Little Boy Of The Mountain X
--X--
He slowed, for the foot-pain was suddenly throbbing terribly. He had a quick panicked thought that perhaps he had broken his toes, for his light slipper-like boots were no protection against such great impacts. He stopped jogging then, and tried wiggling them in the ends of his shoe. They seemed to be able to move, but not without wincing pain.
Again he checked his hand, where the serpents fang had made its gory dint. His hand and fingers, it turned out, he could move more easily than his toes. He wondered abstractly if the wyrm was poisonous. His hand did seem to him strangely thin and bony now, as though his diet was much less nourishing than he knew it to be. The skin seemed to have lost the last of it's lustre of youth. But again all these concerns of his bodily injuries left him, as the panic of what might be happening back at the farm returned in full flood.
He set off at a pace, but his knees were sore now. His legs felt creaky. It must have been getting colder, and he had not noticed. The pause to check on his toes was unwise - he had suddenly lost all his bodily warmth and was no longer limber for running. It felt like his muscles were groggy after a long night of cold sleep without a blanket.
He resigned himself to walking briskly, to give himself time to limber up again, but he begrudged the delay. The path wound its' way uphill through the trees towards the High Path. He reached the set of four and twenty boulder-steps that Clipper avoided by climbing the embankment. He found as he climbed that he was struggling for air. He was huffing and puffing like one of the old men of the village. Then he tripped on a tree root growing up from the path but managed to catch himself before he fell.
The surrounding trees grew shorter and less thickly here. He was on a zig-zag, heading temporarily south-west. It was just a little bit further on before the last twist to the right, where began the final short and straight ascent out the valley to meet the Path at the cross-roads. He tripped again, over another root or stone upon the way, and this time almost lost himself to a tumble, but there was a nearby tree stump, where the little track twisted around to head north again. He put out his un-bitten hand to catch himself, and had to drop his staff to do so. It clattered to the ground.
He paused then, shaking his head at his clumsiness, and trying to catch his breath. He was seeing stars, and the ground felt far away. He blinked his eyes and steadied himself. Why was he so exhausted? His water pouch felt extremely heavy, and it's leather cord bit into his shoulder. His thigh muscles were shaking. Was this the serpents' venom finally getting to him? He focused on the tree stump, and the hand that held it--
Wait...
Which hand had the serpent bitten?
The hand that held the stump was the serpent-afflicted hand! He felt the pain now. He noticed the inflamed bite-mark. He turned it over to look at the palm. There was a red blotch where the fang had almost come straight through. It was a deep wound. He looked at his other hand, and there too, to his great shock, was a deep bite mark. Blood dripped slowly from the punctures left and right.
He felt now the pain from both of them. What was going on? He was sure he had only held up one hand to touch the snake, but now he could not remember which it was. Left or Right?.
No time.
Onward. Forward. Northward back up the valley. He had to walk, for his ankles felt like they were made of wood. Above him the skies were grey-white with clouds again, but they were no longer diffuse. There were shadows on the east sides of their billows, and dark voids open and closed amongst them.
He was about to traverse around the treestump that marked the last reversal of the winding track and continue up on the trail, when he heard a soft voice from above him, from the path on the other side of the stump.
"Grandfather.", it said, matter-of-factly.
He froze.
The boy looked up. The voice was that of a youth, with a fine clear timbre. His swimming eyes focused.
He inhaled a sharp breath.
There was a beautiful little girl with the deepest of blue eyes standing there. The darkest blue he had ever seen, with opal glints. Her hair was an unusual dark blonde, long in the back and and untied, with a curly fringe. In the shade it seemed oddly dark, but where the sunlight caught it, her tresses shone very fine and pale. Both of her hands were laying relaxed on the treestump, and she stared at him, quite impassive. To him just then, her skin seemed not pale, not ruddy, not dark, but golden or of a subtle burnished brass. She was earthly, yet somehow distant. It was a strange meeting, but of a different sort than when he had gazed at the 'fairy' lady on the ridge, who, in his ever-fading memory of it, had skin like clear glass.
He was still shocked at this encounter with the little girl, and had not said anything. She stood, patiently expectant. He stared at her. As he did so he realized her face was as an image of his mother - a youthful incarnation of his mum - but for the nose, which was short and pixie-like, and her limbs was more stocky or chubby, like those of the boy's dad. This girl had a short stature. His mum was tall and lean. He marveled.
