TR: 45

Chapter Forty-Five: Life’s A Boar

The two crouched quietly behind tall flaxen grass, watching as the creature rummaged through the earth with its snout.

Kel had explained to Brian on their way down the mountain pass that zampi could be found in ‘dropping pastures’- that is, places where there were more concentrations of manure. Kel knew of one such pasture and said that the zampi would be sure to be near this time of year, as their favourite food grew there: ghostshrooms. The name, Kel explained, was somewhat of a misnomer as the mushrooms were actually not ghost-like or eerie in any way. In fact, they were palm sized, velvet-purple with great yellow spots about the cap that gave them an exotic yet dangerous appeal. Zampi, however, had learned otherwise and had made them a staple of their diet. The name ‘ghost’, Kel explained, came from the name of the scientist who had first cultivated them on the island. Though some mushrooms were indigenous to the isle, ghostshrooms were not. Their namesake came from one Vaardi Maxm Gose, a Second Era Scorssian explorer, who had unwittingly come to the island with his fleet centuries before, seeking refuge from a hurricane that had blown them astray. On top of being a seafarer, he was also an avid biologist, botanist and mycologist, and made a habit of collecting and studying species on his journeys abroad. It was believed that by genetically splicing a foreign species that he had brought with him with one of the indigenous mushrooms, he had created a ‘super-mushroom’ that would provide more sustenance and hold longer at sea once picked. It was actually due to his sickly pallor that he had earned the nickname ‘Captain Ghost’, and hence ghostshroom. His complexion was so livid, in fact, that legend says one morning he went to his lavatory to shave and, upon seeing his morbid reflection in the mirror, he believed he was seeing an apparition. This caused him quite a start, which led to a heart attack, and the pale captain dropped dead on the spot. Brian scoffed at the idea of course, but was impressed nonetheless that Kel could know so many fine details about the history of the island.

Kel placed a long bony finger against his lips and motioned his head towards the sounds coming from the clearing. Brian nodded and carefully shifted his bow’s sling from his shoulder. The old man slowly parted the long blades of grass, creating a window through which to peer. Kel’s long, straggly beard blended in perfectly with the tawny stocks as his eyes darted about, taking in the scene. Brian squeezed his face in next to Kel’s, stepping on his foot in the process. Kel grimaced in pain and elbowed the hasty youth in the rib cage. Brian stifled a cry, rubbed his side in irritation. He gazed back through the opening at the creature that rummaged through the mud in search of the famed ghostshrooms which, at this time of year, had yet to fruit above ground. Brian had seen wild boars before, back in the woods near the gym, but the zampi looked like nothing he had ever seen. Like many of the other creatures on the island it displayed a variety of bright colours. Though its short, coarse coat was the colour of mud, it had two vibrant blue streaks down its flanks–markings to confuse predators from assaulting its vulnerable sides. At the base of its neck it had a frill like projection made of bone that protruded several hands high around its head from jowl to jowl. The face of the frill was marked with several distinguishing semicircular patterns of red and yellow hair that resembled the ‘false eye’ coloration Brian had seen on certain insects and flowers. The zampi’s head otherwise resembled a common forest boar, other than the two pairs of straight tusks that jutted out from each cheek. It seemed that evolution had taken some artistic liberties on Wyndrona.

Kel un-slung his bow from his back and drew an arrow from his quiver. He knocked it, slowly raising the bow towards the grunting creature. Brian leaned forward in anticipation, holding his breath, as if the air from his nostrils could persuade the arrow otherwise. Kel let out a steadying sigh, squinting against the sun as he positioned the arrow for the kill-shot. A branch cracked overhead as some creature, perhaps a monkey (come to think of it, where had Marlee gone?), jostled about. The zampi startled and snapped its attention up, glancing frantically side to side. It tilted its gaze up at the treetops and then, deciding that its position was compromised, bellowed a snort before it turned and bounded off into the jungle. Kel lowered his bow but he seemed nonplussed. He stood up from the high grass and slung the weapon back over his shoulder. He tapped the shaft of the arrow against the palm of his other hand while he shook his head in what seemed to be disapproval.

