ã€ŠThe Hare and the Moonã€‹


 Chapter 1 - The Woodcutter and the Tiger

    Once upon a time, in a land far away, there once was a woodcutter who lived at the edge of the Forest on the Mountain.

    He was a solitary man. He had no parents, no wife, and no children. He had no name, for there were none who remembered it. He had no voice, for there were none who had heard it.

    He was, to all appearances, a simple woodcutter living a simple life in his humble hut at the edge of the woods.

    Each and every morning the woodcutter would rise at the break of dawn, eat a plain breakfast of rice and tea, and head into the forest with his axe and lumber pack. When the sun had passed its zenith, he would emerge from the forest with a pack full of lumber, and hike down the Mountain to the village in the valley, where his lumber would be used as firewood for the night.

    Day after day, season after season, year after year, the woodcutter went from his home, to the Forest, to the village, and laid bundles of firewood in front of each home.

    Though most ignored or simply did not see the humble woodcutter, the village magistrate secretly cherished the dutiful man, for he felt he could share with him troubles and thoughts that he could with no other.

    Maybe it was because the woodcutter was an outsider, and therefore uninvolved in village matters. Or maybe it was because he had never been known to speak, and could be trusted to keep any secret. Or maybe it was simply because the magistrate just liked the look of him. Regardless of the reason why, the magistrate looked forward to the woodcutter¡¯s coming each day.

    ¡°Ah, ah,¡± he would sigh aloud, one day, as the woodcutter came into town. ¡°Being a magistrate is tiring, woodcutter, so very tiring. It¡¯s nothing but governing and planning and arguing, day after day, season after season. I am busy beyond belief! I hardly ever get a moment to enjoy by myself.¡±

    In response, the woodcutter would bow politely, leave his lumber, and move on without a word.

    ¡°Woodcutter!¡± the magistrate would say, another day. ¡°Woodcutter! How good it is to see you. What a beautiful day it is today. Listen to the birds! Look at the blue sky. Feel the sun on your skin. Taste the fresh mountain air. Truly, heaven smiles on us this day!¡±

    Again, the woodcutter would bow, leave his lumber, and move on.

    ¡°I¡¯m sad, woodcutter, so very sad,¡± the magistrate would say, still again another day. ¡°For I have no family, and am likely to die alone. I have no wife to keep me warm at night, and no children to carry on my name. But what can I do? My face and my back are homely and small, and I have neither riches nor land to attract for myself even the lowliest of concubines. I am but a poor magistrate of a humble village.¡±

    This, and more, the magistrate would share with the woodcutter, to which the woodcutter¡¯s response would always be to bow, leave his lumber, and move on.

    One morning, having eaten his breakfast of rice and tea, the woodcutter set off into the forest with his axe and lumber pack. But that day, just as he reached the very edge of the woods, a tiger leaped into his path.

    It was as large as a war horse, with long white fangs that glistened at the sides of its mouth, and long sharp claws that extended and sank into the earth. It¡¯s bright, yellow eyes glared at the woodcutter like twin flames, and its orange and black fur twitched and stirred like embers. It growled, and the sound rumbled in its body like distant thunder, as the beast prowled back and forth across the path.

    The woodcutter jumped at the sight of it, but did not dare to move. If he ran, it would excite the tiger into a chase. If he tried to fight it with his axe, it would easily crush it in its powerful jaws, and his neck soon after.

    Surely I am dead, he mourned. I am without power or persuasion over my fate. I am entirely at the mercy of the tiger, and a small mercy it is likely to be.

    At this, the woodsman trembled where he stood and prayed desperately to his ancestors, begging that they would at least grant him a swift and painless death.

    But the tiger did not pounce.

    Instead it ceased its growling and its pacing, and stood without moving in the middle of the path. So occupied was the poor woodcutter with his trembling, and his prayers, and the thoughts of his own demise, that he did not even begin to wonder at the tiger¡¯s intentions. Even more so as it began to slowly draw near, step by silent step.

    But now faced with the coming beast and the deafening silence, the woodcutter¡¯s fear fluttered and grew, multiplying in his heart tenfold, then tenfold again until it became as the trilling of a thousand birds, too heavy and loud for his reason to bear. With a panicked cry, he sprang away from the tiger and raced as fast as he could back down the mountain without looking back, certain that at any moment he would feel its claws and fangs tear into him from behind.

