The Wolves of Gryning: Chapter 8
Chapter 8: The Immortals
The River of Ash is the longest river in the Northern Kingdoms. It originates in the Lake of the Moon, which itself is located in the mountains along the Rim of the World, less than a hundred leagues Northeast of Hollow. The Ash flows like a ribbon of dusk down into the kingdom of the foxes, through to the kingdom of wolves. Though it was the major source of water for the beasts of the North, few of them had ever traveled all the way up the mountain pass to the placid lake. There was something off about the place, something that didn't sit right with those few who'd been there. They said spirits hovered over the waters, unseen but powerful. The foxes called it a holy place.
So when the old grey fox began hiking up, he expected to be alone. Barda raised a weary hand to his head and held it there.
Just me up there. Me, and whatever other gods may be.
The attack on Hollow had displaced a huge number of foxes, himself included. And while the wolves had built countless small villages amongst the trees of the Kvalsdimm, the foxes had no such community. Hollow had been where you lived if you wanted to live with other beasts. Otherwise you could take your chances alone in the Foxwoods. Barda had always thought there was something magical about that idea, about living alone, but now that everybeast he knew was dead or gone... It felt less appealing.
No need to worry about nobeast else. Not ever again.
He thought it sounded better than it felt. Only now that he was alone did he understand the weight of that word. Alone. He'd be no less alone atop the mountains, but if the Lake of the Moon really was as holy as they said... Well, they said there were spirits there -- some beasts called them gods. Supposedly it was where the air of the real world bled over into the next. Barda hoped desperately he'd see something, see someone, but he wouldn't kid himself.
It was a holy place, though... He'd been there once, when he was just a kit and red as an ember. Yet Barda remembered nothing of that trip, save for a fleeting memory of a silver wave lapping over stones the color of night. It was this image that drove him onward. Everything he had ever loved had been taken from him. Everything but that one memory, which was untouched, pristine.
He pressed onward.
Yhlamora rose from the waves, shimmering. The immortal's shiftless form spread out over the lake's entire surface then rose as a million droplets of light. A shape like a bat came together, then sprouted antlers; it became like a flame upon the water, like a wolf within the wind, like a sheet of lilies raining.
Rheuhl was on the shore, blossoming upward from the stones like a streak of spilled ink. The immortal being occupied the space left between Yhlamora's twinkles.
"Must you always looks so busy?" Rheuhl asked. His eyes glowed brightly. "Settle!"
Yhlamora broke apart and snowed upon the water, then reformed on the opposite shore, across from Rheuhl.
"I see that you haven't changed a bit," Yhlamora drawled.
"Neither have you -- What is the purpose of all your meddling?"
"Me? Meddle? Perish the thought, Rheuhl, perish it! I'm not meddling, or interfering, or sticking my nose where it doesn't belong. Whatever you want to call it, I'm not doing it, okay? And don't you tell me to settle. You're like a statue. It's unnatural. How can you bear it? I'm like a plant, growing everywhere I can, all at once. See?"
Yhlamora exploded outward and filled the sky with stars, then said:
"You're just jealous of the light."
"I cannot be jealous. I am the opposite of you. Without me, you wouldn't exist. You know that."
"Whatever you want to hear, Rheuhl."
"I really must insist you stop meddling."
"You're the one meddling. I'm not blind! You spoke to that she-wolf, didn't you? In the woods? And you're busy lending your powers out left and right. That's right, I know where those sorcerers get their power, and it's not from me. Not anymore, at least."
"There aren't any sorcerers left."
"There is one."
"Then you must leave the priests alone. And the king, too! I know you touched his mind with visions. Don't think you possess all the knowledge in the world, Yhlamora! I know you've been filling their heads, poisoning their thoughts."
"I'm not hurting anyone."
"Hurting isn't evil."
"I never said that. Bah, you're impossible!" Yhlamora came together again in a vague, anonymous form, but slumped downward, drawing its knees up. Then the immortal raised its head, made a motion like sniffing.
"There's someone approaching... A mortal. You want proof of my word, Rheuhl? Do with the beast what you will. I won't interfere. Take that as my word that I have ceased my meddling."
Yhlamora turned into a beam of light and streaked away.
"What's your game?" Rheuhl grumbled, watching the immortal leave.
Then Rheuhl became aware of the fox's presence. Barda had finished his long hike, though it had taken the better part of a day, and he was exhausted. He staggered to the water's edge, falling face first into the lapping waves, laughing. He splashed the water up and around himself and then rolled onto his back in the stones, sighing to himself. Then Rheuhl drew his dark form upward and coated the night sky, and finally the fox realized that he wasn't alone. Not alone at all.
In the light of the morning sun, the River of Ash twinkled. It bore a gift down like a leaf or a loose pebble, bobbing peaceful and light through the tree trunks. There was nobeast around to witness the passing of Barda from this life to the next, nor anybeast to watch his body float away. The silent procession took place all that morning long, and the next, and the next, as he drifted out among his scattered people, out of the only kingdom he'd ever known.