Chapter 18
To his surprise, it was Kiliordes urging the others on to greater speed. His own impatience astonished him. No doubt, Brythia’s sense of urgency had been contagious. He had to assure Findelbres that he was well enough to resume their trek; and Delorick that the horses had had enough rest. As for Pagyrus, well, he seemed content to follow Kiliordes’ lead and made no protest one way or the other.
He was worried about Tolian, certainly, but now Brythia had become the focus of his anxiety. Clearly, Dowbreth needed Tolian alive for some purpose. But the druidess...what if she managed to catch up to them? The giant faerie would surely have no difficulty dispatching her and continuing on his way undisturbed. As they made their way down the narrow game trail (at a much slower pace than under Brythia’s lead), his eyes scanned the dark, fearfully searching for Brythia’s lifeless and bloody corpse. How could she have even entertained the notion of confronting Dowbreth by herself? Stupid. Stubborn, he thought. Even with the Moonsword, it was an errand of folly.
These thoughts forced Kiliordes to pick up the pace of their pursuit, just as the snow began to fall. The flakes became more visible in the gradual lightening of the sky, bringing memories of both his childhoods to his thoughts. He normally didn’t indulge himself with reflections on the fact that he had once been two people. It often brought on the feeling of disunity that he loathed. It was stressing to his mind. In many ways, it was more convenient to think of himself as having come into existence on that bitter day in January. But something about the magick of the snow called the memories out and allowed him to wander there without the discomfort. He remembered himself as young Rwiordes, maybe seven, dashing through the woods behind his father’s house, throwing snowballs at Perelisk and Hertrid. How strange they seemed to him from the shadows of his memory, Perelisk so damn cocky, yet so innocent, and Hertrid, ever the stout follower, but how young. He had not liked to think about them since, well, last year, but here in this memory there was only innocence, except the well-thrown ice ball from Perelisk, which hit him square in the chin. He could easily recall how it hurt. Then the passing shadow, the guilt. He had cut off Perelisk’s head. It wasn’t Perelisk at the time, of course, he always told himself that, but it rarely helped. He was obliged to remind himself that if he hadn’t done it, the Demon would have destroyed the world. Even that didn’t help.
He was happy enough to escape that line of thought, by a reminiscence from Kilfrie’s girlhood. So different she was from Rwiordes. She was alone in the deep forests of the Haunted Mountains. It was so clear. How old was she then? Five. So young. Practicing, always practicing. Walking alone through her favorite part of the forest, a thick deer woods, moss-covered green in the warmer weather, but in this memory, snowbound in fresh powdery cover. Ah yes, he thought, this was that day. She had felt so strange that day. She knew then that that would be the day. All the practicing would pay off. She felt it in the deepest core of her young being.
The snow was falling, just an idle snow shower, amongst the birches and the grape vines of her little valley. The rabbit should have been tucked away in its warren, cozy and warm, but it wasn’t. It had felt like they were drawn to each other. They came upon each other as if the gods had set an appointment for them. He remembered dropping down to her knees, bare knees in the snow. She didn’t care. She stared into the rabbit’s eyes.
He stopped himself. He didn’t like to remember the Hamfahring, the Gift. That power that Kilfrie had possessed. It made him nervous. He didn’t like thinking about it. He refocused his attention to the game trail and signs for his friends.
But his mind, it seemed, was uncooperative, enjoined by the snow’s power to pull memories unbidden into the light of the conscious mind. And so another reverie unfolded before his mind’s eye. He remembered the last time he had seen Serendi, his daughter. They made a snowman together. The snow was too dry and did not pack well, resulting in quite a pathetic figure. But what a jewel Serendi was, so beautiful, maybe six years old. Luckily, she took after her mother. What fun they had that day. He felt a pang of loss.
He heard Delorick exclaim behind him, “Ho. A campsite. You passed it, Kiliordes.”
The campsite had been abandoned, and was largely snow-covered, offering few clues as to who may have camped there. The smoldering remnants of a small campfire were all that could be seen. There was nothing to be learned there. They studied it and paced about for a few moments, but quickly resumed their path. It offered some hope that they were still on the right trail, and for that Kiliordes was grateful.
Nonetheless, it stood as a reminder to Kiliordes of what
a different person he had become. To
Kilfrie, it would have been second nature to see the campsite, even in the
snow-packed morning twilight. Despite
his reluctance to access her druidic training, he needed to use any resource at
his disposal in the current situation.
His friends’ lives depended on it.
The snow grew in intensity as the morning wore on,
weighing down leafless branches and evergreen boughs, and making it even more
difficult to detect the various obstacles of the poorly kept trail. Kiliordes was particularly ecstatic when he
could see the path empty onto a snow-covered road. At last to be free from the oppressive
tightness of the game trail (a thought, he realized, which would have been
completely alien to Kilfrie).