    But the tiger did not follow.

    When the woodcutter reached his hut, he bolted the door behind him, threw himself beneath the bed, and did not come out for an age. But once his fear had fled and he was certain of his safety, he celebrated his good fortune with a lavish dinner of wine and red rice. Then he gave profuse and prolonged thanks to all the gods and ancestors he could remember, thanking them for their favor, and burned incense in their honor all through the night.

    The next morning, after his meal of rice and tea, the woodcutter set off again into the forest on a path different from the one he had taken the day before. But as he neared the forest, there again was the tiger, lying in wait at the side of the road.

    But when it saw the woodcutter that morning, it did not get up or approach. Instead it rolled over onto its large back and gave a long, loud groan of anguish. It shook a limp front paw, and tossed its great head up and down as tears filled and fell from the tiger¡¯s bright yellow eyes, each large enough to fill the woodcutter¡¯s tea cup. It laid its head pitifully on the ground, and extended its hurt, but still formidable paw.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    But the woodcutter knew only a fool or madman would approach a wounded tiger, and he knew how a beast might pretend injury to draw in thoughtless prey. So instead of passing by and on into the forest, the woodcutter retreated back to where he could take yet another path, making certain all the while that he was not being followed.

    He saw neither hide nor hair of the beast for the rest of the day.

    ¡°Woodcutter!¡± shouted the magistrate, when he came into town. He opened his arms wide, his face a visage of joy. ¡°My dear woodcutter! Where have you been? I was so worried for you when we didn¡¯t see you yesterday. I was certain that you were deathly ill, or injured, or worse! How glad I am to see you alive and well.¡±

    As always, the woodcutter bowed, left his lumber, and moved on.

    The next morning, after his usual meal of rice and tea, the woodcutter set off once again into the forest by, still again, another path. Fearing another encounter with the tiger, he searched high and low as he walked, ready to run at even the slightest glimpse of it. But to his relief and delight, he saw no sign of the beast.

    But as he neared the very entrance of the forest, wondering if he had seen the last of it, the tiger surged out from its place of hiding and onto the helpless woodcutter. It seized one of his legs in its great jaws, breaking it in its rush, and dragged him, screaming, off the path and into the forest.

    It ran deep into the forest, pulling the woodcutter along behind it, until the trees grew thick and wild, and the patches of sunlight grew thin, and thinner still. The poor woodcutter, now too breathless and too terrified to fight or pray, watched without hope as the windows of daylight at the forest¡¯s edge, his world¡¯s edge, grew smaller and smaller, until they disappeared altogether.

    When it finally released him, the woodcutter, fearing the worst, hid behind his arms, too frightened to watch the moment of his demise.

    But the tiger did not cut into him with its teeth and claws. It did not push and sniff at him, as it decided where to begin its meal. It did not even bat him about in play as some do with their prey.

    It did nothing at all.

    One breath became two. One moment turned into another. But before long, the woodcutter, still trembling behind his arms, heard beside him a weak, feeble cry, followed by the rustling of something small and light.

    Surprise and curiosity overcame fear. The woodcutter peered out from between his arms and saw that he was lying in a small clearing at the foot of a giant, moss-covered tree. Dazed, he followed the soft sounds to the very base of the tree where there, nestled between the roots, lay a baby girl. She was naked and covered in dirt, but alive and in good health.

    Fear melted into compassion. Understanding now the tiger¡¯s intentions, the woodcutter crawled to the infant and swaddled her in his clothes with as much care and tenderness as he could muster. The baby whined then bawled, so unaccustomed was she to the encumbrances. But the woodcutter, leg now forgotten, sat up at the base of the great tree and cradled her in his arms. He felt how light she was and how she moved in his arms, and knew that he had never carried anything heavier or more profound in his entire life.

    And so there, deep within the Forest on the Mountain, he whispered to her.

    ¡°Hello, don¡¯t cry.¡±

    The words fell and tumbled from his mouth like newborn birds, frightened and new. But as he remembered his voice and his words gained strength, he whispered to her words of delight, adoring her, telling her that she would certainly grow to be a great and noble lady of peerless beauty. He whispered to her words of comfort, calling himself her grandfather, and told her how silly it was of her to cry when she was with him. He whispered to her words of laughter, and told her of his adventures with her mother the Tiger, and how he had been scolded for not listening.

