Wanderers of the Silent Season (Heartbeat of the World Book 2) Page 41

  Upon waking, he returned to the girl and found all traces of the dirt had been erased. Her arms no longer glowed with burning ferocity. They rested, whole and comfortable, within her sleeves.

  The little gliding mice clustered around in a streaking carpet of blue and white, evidently having lost most of their fear of Wolf, though granting him an ever-shifting berth as he turned restlessly. They gave Kechua the same respect, and the circle around him widened quickly whenever he made even the most innocent movement. They gradually slunk back into their formation, shining black eyes upon him.

  “It won’t be long now,” Kokopelli purred. “The congregation gathers in anticipation.”

  Kechua resorted to gnawing on one of the ration bars and looked to the trees. They trembled with anticipation, their trunks having fattened considerably, and their height at least doubled. The trees dropped squared leaves upon the forest floor, their colours dimming and reddening, yet the trees themselves sported new growths of leaves. The rhythm of life within the forest spasmed between resting and wakefulness, like some impatient child waiting for the morning to come.

  “The boy sees it too,” Wolf grumbled, tearing at the vines wrapping around him.

  “I have given more respect than is due to you, cat, but I will take the magics if you do not.”

  Kokopelli looked at him, his shagged tail flitting back and forth. He offered no other response.

  Wolf moved his head backwards, as though to howl against the brightness of the day.

  “Stop,” Kokopelli ordered angrily. Wolf’s head snapped back down, glaring at the little cat. “Then play.” He growled menacingly.

  “She is almost awake. It would be disrespectful of the event to occur,” he hissed.

  “Play,” Wolf chided, pacing an irritated path through the little creatures, who parted at his footsteps.

  Kokopelli was silent once more, his answer given.

  “Play, fluteplayer!” Wolf roared.

  Kechua scowled, his hands shifting to his clubs.

  “This is ridiculous.” Wolf sounded like some frustrated child.

  “Not until she has awoken,” Kokopelli replied curtly.

  “Two days like this.” Wolf’s voice billowed with annoyance. “Two days of this farce. The forest encroaches by the pace of some tireless walking man, these flowers, these leaves, are paced as if seasons have no jurisdiction, and these!” A vine had again tugged at his tail, and he bellowed with rage. He snapped at one of the little creatures that hadn’t run out of his way fast enough.

  “Leave them be,” Kechua spoke, relieved to see the little creature scamper into the safety of a tree, unharmed. “Calm yourself. Relax. It won’t be long now.” Wolf gave a snorting growl and paced himself into a tight circle, laying upon the ground. He snapped at a vine threatening to sprout by his tail.

  At that moment, Amelie sprung stiffly up, facing Wolf. Kechua had his hand on his club, terrified Wolf would react with violence. Instead, the beast made a scrambling jump backwards, almost tripping over his own feet and tail.

  Kechua laughed. “You are too high strung. Even now, Old Man.”

  Wolf gave a derisive snort, moving towards the girl. Kechua was ready and raised the smaller of the two clubs, placing it between Wolf and the girl. “That’s enough, Wolf,” he commanded. “She is with us now, and you will consider her under my protection.”

  “I will,” the creature growled, yet was resolute. He twirled once more and lay down in the grass.

  Amelie took a long breath, her eyes closed. She stretched her arms and toes and opened them, looking around her in awe.

  “I am Kechua.” He offered his hand to help her to her feet. She took his hand but didn’t use it to pull herself up. This concerned him a little, but he tried to stay optimistic. “You are better now?” He tried to force a smile and hide the worry beneath.

  “I am, thank you.” She smiled, and her eyes locked onto his. “I’m Amelie.” She half nodded, but her attentions were focused on the forest around them. The light filtering through the canopy shone against her hair, shimmering across her strange dress. “Is it over?” she asked, turning to him. “It is back to normal?” The words cut into him, and anxiety leaked outwards from his forced mask.