Despite the now heavy snow, he could see that there was
something in the road. Was that a horse
milling about in the close vicinity to the object? As they brought their horses on to the road,
he could see it was Whisper, and the object in the road was none other than
Brythia, covered in several inches of white powdery flakes. She wasn’t moving.
“Oh Gods, no,” he thought. “Please no.”
He yelled back to the others, “Hurry, quick, it’s Brythia.” He
immediately dismounted and rushed to her side.
She was sitting in the druidic meditation position—cross-legged. Her eyes were closed tightly and her face had
a reddish-blue tinge, which immediately set Kiliordes to worrying. As he reached her side, however, it became
obvious that she was breathing rhythmically; in fact, she was snoring
slightly. His heart lightened with
relief.
“Bring blankets.
Get a fire going,” he called back to the others, and he returned his
attention to the near frozen druidess.
“Brythia,” he said in a quiet voice next to her ear.
No response.
“Brythia,” he said again, but louder. He gently brushed the accumulated snow off
her head and shoulders and delicately squeezed her arm.
Her eyes popped open.
Bewilderment and sleepiness played ther
e.
“What?” she mumbled in confusion. “Oh no, Kiliordes. The white hart was going to tell me something
important.”
Now, it was his turn to be confused. “I’m sorry, Brythia. What did you say?”
She
blinked a couple of times and shook her head.
Findelbres
stepped up and wrapped a blanket around her.
She paid him no attention, but continued speaking to Kiliordes.
“You
interrupted me; I was doing the Whole Forest Assumption and I would have had
something... if you hadn’t broken the trance...”
He
cut her off. “You weren’t in a trance,
you were asleep. People don’t snore in
meditative trances.”
“No,
you wouldn’t think so,” agreed Delorick, now standing behind him. “Princess, are you all right?”
Delorick’s
question caused the druidess to shudder involuntarily and pull the blanket snuggly
around her.
“I
guess so, I’m not sure,” she replied. “I
fell asleep. Damn.”
“Brythia,
get up off the cold ground, while we get a fire going. You’ll catch your death of chill,” said
Findelbres, taking some kindling from Pagyrus and placing it in a small circle
he must have just cleared in the snow.
“What,
oh yes.” Kiliordes helped her to her
feet. She still seemed disoriented, out
of sorts and angry with herself.
“You
attempted the Whole Forest Assumption?” he asked her. With Kilfrie’s power, she had never bothered
to learn the more traditional meditations of that sort, but Kiliordes certainly
remembered hearing of others attempting it.
It was supposedly an extremely difficult procedure under the best of
conditions.
Now
despondency colored her voice, “I failed, and now we have no way to track
Tolian.”
She
started to sob, softly at first.
“But,”
inquired Delorick, “what of the Moonsword?
You were using it to track them, were you not?”
“It
doesn’t work anymore,” she said. “Tolian
commanded it to stop...” Now tears
flowed freely down her frozen cheeks.
“Now we can’t find her, that’s why I tried...”
“Calm
down, dear,” offered Kiliordes. He felt
so sorry for her. “You’re not making any
sense, you know.”
He
put his arm around her. She shuddered
slightly as “the look” flashed across her face.
Kiliordes sighed.
“Take
some deep breaths, try to relax, and calm yourself,” he suggested.
Then
something in her changed, her eyes lit up and she stared into his eyes. “You,” said the druidess. “You can do it. You’re Kilfrie. You have her power.”
Kiliordes
let go of her, his face went blank, and he stepped back. He instantly found himself getting
nervous. Agitated.
“I
can do what?” he asked with a surprisingly accusatory tone.
Her
eyes grew wide, and a smile touched her lips.
“You. You can find them,” she
exclaimed triumphantly.
“She’s
delirious from the cold,” said Delorick.
“Here. They’ve got the fire going
already.”
“No. I’m not delirious,” she exclaimed, almost
gleefully. “You can do it,
Kiliordes. You’re the only one who can. You can use the Hamfahring. Use Kilfire’s gift. Your gift.”
He
just stared at her as though she had committed the most heinous of crimes. He could say nothing. He wanted to protest, but the words would not
come.
“Yes,
of course,” said Findelbres. “She’s
right. That is provided you can still do
it. Can you?”