“It wasn’t the right time.”

Brian studied his face for a moment, ascertaining the deeper meaning of the statement. Nothing was superficial with Kel, it seemed. Brian had found out very quickly that there was no better way to irk the old man than to be cerebral; every response was to be well thought out, individual, and stripped of the ego. Kel loathed the ego as one would warm ale. Both were very good ways to earn verbal stripes.

“How do you know when it is?”

Kel scratched his beard and replaced the arrow in his quiver. He turned to the young man and smiled. Kel’s smile was a perfect metaphor for his personality: full, unassuming, sincere. His smile was the smile of every caring grandfather and loving patriarch. His smile was the sun.

“How do you know when you are in love, my boy?”

Brian raised an eyebrow at the rhetorical quip.

“Well that’s an unrelated question. What does love…”

“Bah! No questions are unrelated when it comes to the world. One man’s love could be the picture of resentment for another. I am sure you are not unfamiliar with this.”

Kel pointed towards the place where the boar had departed.

“The jungle, like all shrewd creatures, is always listening. Just as she, you must always be as well. Remember what I said to you when I handed you those pipes, Brian. Music is just one of many languages; it just so happens to be one of few understood by all. There are others of course, such as the wind, and the trees…”

Kel lifted his face to the gentle breeze and closed his eyes as the wind ruffled through his wispy white beard. Brian frowned as he contemplated the strange man’s sentiments.

“Maybe…what you mean is that… you will feel when the shot is made, like instinct. Is that what you mean?”

Kel basked in the gentle breeze a moment more, before opening his eyes to gaze into Brian’s with his deep, emerald irises. The kindred smile returned to his face.

“Sure. Let’s call it instinct. For now.”

Kel turned and made his way through the tall stalks, shrugging his quiver back into place.

“Come on, young apprentice. There is still much day to be had.”

Brian stood watching the man as he sauntered off into the wilderness. It would be impossible for one to guess the man’s age at a glance, but however many years he had worn away, he had more vitality than most young men Brian knew. There was something in the way he held himself, as if he had seen more of the past than was meant to have been seen. Though he was a man at heart, sometimes Brian felt as if he were talking to the ocean, or a thousand-year old tree that had survived a hundred hurricanes. Brian didn’t deign to confront him on the matter of his years though; Kel seemed from an old world, one where such questions would be improper. Still, ‘young apprentice’ was an advancement from the ‘strung-up weasel’ that he had been the week prior. Whether or not Brian had grown to his likeness or not, he felt that the old hermit had begun to slowly warm up to him. Living by the rise and fall of the sun, the ebb and swell of the tide, Brian had lost track of time, and he had no real way of keeping track of the days on the island. Though he was sure it had to have been less than a month since his arrival on the tropical rock, it already felt like an eternity. He looked up to the scorching sun, saluting the forgiving force that had smiled upon him that day. Perhaps an eternity was not a bad thing, if it was in the land of the living.

As the day wore on, the two men made good time down the mountain as they searched for their next hunting destination. Kel pointed out various landmarks that were important for Brian to remember, in the even that he became lost or sidetracked. Though Brian didn’t like the way Kel implied that he was going to be on the island long enough to commit these mental notes to memory, he was appreciative that the old man showed concern for his well being. In fact, Brian was actively searching for possible ways off the island on his own time. When Kel had to go off to hunt or forage, Brian would make his way up the mountain to try and chart out routes. He had circumnavigated a large portion of the crater in which Kel lived, but had time and time again come away with little prospect of escape from his surveying. It seemed that the island was surrounded by a great barrier reef, enclosing the shoreline in a lagoon that, as Brian could discern from the gradation of colour in the water, dropped off to a steep decline. There was one passage through to the open ocean but, as Kel had explained before, it was riddled with jagged rocks that protruded just above the surface of the water, which would indefinitely cause an impasse for any ship wishing to chart the waters. Brian had brought up the idea of building a raft upon the reef, and then launching it off the other side, but Kel pointed out several follies in the plan. First, the reef towered at least a bout above the waterline, even on low tide, so any attempt to board the raft from that height would be suicide. Second, even if they did somehow manage to board their makeshift vessel with unbroken bones, the back current from the immense whirl pool at the nape of the channel would prevent them from escaping out to sea, not to mention the high possibility that the force was enough to careen them back at the reef. The third, and most ironic point that Kel brought up (why he brought this point up last Brian couldn’t figure out) was that the reef was composed mainly of something called ‘solstone’, taking its name from the energy that it absorbed from the sun. The rock differed from other stones of its kind in that it had a very porous structure which allowed heat to permeate very quickly through its membranous material. After only several hours of baking in the hot, tropical sun, the solstone would heat up to incredible temperatures, capable of setting wood on fire after only a few moments contact. Thus, the reef was inaccessible. Brian had not put his lust for freedom behind him though. His father used to say that “in every defeat can be found a triumph”. He was only that much closer to finding his way out.