  “No. I’m afraid not.” He tried to force a smile. Nothing outside of her spreading throne lay different. The muted pulse of the world remained; the wheel of the Silent Season ground on. Yet there was so much to tell and show her. He smiled, thinking of her reaction when she saw it all. “I have something to show you, but first, I believe Wolf’s complaints need to be addressed.”

  He glanced at Wolf, who looked as subdued in his rage as ever. The creeping vines had left him alone for the time being, hushed in their anticipation of their master’s awakening.

  “I’m so glad you’re alright!” Amelie shouted with joy, scooping the tiny and raggedy god into her arms. Kechua couldn’t help but chuckle with embarrassment for the old creature. He escaped her grasp and landed daintily beside her, upon the earth of the forest floor.

  “I was worried this time. I really was.”

  Kechua’s smile melted away at the words. There was something unusual about the tone.

  “Foolish concern, of course,” she said.

  “Play . . . ” Wolf grumbled once again.

  Kechua gave him an annoyed look. His point was inarguable, and to punctuate it, the vines grasped at him once again.

  “Please do.” Amelie nodded at Kokopelli, who returned the gesture before declaring, “I will.”

  He leaned forward, his shoulders flexing and shifting strangely. Slowly but surely, the little creature made movements. Here and there, his form grew and changed. Before them, shuffled out of his disguise, stood the humanity of the god, Kokopelli. He was a form closer to what Kechua had expected. He could recognize the god just as subconsciously as he had known the names of the Aspects touching him, and he watched the man in hushed awe. He was hunched over, not from age, but rather as a measure of his being. The man’s face was hidden in shadows cast by the skin of the mottled white cat that he wore as a hooded cloak. White hair, ancient and light, flowed from the hood of the skin. Flowing past his waist, it was as if his hair had taken on the appearance of the cat’s hide.

  With hushed anticipation, Kechua watched as Kokopelli produced the flute. It was a relic many measures beyond the medicine staff, but undeniably a remote sibling. The flute was ornately carved, a deep and rich red-tainted wood; simplicity itself. The forest waited in silence as Kokopelli’s fingers moved across the holes of the instrument, and the music played. It reverberated in the air, at least superficially, but Kechua felt the rumblings of the earth. It was a deep, countering chorus to the flute’s music, and it resonated with him far more.

  It was a song Kechua had heard in his soul, but one he had never been able to materialize; never known to chase with his own hands. It was the song, the very essence of the changing seasons, and the essence of the seasons themselves. The song announced itself as such and darted low, erupting inside the earth, and prepared it for what was to come. The song flourished on, raising to a height above the reverberating tips of the trees.

  Kechua watched the man as he played in silent awe.

  It played on for minutes; for hours.

  The forest was vibrant, growing, and renewed life sprang before him. Tendrilous sprouts pierced the parched layer of topsoil, reaching away from their seeds.

  The forest grew hot, the sun bearing down. The roots and grasses vibrated with life, and hidden creatures buzzed in the heat. Flowers bloomed from the vines, insects distributing the pollen between the plants.

  The forest changed. Its squared leaves fell to the ground, their colours dissolving into new hues. Vibrant blues, reds, and yellows rained from the sky. Seeds shot out, hoping to secure more land for themselves; to carve a niche for further generations.

  Winter came and the trees slumbered. The plants withered or hid beneath the snow. The world was silent; peaceful. T
his season was most like the way the world was. It had a harsh bite—unforgiving, yet heralded new hope, new growth, new possibilities.

  It was spring once more, and sprouts reached up, hoping to bask in the divinity of the sun. Animals scurried anew amongst the trees, and life awoke from its slumber.

  The music spoke of the Silent Season itself; the unknowable season. It spoke of gods and devils walking the earth. Where they touched the earth, it shifted and changed. They fought one another, consuming each other and reshaping the world they walked upon. They died, bore pain, and moved on.

  The song ended and the figure of the Ushers faded away, their fates unknown to any but themselves.

  The man’s hands began to shake. Tears had welled in Kechua’s eyes, blurring the figure’s motions. Suddenly, with a vigorous shaking motion, the man was once again a little wretched cat.

  “That was beautiful,” Amelie whispered.

