friend once more. “As you wish, Solo. I will see you again.” He resolutely turned away from the best and most loyal friend he had ever had in his life and resumed his steady, loping run.
Under a silver sun, through whispering silver grass, Enoch continued to run. As he ran, he asked himself:
Why not stop, old warrior? You have journeyed long and worked hard in the service of your cause. Are you afraid to rest?
Enoch paused a moment to catch his breath. He put his hands on his knees and brought in great gulps of air.
“You’re getting old, my love,” murmured a voice behind him, warmly. “There was a time when you could run a marathon without pause.”
He spun around, hope rising in his chest. “Grace!” Enoch cried.
There she was, in all her beauty, the same as the day he had looked upon her for the last time. Her smile was just as warm and loving as he remembered it to be. Enoch felt as if his heart would break.
“Grace,” he said with a catch in his voice, as he stepped forward and took his beloved wife into his arms, holding her tightly. “Oh, my Grace.”
“My champion,” she murmured, pressing fiercely into his chest. Finally, after what felt like both forever and nothing, she took a step back and looked up at him.
“The years have not been kind to you, my love,” Grace said gently, reaching a hand up to his face.
“There have been hardships,” admitted Enoch. “But Aria still lives. I have managed to keep her safe. She is grown…she has even”—Enoch paused—“she has even found a man of her own.”
Grace gave a small, secret smile. “That cannot be easy for you to see. Is he a good man?”
Enoch let out a huff of breath. “I have not seen enough of him to know for sure. I think so? A brave man, certainly.”
The ghost of his wife patted his cheek. “Ah, Aria. The brave ones are the most trouble.”
A shadow passed over Enoch’s heart. “Grace…Grace, my love. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She peered up into his eyes. “For what, my champion?”
“I…I couldn’t save you,” Enoch said brokenly. “I tried. I tried so hard.”
“Oh, Enoch,” Grace said softly. “Enoch Immanuel. You are the strongest, bravest, most stubborn man I have ever known, but even you cannot do the impossible. I died. There was nothing for it. There was not a single thing you could have done. It was not your fault.”
Enoch closed his eyes and felt something leave his shoulders; something that he had not known was even there.
Grace put a hand on Enoch’s broad chest and smiled. “Now go,” she said, smiling.