Among the landmarks that Kel pointed out were some familiar sites. One was the ruins at the base of the mountain which delineated the boundary between the safe zone (the mountain pass) and the jungle proper. When Brian inquired into the origins of the ruins, Kel remained taciturn, so Brian thought better on broaching the subject again. Perhaps Kel had more history on the island the Brian originally thought, and there was some kind of painful personal connection to it. It was highly possible that the town had once been prosperous and, like many of the small cities ambushed by the Imtek back in his country and abroad, that a similar fate had befallen these people. If Kel had been witness to such atrocity, no sympathy was necessary to understand his reluctance to speak of it. Further on, Kel pointed out a site of three seemingly identical palm trees that formed a perfect triangle between them. Kel called it “the trinity” and said that it marked the way to the river if he ever needed to find fresh water in an emergency. There was also the chasm that scoured the land down the middle for as far as the eye could see. It was known as the Burem’s Part, a play on the hairstyle of a historical king who, history told ‘was oft’ ridiculed due to the unrelenting and otherwise unsightly nature of his genetic disposition to baldness, which resulted in the generous separation of the two halves of his head.’ Brian had a hard time imaging why a man with such an uncouth hairstyle would not just shave his head, but such idiosyncrasies of history are what made the stories enjoyable after all. Though the jungle had worked its way into the chasm in the form of creepers and other flora, Kel keenly warned Brian to never set foot into it on pain of death. It was forbidden territory and that was all he was to know. Brian accepted this explanation with but a single nod.

The river which Kel had referred to earlier fed off from a floodplain, which was another place Brian recognised. As they passed through, the strange deer-like creatures Kel had called bolteros were nowhere to be seen. The heat had begun to wear on Brian so he was disinclined to waste energy talking and thus did not ask Kel about them. They took a break to eat lunch and refill their canteens by the stream. If Marlee had been with them, Brian was sure she would have been elated at the idea of chasing the great orange fish that swam about the riverbed. Brian slung of his pack and leaned back against it as he propped himself up against a boulder, shading himself from the sun. Kel popped the stopper off his canteen and doused his scorched face in water, sopping up the excess runoff with his tongue. He shook his head as the water dribbled off his beard onto the dry stones below. He plopped down next to Brian, who sat munching on a sandwich that he had made earlier in the day, and the two men sat and watched the scenery as they ate in silence. It was times like that that Brian felt that silence could mean more than words. Brian believed that bonding could not happen unless one was free to internalise. Conversation, gift giving, and signs of affection were only the surface when it came to relating to another; sharing in silent moments took a special kind of relationship. In that moment, Brian had almost convinced himself that he had always known Kel. Not many people understood him as well as he did. Kade was one of the only other people that came to mind. Thinking of the boy made Brian’s heart ache. There was nothing worse than feeling forgotten; the sheer fear of not existing struck a chord deep within Brian. The moment that he had fallen off that boat he had felt that his life had ended. His life as he had known it, at least.

Kade was a special kind of person though. Brian hung on to the idea that if everyone else in his life had written him off, Kade had not. There was a kind of fraternal bond between the two, even though they still did not really know each other that well. He smiled at the idea of the stubborn little boy on some crazy adventure in search of his lost comrade. Who knew what other trouble was left for him to get into? Brian didn’t think that there could be much left after everything they had indulged in. Still, the thought of Kade all alone in such a large world, having to fend for himself, set Brian’s nerves on edge. The gnome would make sure to help him of course; he had put the fear of man into that foul little bugger, after all. Perhaps Scrubby could persuade him to stay out of trouble until they had all reunited. Brian clung to that thought–that hope.

