Homesick

Sitting with James on the rings around Aunia I, I watched the station that I had called home during my brief time as a pilot.

"It seems closer than it should be, James.  Are my eyes playing tricks on me?"

"You don't have eyes anymore, Norrin."

Indeed, I have no eyes.  I don't have a posterior anymore, either, so I suppose we weren't really sitting at all.  We were everywhere and nowhere, and quantifying the experience of the present state in terms of physical senses would be futile, at best.  Over the past few months, James has been a wonderful companion, a good brother, yet I've brought with me a certain restlessness that dampens my enjoyment of noncorporeal freedom.

Freedom.

I thought I was free as a pilot, wandering the stars with little to constrain me.  Little did I realize what a prison a body is, to say nothing of the social obligations that we're taught from the day we're born.  Now that I'm truly free, however, I find that I miss the surprises and even the limitations of mortality.  James says that when he first found himself in the afterlife, he longed for his favorite toys, as any small boy would.  I sometimes wonder if I would harbor more bitterness if I had been taken so young; for his part, he seems perfectly happy.

"Is there a way home, James?"

It's important for me to know.  Mother's crying tears at my soul.  Whispers in the ether trouble me deeply, and I'm not content to watch and listen.  For a fellow who was never particularly motivated to do anything, I find that as a ghost I'm quite interested in being a busybody.

James pointed out into the deep black and whispered, "There."

I didn't see anything except the stars, which also seemed much closer than they should be.  I squinted and strained, tilted my head every which way, yet still I saw nothing.  My brother could hardly contain his laughter.

"You don't have eyes, Norrin.  Anyhow, I'm just messing with you."

I grumbled, "I'm glad one of us is amused.  Is there a way home or not?"

"Tired of my company already?"

It was my turn to laugh, "Not at all, but I. . ."

"You miss her, don't you?"

Of course, he was talking about Kekah.  I think my heart sank a bit at the thought of her.  She was so very precious to me, and I distinctly recall longing for her as I died there on the floor at The Last Gate.  Nevertheless, she hadn't been on my mind lately.  There was another her, however, who definitely occupied my thoughts.

I never quite understood why, when freedom was given to her on a silver platter, she sought some degree of servitude.  Now that I am afforded infinite freedom, I find that I would prefer more time in my mortal prison.  I think perhaps I'd be a much better friend now than I was then.

After a long silence, he finally gave me a straight answer: "Yes, you can go back. . ."