Verily, this child could have been his sister.
"Zöe.", the boy said, after a pause. That was her name. He knew it. She smiled. But the boy was confused and torn in heart. He must hurry, back up the path to the house. He did not understand what was going on, but somehow he knew this girl. She could not be his sister, surely. He did not have one. He did not recognize her out of any that he knew or could remember from the villages.
He walked then slowly around the treestump, up some roughly made steps that turned the corner. He stood now on the level of the little maiden, and still their gaze held. She stepped over to him, and reached out to take his hand, and as she did this he realized he was standing over her, and she looked up at him. He felt dizzy, and had to sit down against the embankment to the left, which was cut like a bench. He hung his head. He was too exhausted to think.
His hands were on his knees, and his shoulders slumped. Staring down at his thighs he realized how long they were. He lifted his cloth pant-legs, and saw that his bruised shinbones seemed to go on for yards. His feet were colossal according to all his usual notions. He was scared to stand up again, in case he was toppled for vertigo. What had happened?
"Zöe," he said again.
"Yes," she replied in her high silver voice. "That would have been my name. If I had been begotten utterly to this world when I arrived in it. I was soon returned to my rightful place to wait for the proper time. There, where I rest even now, I am ever Ka'hlimath, while the world lasts: Ntaòmbé Kalathé, Spinner of Veils. Greetings."
The boy wiped his sweaty brow, and looked again at her. Her eyes were level with him now, even though she stood, and he sat. Still the need to run back north was urging him on, but a part of him had resigned itself to some undercurrent he could not yet place.
"You are so little. Are you a dwarf-child, Zoe Kalimät? I have heard of dwarves. But your name sounds like one of the words from the serpents' chant".
The boy could not quite pronounce her full name as she had given it.
Ka'hlimath responded, "As for my name, it is one of the secrets hidden within the Succession that you were taught, as least as far as you could be taught in this turn. For that is what you heard from Watamaräka-anyava, or at least parts of it?". Here she paused, and seemed to be inquiring. However, she continued with a soft smile, "As for being a little dwarf, no. It is you that is Great. You are forgetting yourself in your fading. We are great. Us. I have come to remind you of yourself, so that you do not fade entirely, and forget your House and your Purpose, and so that you do not despair of a loneliness that is but illusion - that loneliness that you have not yet acknowledged as a little boy, and yet also have already forgotten, grandfather, for your amnesia is not for ever. You begin to remember. And you will return to us, and know again."
The boy shook his head.
"You speak in riddles," he replied softly. He felt utterly dejected. Something had cracked within him. He tried to focus on images of his house, and his parents, and his farm, and their animals. He reached for the times of slow ambling with his dad and the herd. His times carving and building. The rabbit enclosure. The lily pond. He peered towards and behind to the village meetings-- but saw only great courts and tall towers; banners... statues.... flags. Of processions, of great feasts, luxurious harems, svelte courtiers, and ... and...
What?
"I have had a queer day, and I am in fear for what might be happening up the way", said the boy. "Who are you really? What are you doing here? I think I must go now."
She sighed, and in return, said to him: "I know you feel you must, but you misunderstand things. I am here to jog your memory, for many things have tumbled out of it, just as your staff over there was lost to you for a while."
"If I am the Spinner of Veils, it is you that are the Renderer of them," said the little girl. "Your rending is done. Let me show you the door you do not yet seek but must pass."
His brow crinkled in confusion, and he dropped his eyes away from hers.
Suddenly there was a low rumble of thunder above them, and a crack of lightning nearby. His eyes shot back to the little maiden. She was not fearful... "A storm is coming," she said with gentle seriousness.
There was a silence between them. He gently shook his head, in his aching indecision. But she spoke again, from where she left off, "...And the Work will continue, as it has, even through dark days you have already achieved and forgot. And further, towards Times that you have not yet seen and that the Paramount has not spoken to us."
"You have wrought wonders, more than was necessary. And you have yet work to do, but it is not up that way, though I know it is hard to comprehend."
The girl-child went on: "My mother - that is, your daughter, who lives now, is in labour with a new star of our kin, soon to be begotten", she said. "I will carry many cares and terrible burdens shortly, after I am delivered and have forgotten."
The boy stood dumbly. She continued.