  Kechua looked away. No, it was something more. He wished the display had appeared upon the bonfire of the festivals, witnessed by all assembled. He wanted Anah to have held him there to share the moment, to let Mana and the other elders bask in the radiant truth of it. He even thought of Talah being struck mute by the glory of the act. He wished any who knew the “god” in any sense could have seen it, for it would have renewed their belief and hope; their ancestry and spirit.

  “It’s been a long time,” Kokopelli whispered. “A long time . . . ” His voice trailed off, the crackled purr absent from his voice.

  “Yes,” Wolf added, his voice still the growling beast, but soft and mournful. “It has.”

  Kechua couldn’t bear to face them, to show his weakness, especially to Amelie. She didn’t understand, and yet the two creatures—the two Ushers—understood it fully. It was the colour blue, the passing of the old onto the new. The song ushered in the seasons but sang of hidden context. It sang of the change the Ushers could not defy; could not fight. It sang of the changing pantheon and the ageless times of the Ushers themselves.

  “Uh . . . hello,” Amelie’s voice pipped, her voice shocked out of the awe.

  Kechua stole a look at her and saw the firstborn of the little squirrel creatures had bounded forward, the others having hidden themselves once more.

  The girl studied the creature, her face in silent awe and delight.

  Kechua walked to the girl and leaned over. “Bold little one, this,” he said, poking the little creature gently. “There’s the matter of them, I guess. I told them to stay away while you healed. I guess they couldn’t wait any longer.” He gave a downward glare at the little mouse, who wriggled its whiskers indifferently at his annoyance.

  “I suppose you can all come out then,” he said with much annoyance.

  They burst forth from the forest in a scrambling wave, carpeting the floor of the clearing, all traces of their shyness erased.

  “What is all this?” she asked him, shocked.

  “You created all this, through the spirit world, while you healed.” He made a broad movement, indicating them all and the forest.

  The little creature in her palms chittered at her, its sounds deliberate but beyond Kechua’s measure.

  “I understand you, little one.” She smiled. “How is it that I can hear you? Do you speak as Kokopelli does?”

  The thing chittered again, hailed by a piercing chorus of the others around. Kechua winced as the shrillness caused his eardrums to twitch.

  “There’s more.” Kechua grinned, raising himself to his feet again. He offered her his hand, and she took it, using it to stand. The bold creature scrambled up Amelie’s arm and onto her shoulder, riding with pride upon her as he led her through the forest.

  The trees were taller, their growth more pronounced, but that creeping feeling—the movement of the trees before his eyes—had abated. They broke into the clearing around the lake of the forest. Kechua felt an elated joy, seeing the look of utter awe upon her face once more.

  She broke free of his hand, walking in dazed wonderment through the field of flowered plants. A carpet of white followed behind her, darting through the flowers as she made her way to the lake.

  She stepped into the glassy surface of the lake and waded out, taking a taste of the water.

  It was so tranquil; so pristine. He was glad to share in her revelation.

  “This is the beginning of your path,” Kokopelli declared softly. He looked rather old, shagged, and off white against a carpet of the little wind mice. “Your fable has begun.”

  “Surprise her with the gliding!” a shrill voice whispered into Kechua’s ear. The first among them rested on his shoulder after having to abandon her upon the shore.

  “Oh.” Kechua chuckled.

  She moved out of the lake, and the water dripped off her dress like dew. It repelled the drops and kept itself dry. “You’ll love this, I’m sure.”

  “Come, bold one. Show her how else you reflect your lady.” Kechua smiled and extended his arm, making the runway the creature had used before.

  The mouse took a rambling start and glided upon the stilled winds, landing square upon Amelie’s shoulder once more. It repeated the gesture, launching itself from Amelie’s shoulder and landing on Kechua’s hand again. Her expression of shocked delight was the most wonderful end to his path he could have thought of.

  Amelie laughed, succumbing to the strangeness of it all. She fell to her knees and landed on her back in a field of flowers. She was surrounded immediately by the wind mice, who chittered joyfully all around her.