When he had finished eating, Brian began to play around with his panpipes. After several minutes of reedy croaks, strident squawks and empty air, Kel had fallen asleep and begun to snore beside him. Brian wasn’t sure if he had caused the old man’s drowsiness, but he didn’t give himself the credit. If anything, Kel’s fabric-ripping snorts were an apt accompaniment to his playing.

Brian grimaced. “Sounds better than I do.”

He continued to blow empty or obnoxious sounds until finally, between a snort and whisper, a note emanated out from the pipes. Brian stopped in wonder at the sound he had heard. He looked at the instrument he held in his hand as if he had never seen it before. He glanced over at Kel who had slumped half over onto his side, continuing to breathe noisily. He put the pipes up to his lips again and after several attempts another note sounded from the pipes. It was high pitched but mellifluous now instead of shrill. It sounded natural, like a bird call, or a breeze blowing through a cave. Brian heard a sound come from the river and he leaned over to see if perhaps one of the deer-creatures had returned for a drink. The river banks remained barren, but sure of the sound he had heard, Brian got up and walked slowly over towards the stream. He squatted down on his haunches and stared around at the rippling water as it gently massaged the river rocks on its passage. The bright orange fish at the bottom moved slowly about, unafraid of the looming monster above them. Perhaps they had adjusted to the deer-creatures coming to drink and were no longer afraid of larger things, having no natural predators. He lifted the pipes to his mouth and blew a series of several random notes that didn’t sound like any tune he recognized. He lowered them and watched to see if the fish would have any reaction. One fish seemed to stop its slow rotations on the bottom, almost as if it were listening. Intrigued, Brian made another attempt at song. This time he played a longer ‘melody’, interspersed with some hoarse buzzing and empty sounds, but he felt he was making progress. As if to confirm the notion, the fish that had stopped milling about began to slowly make its way up to the surface towards Brian. Brian raised his eyebrows in delight, continuing to plunk out semi-sour notes with renewed vigour. The fish came nearly to the shoreline, such that its iridescent dorsal fin poked ever-so-slightly out of the water, and Brian stood motionless, squatted down on the rocks with the pipes frozen to his lips, time having ground to a halt. The fish sensed this change, too, and hesitated a moment before dipping its little mouth out into the open air. Now that it was so close, Brian could get a better look at the animal; the fish was several hands long and had brilliant orange scales that looked as if they had caught the very sunlight. Brian became bold and lay his pipes down, reaching out to the fish who floated at the surface languidly. His fingertips came to rest against the fish’s mouth, which somehow both cold and warm at the same time, and for a long moment, there was a strange feeling of connection that transcended space and time, and had no words to describe it. Yet, the sheer excitement of it all overrode Brian’s better judgement and he leapt to his feet, breaking the connection. As if it had suddenly lost interest in something otherwise mundane and boring, the fish turned and lazily made its way back down to the river bottom. Brian grabbed his pipes and ran over to the snoring lump not far off.

“Kel! Kel, wake up! You have to see this.”

Kel snorted and then caught himself half awake as he teetered on the edge of falling over on his side. “What… who goes there? Give back those cookies immediately!” The old man thrashed about with his hands as he fought off the apparition of sleep. His dusty broad-rimmed hat had traversed down onto his face in a comical fashion.

“You wouldn’t believe what just happened!”

Kel shuffled about on his rear and corrected his hat to its proper place, adjusting his cloak which had clung to his thin legs in a sheen of sweat. He blinked his eyes groggily as he awoke, moving his mouth in a chewing gesture as he dispelled the wretched taste of his nap.

“Hmm? What is the problem now, boy?” his voice croaked from the dry heat.

He glanced up at the figure making his way towards him. Kel’s eyes widened in surprise at the image that made its way up the bank.

“There was this fish, and when I played the pipes it…”

Kel shot up to his feet in a panic. “Brian! Look out, behind you!”