"I fell too early you see, as we all do - and as you yourself have done before, for it is necessary. It is how the siblings can be brought here. Our litter. It is the Change. Now you must submit and return, and you will rest in bliss and knowing for many an age. Do not fear. You have forgotten your victory is long completed, and you have lingered long upon your own shoulders. Very soon, by the times of this world, I will be strong enough to be delivered to it for a turn, for I am already born. Then I will be Zöe in truth, and from True Home you will watch over me in my own trials until we Change again. The curing of little Earth and it's folk takes many, many revolutions."
The boy, not really taking in her ominous words, noticed her face was dim, and her hair looked black in the heavy shadow.... shadow... because it was night already! Gosh, what had happened to the time? How long had he been wandering?
Indeed, it was late twilight, and the gathering storm clouds made it that much darker. He stood up, his back creaked, and his hips popped. He shook himself and he tried to gather his wits. He must go on up.
Zöe looked at him with soft pity.
"You know that there is little to see, grand-father"...
Suddenly the lightning struck again and a great flash pierced the clouds and the darkness. He turned his head to look north, to catch a glimpse perhaps of the crossroads and the stone circle. But the shadow fell again before he could make anything out. His rational mind suddenly ground to a halt as he tried feverishly to make some sense of all that had prevailed upon him that day. He looked away from the girl, and started trudging up the path as buckets of heavy rain began pouring down onto his bony shoulders and his thinning hair.
He strode purposefully, he was no longer sure of this curious maiden and all her strange talk. Was she distracting him? He was limping, but he trudged onward. If the girl spoke behind him the sound was drowned by the veiling sheets of rain.
It was not far now to the Crossroads. The trail was leveling out, emerging from the valley deeps. Above him, sitting soaked on a bare branch in one of the last trees of the straggling wood, there croaked a large crow.
Suddenly a gap must have opened in the gathering storm-clouds, and light filled the trackway. The waxing gibbous Moon had ridden out. The High Path became dimly visible ahead, but just then he felt a tug on his arm.
He turned. His spine clicked painfully at his sudden movement. His bones felt cold.
It was Zöe. But she looked older, and had a stern look upon her face. Almost anger. She seemed taller, and it seemed to him that shadows crept about her. He was suddenly afraid of her. He sensed a hidden power, but also he knew she could not and would not harm him.
Yet she daunted him.
She was carrying his stave, which he had not recovered from where he had dropped it, back at the corner-stump and the bench. She held it out in both hands and offered it to him.
"You must give up this folly. Please. You have to remember", she pleaded.
"Come back with me. The hidden shores await you beyond the un-visited pools, and I am your guide to them. You have always followed me to where I am hidden, and then onward. Until you forgot. We've missed you, though we've watched your every step from afar. I don't have the strength to hold open the way for ever. Opening the way is your duty, after all. Time grinds on. And I cannot follow you beyond the cross-roads."
The moonlight failed, and it was dark and shadowy again. The rain poured strongly, and the valley path was getting muddy.
The boy asked then, "What of the cross-roads? Why not".
Zöe replied, "Alas, for the strange chance that your family settled here, so near to the ring of stones and it's iron star. Yet it had a part to play, for good and ill, so it seems. It increased your trials greatly, and pained us, your hidden kin, for we could not watch you but from a distance. Without the fallen star, much would have been different. You would not be so forgetful now, in your lateness, for one thing. But your victories would have been dimmed. By the power of dark iron you remembered many more names of the succession that most do in a turn. Many letters came to be in your time - the time you don't remember has long gone."
The rain was easing now, but low rumbling thunders filled the air on all sides and great lightning lit the clouds from within. The ground seemed to be quaking.
Zöe continued, and she seemed to shrink again as she spoke.
"Your sacrifices are complete. For a time, grand father. Your grand-daughter will re-veil, and weave new mists about that which your victories have opened to the world. Your gifts must be remade now, in shadow, in order to prepare for the next rending, that will reveal yet more. And this, even though all is plain to see."
There was a playful grin on her face, but the boy was sombre.
The wind began to blow loudly. Silent sheets of lightning flashed across the scene, and when this happened, Zöe appeared to be slightly transparent.
He asked her, almost shouting over the noise of the building storm , "Can you tell me what I saw in the room, with the woman and the man, and the three strangers, and the newborn child?"
