The Parting Glass

The biosphere aboard the Morrigan was one of the few places on the ship that felt alive. Not in the way a ship’s engines hummed, or the way its bulkheads groaned in jumpspace, but in the way green things reached for light, roots pressed into soil and leaves whispered secrets no one else could understand.

Tonight, it was lit only by soft glow lamps, their pale golden light casting long, wavering shadows across the little grove of trees and tangled vines. The air smelled of damp earth, something faintly floral, and the trace of ozone from the ship’s filtering systems.

Caitlin sat on a smooth, flat stone, boots planted on the mossy floor, her old fiddle tucked beneath her chin. She didn’t play often, not in front of people anyway. But here, in the quiet hum of the biosphere, she could.

She dragged the bow across the strings, and the first notes of The Parting Glass filled the space, weaving through the leaves, winding around the tree trunks. It was a song almost as old as space travel itself, carried from planet to planet, system to system, a melody that had outlived nations, empires, and people.

Every note was clean, every shift intentional. It settled into the bones of the ship, filling the space the way memories and ghosts sometimes did.

Morwen slipped in quietly, the way she always did when she meant to, and leaned against a tree, arms crossed, listening.

Maltz padded in next, not making a sound until his tail brushed against a hanging vine and sent a cascade of dew down his head. He didn’t care. He just sat down on the damp ground, ears twitching, listening like he wasn’t sure if he liked it or if it was making him feel things he wasn’t equipped to deal with.

Scarred-Snout lingered at the entrance, still as a statue. Aslans didn’t sing their grief. They carried it proudly, like a weapon or a burden, worn across their shoulders. He stayed in the shadows, but he stayed.

Even Quinn had paused in his usual rounds, standing at a respectable distance, listening with that faint, unreadable expression that might have been calculation or might have been something else entirely.

The last notes faded into the soft hush of the biosphere.

Caitlin exhaled, lowering the fiddle from her chin, eyes half-lidded in that way that suggested she was somewhere else entirely.

Morwen finally spoke, voice low. “Who was it for?”

Caitlin rolled her shoulder, setting the fiddle on her knee, and shrugged. "Take your pick."

Nobody said anything else. Some silences weren’t meant to be filled.

Out there, the universe spun on, cold and vast and entirely indifferent. But in here, the weight of memory settled heavy as the damp air, pressing down like it might stay forever.

"Right then," Caitlin said, straightening up and adjusting her grip on the fiddle. The bow rolled between her fingers like a promise. "But the thing about parting glasses is, you're supposed to drain them and move on."

She caught Morwen's eye and grinned, sudden and fierce."And I'm not ready to call it a night just yet."

Without preamble, she dragged the bow across the strings, fast, sharp, full of life, and launched into something wild, untamed, and absolutely, unequivocally alive. The kind of tune that belonged in fire-lit halls and on the decks of wooden ships where people danced until the planks shook.

Morwen snorted, caught off guard, but her foot tapped against the mossy ground despite herself.

Maltz’s ears perked up immediately, and his tail gave a single, involuntary wag, like some long-dormant instinct had just been violently shaken awake.

Scarred-Snout stiffened, nostrils flaring. It was a battle lost before it began. His ears twitched, and his claws drummed a beat against his belt.

Quinn, entirely unreadable as ever, tilted his head. “This piece is rhythmically erratic,” he observed, in the sort of tone one might use to describe a malfunctioning gravity generator.

Caitlin smiled, never missing a beat. “That’s the point, Quinn.”

The song spun and leapt like a thing with a mind of its own. It was laughter distilled into sound, the kind of music that made people stomp their feet and grin at each other like they’d known each other for years instead of just a handful of moments.

Morwen, against all reason, laughed. A rare sound, low and genuine, shaking her head as she grabbed Maltz’s wrist and hauled him to his feet.

The Vargr yelped, indignant, but Morwen was already moving. And damn it, he knew how to follow a beat when he had to.

Scarred-Snout muttered something in Trokh that was probably unrepeatable, but his tail lashed in time with the music, and Caitlin saw it, and that was victory enough.

Quinn, after a moment of deep, android contemplation, nodded once, the barest tap of his fingers against his side.

The music didn’t need words; it was its own language, full of howling defiance and the sheer bloody-minded joy of being alive.

Caitlin played until her fingers ached, until everyone had danced or laughed or at the very least tapped their damn foot against the ground.

And when the final tune finally crashed to a close, leaving only the sound of breathless grins and rustling leaves, Caitlin let her arms drop to her sides, triumphant, and grinned hugely at them all.

“Well,” she said, shaking out her hands, “that should keep us sane for another few hours.”

Maltz flopped onto the ground, panting, tail still wagging despite himself.

Morwen rolled her eyes but was still smiling.

Scarred-Snout crossed his arms and grunted, which, for an Aslan, was practically an ovation.

Cathbad’s voice stirred from the speakers, lower and gentler than usual.

“If the stars danced to anything tonight, Captain, it was to this.”

Caitlin blinked, caught off guard for half a second, before scowling at the ceiling. “You’re getting soft, old man.”

"Never," Cathbad rumbled, but there was warmth in his voice, tucked beneath the usual bluster.

And for the first time in this long, endless jump, the Morrigan felt a little less like a metal can hurtling through oblivion, and a little more like home.