Don Castle Eternity

Don Castle loves both his children. He sees them, now and then, as best he can. It’s always a little tense, every other word hiding an accidental barb or tooth, but he tries, and he thinks they do too. He thinks maybe they even both love him, in their own very different ways.

After that meeting, so full of revelations, he has distanced himself from Edward Murk. It was no easy decision, but perhaps it had been a long time in coming. Undoubtedly it was talking to John, and to Elias… And to Edward himself, certainly. But having that ray of possibility cast in his mind: perhaps there is another way to believe. Suddenly the world was not so binary. In a mess of words from an unfamiliar tongue, he could take a step out from Edward’s shadow, and choose for himself how he might live with his beliefs and his deeds. Part of that meant atoning. There was such damage, in the Underground, both physical and metaphysical. And Don had some hand in so very much of it. This was never what he had wanted, really. All he had hoped for was a community basking in the glory of the Great Rat. He just wanted people to understand and believe. (And not harm the rats – mitigating his resentment towards the bakery was something he was still working on.) Yet had he stood up against the cult’s actions when they got too far? Had he acted decisively as he realised the depth of Kurson’s depravity? No.

So Don remained Underground, and he returned to his farming. The simplicity of spreading fertiliser, coaxing life out of the moist soil, adding just the right amount of water. It was hard work, but it was good work.

He helped, too, with rebuilding, where he was welcome. “Just another set of hands, that’s all there is to it.”

He didn’t ask for forgiveness: he knew that wasn’t something he could expect, or earn. But he gave space and time where it was asked for, and company and conversation where that was asked for, too. And perhaps, some distant morning, Don and John would once again be toiling in silent communion to the bounty of the soil.

Except, of course, Don Castle did none of these things. Farmer Don Castle perished under the thirsty blade of his own son, trying (failing) to keep him from doing worse. Fear, uncertainty, grief, confusion. And then, in a terrible way, peace.

Written by Dahria K.