  Kechua snapped himself out of the dumbfounded joy. Looking away and leaving her inside her moment, he headed back towards the vigil’s clearing.

  ***

  He found his pack the only intruder within the space, a trio of the little mice regarding it and chittering to one another in the hidden tongue. Others flowed through the clearing, streams of blue and white busily bustling in whatever ways drove them.

  The realization came over him slowly. Wolf was no longer there.

  “Excuse me.” Kechua tried to speak to the mice, who scattered into the bushes in a trio of streaking blue and white. “Hm.” The boy returned to his pensive cross-legged pose and scanned around them, listening to the earth.

  Wolf’s feet fell nowhere near, nor did his heartbeat. Yet neither did the ground remember his leaving. It recalled his groaning and bellowing, but the moment he left with Amelie to the lake, he vanished.

  Kechua sat, the sun passing above, waiting for an ambush that never came. He sat so still, the trio of mice returned and perched upon his legs, then they decided to sun themselves there like lazy cats.

  She returned not long after, her billowing dress extended into the forest by the carpet of following white fur. He rose to meet her, the trio of sleeping creatures scattering as he moved. He tried to get the right distance from her, feeling awkward as he faced her to speak, as she rose only to his chest. She glanced at him, a rather dreamy euphoria about her, feeling as though she radiated life. The wind lapped at her hair and flapped at her glittering dress.

  “I . . . ” The words caught in his throat. “Would you like to travel together?” he asked, stumbling on each word.

  “Sure, I have to go back to the school first. I promised. There are a few other places I’d like to check too.” Her gaze unfocused a moment, but she returned to meeting his eyes. “It’ll be faster if I go alone.”

  “I suppose we can save it all for when you’ve done what you need to. I have a story to tell you, and once you’ve heard it, we can both decide what to do,” Kechua said. “There are others like us out there. Some may need help, and many who aren’t like us could also use our help.”

  “That sounds good.” She grinned widely. Her gaze passed through him once more, her eyes unfocused. “We’ll all go together. The four of us!”

  “Three,” Kechua muttered, glancing around the forest again. “I think Wolf is done with me.” He took a sweep around, fully expecting the beast to blindside him in correction, yet no
attack came.

  “Well, maybe the professor will join us.” She grinned, fading in from one of those blurred spells. “He’s like us too. There’s a girl there too, who seems . . . ”

  “The school hurts my head when I’m near it. I’m afraid I haven’t exactly had a friendly time with that man.” He sighed. “With your consent, I would like to gather some water to drink.” His throat rattled nearly shut. “And again, with your consent.” He glanced at Kokopelli. “If she shapes a vial of clay, would the blood given be of use to Ja- the professor?”

  “Possibly,” Kokopelli pondered. “Likely.”

  “Of course, you can have water!” She grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the lake, her feet pounding with an annoyed fury. “Why did you even ask?” she growled, scooping some mud into her hands.

  He filled his skin, drank from it, and filled it again. “Like this?” She held up the shaped vial, her fingernails painted with glowing white before fading into normalcy.

  “Looks right. Make the top wider so we can pour it in.” He sliced at his wrist.

  “Okay, like that?” Her hands moved in a glowing flurry, and the thing yawned open to drink in his offering. “There we go!” She grinned and sealed it tightly. The vial’s colour faded from muddy brown into a lighter hue, firing itself within the furnace of her hands.

  “Okay, if that’s it, I should start going.” She nodded. “Will you wait for me here?”

  “If you don’t mind, could you meet me in my forest?” He smiled. “I’ve seen yours. I would love to tell my story to you within my realm.”

  “Oh, sure!” She grinned and washed her hands, the vial disappearing into her dress.

  “It is a mountain. I feel it south and east of here, more south than east,” Kechua said. “Surely you can find it, and if not, can you guide her?” He glanced at Kokopelli.

  “I imagine so,” he said.

  “I’ll try to be there before dark, but . . . ” She trailed off and looked at the sky.

  “No worries I can wait. I think I could use some time just resting.” Kechua smiled.