We’ve smoothed the road as best we could without outright paving it. We want today to be comfortable for them, as painless and peaceful and quietly joyful as possible. It’s what we’ve promised. They can sit in the garden or beside the sea and be fêted at our feast. They’ll sleep in warm beds in Alder House, wake before dawn, and as the Day begins, an ending.

It’s a long way to the house when you’re in pain. We’ve got a golf cart to ferry those who need it, but I see a few of our guests waving it off. They want the slow procession. They want to breathe the sea air and take in the birdsong one more time. Others are too far gone to notice. The pain shows plainly on their faces, lightning bolts under their temples, daggers in their guts.

Emma and the other girls gently place the garlands on their heads, one by one, whispering, “Welcome to Lute. Thank you and bless you.”

One of the carers—a young man, a relative perhaps—has begun to shake and cry.

Matty looks to me. I press a hand to Charlie’s back. He’s ready. He’s thought about this for half his life.

A few months after the Day, when I felt he could talk about it, I asked him why he’d gone to the stone on the day we were meant to leave. Had Brian whispered in his ear, another of his schemes to keep us on the island? Charlie told me no. The Shining Ones told him to go to the grove and see it for himself, and he knew he had to obey. They speak to him with words, even now. With me, it’s only light.

“As Lord of Lute, I welcome you,” he says now, his voice a little too loud. “We thank you for joining our ancient tradition. For our peace. For our safety. For all our blessings here. We cannot begin to repay our debt to you, our visitors. But please join in our feast, in our traditions, in our wine, if you … if you like.”

One woman slumped in her chair rouses enough to smile and murmur, “I do like,” earning an appreciative laugh from the welcoming crowd.

Matty joins in. That he can laugh on the day before the tithe is a fresh marvel, though the sound of it isn’t uncommon on other days. It’s as familiar as the gulls, Emma’s scales on the piano, the roar and hush of the waves on the rocky beach.

“It is my great honor, our honor, to be with you, to share your final moments, to speak your names in one voice. Thank you, and bless you.”