The Last Days of Krypton - Kevin J. Anderson [96]
“Your father is dying. This could be your last chance to say good-bye.” Charys hesitated. The image flickered, and he realized that she had switched off the recording to gather her courage so that she wouldn’t cry, so that her voice wouldn’t crack. “I’ve already sent a message to Zor-El, but I doubt he’ll make it from Argo City in time. Please hurry. I need at least one of you here.”
Lara would not let him go alone. An angry breeze picked up, growing moist as gray clouds formed overhead, and Jor-El didn’t even notice when the drizzle began. They borrowed a fast platform flyer from one of the construction crews, activated the passenger cover, and left the noisy and frenetic work site.
It was raining hard by the time they landed the hovering raft among the trees that enfolded the isolated dacha. Jor-El’s knees shook as he stepped down from the vehicle. Cold droplets splattered his face and plastered down his white hair, but he hardly noticed the discomfort.
As they ran to the porch, Jor-El saw that Charys had allowed her garden to fall into weeds. After the blooms had been plucked for Jor-El and Lara’s wedding more than a month before, the untended flowers had reblossomed in a riot of colorful petals. The fact that his mother had not cared for her prized plants told him more than any verbal explanations.
She opened the door, looking wan and lonely, her eyes hollow. “Come inside. I’m glad to have you here with me.”
His face gray and pale, a sheen of sweat sparkling on his forehead, Yar-El lay on his bed, covered by a light blanket. His open eyes barely blinked as he stared off into his own universe. His breathing was shallow.
“He knows what happened to Kandor,” Charys said. “It’s not always obvious when he’s aware of his surroundings, so I’m not sure how he learned the news, but he feels the loss of the city. That’s what did this to him.” Unnecessarily, she straightened the blankets, then stroked Yar-El’s hair, keeping her hands busy. The older woman struggled to maintain her dignity. “Another day, Yar-El. Just hold on another day. Zor-El will be here as soon as he can.”
They watched over the catatonic man in a long vigil, unable to find words. Surprisingly, old Yar-El blinked. His watery eyes flicked from side to side, then focused. He lifted a hand, weakly extending a finger.
Jor-El leaned closer. “Father, can you hear me?”
Yar-El pointed to the side of the bed, growing agitated. He clenched his fingers, then pointed again, attempting to grasp something. Lara saw that he was trying to reach the touch-sensitive notepad at the side of the bed. “He wants to write something. Do you have a stylus?”
Charys rushed to get a writing implement, but Yar-El took the tablet and made a sweeping stroke with his finger, drawing a curve that bent and rebent back upon itself. The old man clearly and deliberately formed the S-shaped symbol of their family crest, the serpent of deceit trapped within an impenetrable diamond. He let the pad fall onto the blankets that covered his lap.
With his other hand, he reached out to clasp Jor-El’s fingers and said a slow, breathy word. “Remember.” The effort took the last sparks of his existence. Yar-El sighed, slumped back into his pillows, and closed his eyes forever.
Zor-El arrived four hours too late in the swift silver flyer that had previously taken him to the southern continent. He and Alura, windblown and exhausted, ran from the clearing where they had landed, but to no avail. As soon as they stepped through the door of the dacha, Zor-El immediately sensed the pall of sadness. He looked at his brother, and Jor-El shook his head.
Yar-El lay at peace on his bed, and his younger son approached tentatively. “I suppose I mourned him a