There
it is, isn’t it? He had been afraid of the power. For some time, he thought that it just been a
rebelliousness in him, something that did not, once having been freed from the
harsh regimen of always practicing “the gift”, wish to be so obliged once
again. Something in him wanted to
be this new being, a creature of unity, not some synthetic thing, two separate
souls stitched together, but someone new and complete. But, it was fear. He was afraid of the gift. He could not explain why he was afraid
either. He just knew that he was afraid
for some reason. “I can’t do it,” he
said. “I don’t think I can do it. I don’t really remember how.”
How
hollow his words sounded, even to him. Empty words formed of fear. Cowardice, he thought. No, now was not the time to pander to his
selfish worries. Tolian was in real
trouble. His friends were right—it was
the only way. “I’ll try,” he said
finally.
Brythia
smiled and hugged him. She held him in
her embrace and whispered a soft “Thank you” in his ear.
“Come,
Princess Brythia,” said Pagryus. “You
must warm yourself here by the fire.”
Kiliordes
disengaged himself from her embrace gently.
“Yes,” he agreed, “you should warm yourself. I’ll try, but first let’s just warm up for a
minute.”
Brythia
had summoned a crow with a few loud caws and a piece of leftover pork. It regarded him through the snow on its
position on the druidess’ forearm. Of
course, Kilfrie would have been able to summon the crow herself, and probably
he could still do it, but it seemed more important to concentrate on that which
he alone could do. It was a good-sized
bird, and it was likely no easy task for Brythia to hold her arm as steady as
she was. First, the druidess asked the
crow with a series of croaks and caws whether or not the bird had seen two
people traveling through the area.
Kiliordes was surprised that he largely understood their conversation. If the crow had encountered them, it could
save him from having to undertake the use of Kilfrie’s “gift”.
“What
is she doing?” Pagyrus asked.
“She’s
asking it if it’s seen them,” Kiliordes replied.
“Then,
why not just ask all the animals in the forest until we find one who has?”,
inquired Delorick.
The
question made sense, on the surface, but Kiliordes knew it was impractical, at
best.
Brythia
answered him softly, so not to disturb the bird on her arm. “It would take a long time to summon forest
creatures and in turn interrogate them.
Yes, maybe we would get lucky early on, but more likely probably
not. That was why I attempted the Whole
Forest Assumption, to try and do it all at once. No, this is the only way. Kiliordes, are you ready?”
He
sighed to relieve some of the stress building up in him. Was he sure he could even remember how it was
done?
“Yes,
I’m ready. We’re both of us going to
need to sit down, I’m afraid.”
“Fine,”
answered the golden-haired druidess, and she dropped gently into the staple
cross-legged position to one side of the fire.
Kiliordes
eased himself into a similar position (but, with much more difficulty). He made a sharp click with his tongue to get
the crow’s attention, and sure enough the black bird brought its wandering eyes
to face him. The eyes. That was the secret. As he caught the bird’s gaze and held it,
everything came rushing back to him.
The
eyes were the gateway. He steadied his
breathing. Slow and calm. Slower.
Match up with the crow’s breathing and slow it down. He stared deeply into the eyes. The eyes.
The old trick. The eyes were the
gateway. Blackish purple. He imagined himself walking into the crow’s
eyes. As soon as he did so, the “gift”
went to work. It was automatic.
Kiliordes
was the crow staring back at his own human body sitting motionless, save for
the slow and rhythmic breathing. The
crow’s body fit him like a glove. The
old joy of achievement came back to him.
The thrill of being something else, something completely alien. Different.
With
a joyous caw, he hopped off Brythia’s forearm.
She smiled at him.
“Go. Find them,” she said.
He
walked a few steps and unfolded his wings.
He noticed that he was actually much warmer now, his feathers fluffed to
maximize his insulation from the frigid air.
He tried a couple of experimental flaps of his black greasy wings, to
accustom himself to the crow’s body.
Then, he leapt up into the air, flapped his wings, and lifted up. With a caw, he left them on the ground.
Higher
and higher he flew. The exhilaration was
complete. He was flying. He allowed himself to fly no higher than he
could easily see the others clearly through the falling snow. He circled them twice and then went in search
of Tolian and Dowbreth. It was pure
freedom, pure magick. He felt the crow’s
blood pulse through his veins. He felt
alive. He rang out a few more caws just
for the sheer thrill of it.
How
beautiful the world looked from this perspective. The world painted crystalline white, bathed
in a blanket of divine innocence, pure and wholesome again. Flakes of infinite variety danced in the air
around him. Life at its most peaceful,
yet full of its coldness and harshness.
The air moved beneath his mighty wings and he felt like singing. How could he have ever forgotten the glory,
the power, and the freedom of the Hamfahring?
The sharing of life. This was
true communion with nature. He could not
remember being happier. He cawed again.
Copyright 2004, 2015 Diana Hignutt
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