Brian stopped in mid speech, seeing the frantic expression on the old man’s face. He followed Kel’s stunned expression to behind and found himself rounding on a fury of hooves against a massive spread of leathery, bat-like wings. The bolteros, reared on its hind legs, bleating a war cry as it attempted to trample him. Brian stumbled backwards, shouting out as he tripped over a rock, nearly twisting his ankle. The great stag continued to bellow and flail its razor sharp cloven feet in the air, Kel frantically trying to unfasten his staff from his sack, the dark crystal glinting magnificent in the sunlight. The creature’s hard hooves clacked down on the rocks as it returned to all fours. Brian shuffled back on his hands and as the creature huffed in a fury, its beady eyes consumed by overly dilated pupils, some unseen force taking possession of the normally docile animal. Fuming, it bucked its head at the ground and raked its antlers in the dusty bank as it prepared to charge. Brian stumbled to his feet and the bolteros rushed at him head first, antlers projected for the kill. Brian shielded his body with his hands, turning his head away and shouting in terror. With uncharacteristic youthfulness, Kel rushed into the space between the two and thrust his staff at Brian’s attacker.

“Tranquillo!”

The obsidian like stone at the end of the staff flashed with a blue light, an orb of light the colour of the stream growing outward until it enveloped all of them. The world grew bright and everything faded into light. Moments later, the veil lifted and pictures came back into focus. Brian rubbed his eyes as the spots in them began to fade, and he was astonished to find the bolteros standing mere hands away from them, looking just as confused as they. Its pupils had narrowed to the point where Brian could see the whites once more. The creature looked around as it gathered its bearings, and when it realised where it was, it bleated and jerked into a frantic turn as it propelled itself across the stream. On the other side, it leaped several more times before it bounded into the air, kicking up river rocks as it flapped its great leathery wings. Kel helped Brian up and the two stood watching as the spell-broken creature made its way over the treetops, growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared out of sight. Kel planted the butt of his staff into the stone and turned to his shaken comrade. Brian met the stern countenance of the old man, sure of the upbraiding he was about to receive. In that moment, Brian almost preferred the deer-bat to what was about to come. Yet, to his surprise, Kel’s features relaxed and a half smile spread across his face. He placed a heavy hand on Brian’s shoulder and chuckled to himself.

“Perhaps that is enough hunting for today.”

Kel turned and retrieved his pack. Several gamehens that had been strapped to a buckle dangled about like strange omens as he shifted the strap across his shoulder.

“Kel, I…”

The old man made a motion with head.

“Come, boy. The day is on, just as I, and both of us are tired. Marlee will be hungry no less.”

“But we didn’t get anything for supper. It…it was an honest mistake, I didn’t know…”

Kel rounded on him with a defiant look. “There are many things that man does not know, and even more things that he cannot. You may not know now the kind of influence you will have on your surroundings Brian, but you will learn. I will not allow you to be ignorant.”

The old man caught himself and his kindred smile returned.

“Your future is secure with me.”

He turned and headed back down the path. He reached around and jiggled the poultry dangling at his waist.

“This shall be more than enough to get us by. Don’t forget the bows.”

Brian watched as the old man made his way slowly back the way they had come, like an ascetic who travelled far and wide with no intention of haste. Kel was a stone in a moving world; Brian felt like a fish in the tide.

He gathered the remaining equipment and began to jog after the old man who, despite his leisurely pace, had gotten a good head-start.

Brian didn’t know why but, in that moment, he felt like he had failed some kind of lesson. What the lesson was he couldn’t say, but he knew that he had disappointed the old man. But why should he care what he thought about him? After all, he didn’t really know him, so what did it matter.

But somehow…it did. And the whole way back to their camp, Brian meditated on why that was, though he could never quite find the answer.