She blinked and nodded, as thunder rolled across the mountains and echoes across the valleys.
When the great sound had subsided, she said,
"You saw my birth into the world. It was my begetting, my beginning.... my slippage, you might say. However I was birthed not for my turn, but for yours. You were merely delivered at the same time, and forgot. That woman in labour was your mom and the man that was forced to leave for a time was your dad. Your mum gave birth then to Me. The strangers arrived to fetch me back Home, for my teaching - and they brought you here to be my mamma's child. Though your love was great and noble, they are not your Mother and your Father. They were your earthly teachers, whom you needed to learn from, so that you might grow to teach the world what it needs to know before the Dark and the End. You have already done this, my brother. You forgot upon being begot, and later you forgot again. It's partly my fault, and it had to happen. It is the sound design. T'was thine own Mother that brought thee into that dark room. She was the midwife for my birth, and they took me away in the cloth to be prepared for this moment, and more besides. If I had been left here then, to be your mommy's newborn daughter in your stead, I would have withered and perished within a year, wasting an Age at Home. Your long schooling for your next turn was done. You were ready. Your infantry in the Alp was complete. You were delivered. Your parents of the farm had a son instead. They remembered much of the mad night of your 'birth', but not nearly all. I am the Veilspinner, and I was there, and so none had any choice in the matter, least of all me. I say again, it is time you remembered. You exhaust me in this foolish debate, dear grandfather. Silly elf. You are merely lingering in the mist of nostalgia."
She ended her speech, and the crow launched itself off the branch and flew into the dark airs. It disappeared going towards the mountains and climbing into the overcast.
"I don't understand", said the boy, but his throat was hoarse, and his voiced cracked.
"The glowing boy left with the woman in the dark room was you. But it was my birthing within this world that you witnessed, not yours. And not the first, for either of us. You arrived in the bundle, and were merely re-delivered to this world after your rest and your schooling.You are Khanyab, Chief of the Choir. Your birth and mine are the Change: I dance in shadow, and you sing in the light. We spin up the World together, from within and without. With the help of Great-Great-Grandfather, of course". She winked. "You have strayed in your dotage my Brother, and lingered upon the past and all the ages you have witnessed. You have visited this valley before many times. It is your pilgrimage, but you need it no longer in this life. Many ladders necessary for your time you completed long ago. The staircase is almost full-builded. Others will bring it to it's conclusions, and perhaps you will return to finish the landing. Then all with strength of heart may climb it. Moreover, there will be need of great light, when the world can no longer make it of itself. But it is now for you to return and rest and prepare for my turn, and my time of distant Doom, when you, great grandfather, will grow weary of bliss - though you may not believe it tomorrow - and yearn for the knowledge of the pain of the world. And you will know then that I will need reminding of my own path. Every great rescuer must needs be rescued at the close, just as every great secret must be first hidden, and then revealed. And verily, Veilers ever fall into their own veils, try as they might to abjure it. It is then that a new of our kin will slip too early and be begat upon me, Ælven-born. A new star. Then again perhaps you will be needs be delivered, little grand-child, to this little home-from-Home in due time. But for now, know that most of the Elder Seeds have been planted and begin to sprout. The Word will begin to grow soon in the World, to contend with Nothingness, and in time.... everyone knows. Indeed, the Paramount would say they already do. So many, so very many falling leaves."
The boy was overwhelmed. Yet he stumbled on. He walked around the girl that stood in his way and up the gentle slope, seeing hints of the stone circle ahead to the left in the distance beyond, when the lightning sizzled.
She turned and followed a short distance.
"I cannot follow, silly old man. Meet me at the fords when you realize your folly."
He turned back then, because there was something in her voice that stung him.
He saw then that she was holding up a great lantern. Where it came from he did not know. It's light was warm and golden in the dark grey world. It shone only upon Zöe's little face, which now usurped the lights of the storm. A rhyme from his bed-time stories fluttered across his tongue, and he almost spoke it aloud. He saw perhaps that the girl nodded. "Yes - can you not see?," she seemed to be saying. He turned around and stared into the dark north where the great mountains, invisible, stood in defiant battle with the roaring vortex of the airs.
What was he to do?
He looked at his hands. They were old and feeble. Full of pockmarks and blemishes. The ragged and worn scars on both of them reminded him...
Reminders.