***

Later that evening, after a sparing yet sumptuous meal of fieldhen and bullberry, Kel, Marlee and Brian returned to the pond at the top of the northern pass. The three sat dreamily on the fallen stump as they watched the Dryads dance about the water’s surface, golden apparitions like wayward stars. Brian diddled about on a strange melody that he had composed–carefully this time, having learned his lesson. The whispy notes seemed to be slowly losing the shrill edge that they once possessed and Brian thought he might actually learn how to play the damn thing. Kel puffed contentedly on his large wooden pipe, blowing great smoke rings up in the air as Marlee attempted to swat at them as if they were great round bugs. Brian lowered the panpipes and stared out at the flickering globes of light that hovered above the pond.

“Do you think they understand music, Kel?”

Kel ruminated from behind his pipe, his glossy gaze never leaving the magical scene before them. He spoke as the spout of his pipe bobbed up and down with the motion of his speech.

“Every creature has a song, Brian. Whether it’s the foul goblin of the forbidden caves of the Watch or a simple jillbird, they all have their own story in the form of lyrical prose. Music, as I was telling you before, is one of the oldest (and most revered I might add) languages that we know of. Through music we find a medium in which we can achieve many things, from sharing a fond moment with a loved one, to celebration and victory…and to honour death itself.”

Kel drew a lage draught from his pipe, blowing out a blue haze that looked like the silhouette of some upright creature.

“Music becomes an expression of our darker sides as well. We mourn and grieve to dirges and threnody; we take up arms against one another to the drone of battle drum and fanfare. Even the dark arts incorporate chant into their séances. You see, Brian, music is a web of connectivity through which all creatures can express themselves and come to a mutual understanding, even if they do not know each other’s tunes. ‘The tree need not question the voice of the wind to dance with it’, as the saying goes.”

Brian contemplated the idea as he watched the light-bearers shift about the scene. A thought suddenly crept into his mind like an invasive weevil into his sack of thought.

“What do you know of the Dark Arts, Kel?”

The two exchanged brief glances. Brian thought he saw Kel’s brow furrow, but he could not be sure in the dim light. The embers from Kel’s pipe cast an austere patina about his face as he stared out to the water, shadows playing across his face making him look centuries old.

“I know enough that they are not worth dabbling in. Many a headstrong fool have succumbed to the dark temptation of the Aether, and let me tell you: the rewards are never what they are promised to be. Power has a strange way of removing the means.”

“What do you mean?”

Kel peered at Brian from behind his jutting smoke piece. Brian felt as if Kel might be screening his soul for any inkling of foul intent. Kel looked back to the pond, motioning to the glowing creatures with a gesture of his hand.

“As far as anyone can tell, they have been in existence for thousands of years, almost as far back as the Great War. The Dryad’s song is one of the oldest; an ancient hymn from long, forgotten times. No one knows what purpose it serves, much unlike such creatures as the Hobfinch, which lures its insect prey from their burrows with the vibrations of certain calls. Many theories have been developed by scholars and researchers, but the only conclusion that seems to make any sense is that it is a song of regret.”

“Regret? Regret for what?”

Kel shook his head. “No one can say. However, if you believe the tales then it could be that the Dryads are indeed the lost spirits of the ancient forest folk who, coveting the reflection of the stars on the sea, captured all of the light into earthen jars which they kept for themselves at all times. As such, the moon’s reflection became very lonely in the empty dark waters and it entreated the Dryads to return its comrades to the liquid cosmos where they once shone bright. The forest folk, overcome with greed at their newfound power, refused the moon its request and the moon began to sing a mournful song. The notes carried through the forest and across the sea, all the creatures listening in angst at the portent. It is said that the song then rose towards the heavens until it fell on the ears of the moon Emperor Yos and, enchanted, he descended down towards the earth towards the source of the melancholy song. When he came across the moon’s reflection, he was shocked to find it in such a state of grievance. The moon explained what had happened, and upon seeing the star-barren waters before him he became outraged. Yos called out to the forest folk, demanding their immediate presence,. Due to their proud nature, after only but a few moments they had all gathered around the seething emperor.

“How come ye to possess my children as such? He bellowed. The forest folk replied, just as a fish could be snared, so could the stars, and thus we are the rightful owners of our catch. The Emperor did not like this, and responded: the creatures of the land would not be, if it were not for the guidance of the stellar heaven. Just as one that does not exist will not cast a shadow, one with out its reflection cannot be. Behold the empty skies! Thou hath deprive’d the holy globe for all to suffer its nudity. Your greed is boundless, and it is by this very greed that I will confide in you both that which you seek and that which you reap. You will forever more be naked before the land, and you will wander endlessly about, blinded by the light of your own ignorance. Remember the song of my son’s grievance, for it is now your song. Every night you shall sing this song to the memory of your forsaken ancestors as you gaze upon the reflection of that which you once coveted. This is your eternal pittance. And then, with a single powerful wave of his hand, the dryads’ earthenware pots exploded as the light from the stolen stars overtook each individual in turn, their bodies bursting into divine illumination. Yet, despite their newfound brilliance, none were celebrating that day, for they knew this was no gift–but a curse. The Dryads then fell to their knees in forgiveness, but none were to be forgiven. With a final sweep of his his arm, the stars blinked back to life in the sky, their scintillating reflections glittering back into space, and Yos bade the moon farewell as he returned to his kingdom on the dark side of his glowing sphere.”

Kel shifted his bottom as he adjusted to a more comfortable position.

“So you see, the quest for unwarranted power only leads to an end, and the means are completely forsaken. Recall any legend and you shall see that it is not the ‘what’ that makes the stories endure, but the ‘what happened’. Such may be the case of the Dryads.”

Brian raised an eyebrow at the old man as he nodded his head is self agreement, stewing in the lofty moral of his fable.

“You don’t actually believe all that nonsense, do you? I mean, the moon crying and a… a space Emperor? That’s the kind of stuff your mom reads to you when you’re a kid. There has to be some other kind of explanation.”

Kel blew one last puff from his pipe before he tapped out the ashes on a branch of the log. He slowly stood up, his back cracking from the elderly ascent. He moaned, perhaps in pain, perhaps in pleasure. Marlee rushed up his back and bounded onto his shoulder where she perched like a disciplined parrot. He turned to Brian with his wooden cane propping him up for support. With his long, straggly beard, his lop-sided hat and his stooping presence, he very much looked like something out of the fairy tale he had just told. Brian couldn’t help but grin at the idea.

“Perhaps there are many explanations, but life isn’t about finding answers so much as better questions, isn’t that right? I think the best question one could ask is how much sleep one is willing to lose over contemplating such a question. I fear that I am not so able-minded anymore. Good night boy. Don’t let the moon Emperors bite.”

Kel made his way back down the pass with a wan grin on his face. Brian shook his head and chuckled to himself. After Kel was out of sight, Brian stared up at the sky, at the stars above him. Suddenly, just as he had when he had washed ashore, he felt very small. The moon was high in the sky, casting its reflection down onto the pond like a proud nocturnal eye, unblinking. He wondered what the real truth to the universe was, if there was any. To think that someone controlled all the lights up there gave him a feeling of unease, just as it always did whenever any Hexxadai priests gave a public sermon about the absolute destiny of man, his disciples, the Creator etc. Brian didn’t like the idea of his story already being written. Such a book could remain dusty on a storeroom shelf for all he cared. What was life if not a discovery? Recovery? No, the Hexxadai could keep that one.

Brian got up and began to head down the trail. As he made his way down the moonlit trail, a sound from behind caught his attention. He turned and stood silent as he listened again for the strange noise. Sure enough, a melancholy hum drifted out from the starlit lake as the Dryads gathered in a circle of light around the centre. He wasn’t sure if he was seeing right, due to the overexposed glow of the strange creatures, but Brian could swear they were holding hands. The humming lilted throughout the forest, barely louder than a whisper. The voices–if that’s what they were– reminded Brian of the sound that a gentle breeze made as it rustled through the trees, or the lap of the tide at the shoreline. It was everything natural, devoid of human qualities. It was a hauntingly sad song, and Brian felt as if he had heard it before, though that was impossible since he had never encountered a Dryad before. He watched in awe as scenes from Kel’s fairy tale flashed before his eyes.

He shook his head to shake himself out of his stupor and glanced up to the sky once more.

“Moon Emperors. Pfft.”

Brian made his way back down the path, unconsciously humming the Dryad’s tune.