    The baby, almost asleep, made a small noise of discomfort and the woodcutter brushed a drop of water from her cheek.

    Whispering an apology, he spoke to her words of kindness and marvelled at how blessed she was. He assured her that with such a remarkable beginning, the heavens had undoubtedly written for her the greatest of fates, and how lucky she was to carry it. And, as his voice cracked and dried, and his words ran thin, he whispered to her of himself, of the name he still remembered, and his lonely life on the Mountain.

    When the woodcutter had come to himself, he looked up and saw the tiger waiting at the edge of the clearing. Though the tiger had not changed, with its teeth like spears, its claws like knives, and its voice of distant thunder, the woodcutter bowed his head, amazed and ashamed that despite their previous encounters, he had never once realized that the animal was also, and most of all, beautiful.

    It held in its mouth a short stout stick which it dropped at the woodcutter¡¯s feet that he immediately saw could be used as a crude cane. With its help, he got onto his feet with the child still in an arm, and very slowly followed it as it led the way back out of the Forest.

    When they reached the edge of the trees, the tiger turned back to the woodcutter, coming so close to him and the child in his arms that the woodcutter could feel the warmth of its breath. Despite all that had transpired over the past few days, he froze in fear, and it was all he could do to not flinch or run away.

    But if the tiger was aware of the woodcutter¡¯s reaction, it gave no notice and instead came closer, and closer still to the child. Moving so softly so as not to wake her, it pressed its muzzle to the child¡¯s cheek, and held it there.

    The child stirred against it, but did not wake.

    Then, in a great bound, the tiger leaped away from the woodcutter and raced back into the forest, and was soon out of sight.

    By the time the woodcutter reached the village, the sun had already set over the Mountain. His shoulders ached and burned from carrying the child, and the hand holding the cane bled from open sores where blisters had formed and burst. His broken leg felt swollen and stiff, and he knew without looking that he would not be able to walk without an aid for the rest of his life.

    But still he kept on, hobbling his way bit by bit until finally, at last, he reached the home of the magistrate.

    ¡°Woodcutter!¡± exclaimed the magistrate, sliding his door open wide and taking in the woodcutter¡¯s battered state. ¡°Woodcutter, where in the heavens have you been?! Are there bandits in our forest? And who is this child? What happened?¡±

    But the woodcutter shook his head, and lifted the child towards the magistrate who moved as if by instinct to catch her up in his arms.

    The magistrate looked upon the sleeping infant, and saw that she was wholly beautiful. An emotion that he had never felt before filled him with his next breath, and he was so overcome that any words of surprise or refusal he might have uttered broke in his throat and watered his eyes, forcing him to cough and grunt several times just to stifle the embarrassment of his indignity.

    ¡°Woodcutter,¡± he said, at last. ¡°Are you certain that she is not already without parents to look after her?¡±

    The woodcutter bowed his head in reply.

    ¡°Then,¡± the magistrate said with an air of certain finality. ¡°She will be raised in my house. A poor and wifeless magistrate I may be, but I swear by the heavens and the earth that I will care for and love this child for as long as I am able, and with as much patience and wisdom as any in my house has to offer.¡±

    At this, the woodcutter bowed deeper to the magistrate than he had ever before, who bowed just as deeply in return.

    Then the woodcutter, broken but satisfied, touched the sleeping child¡¯s cheek one last time, as lightly as he could. Then he turned and made his slow, painful way back out of the village and up out of the valley, to where his humble, simple, hut waited for him with his rice and tea at the edge of the Forest on the Mountain.

 Chapter 2 - The Magpie and the Moon

    ¡°Calamity!¡±

    ¡°Calamity!¡±

    ¡°Calamity!¡±

    It was evening in the land of the Mountain. Thin columns of smoke trickled up from the homes of the village in the valley. Stars, older than Time himself, swayed and circled through the empyrean, moving in concert to the pulse of their celestial dance. Beneath them, a full moon hung low over the Forest, crimson and dark, and bathed the trees in a soft scarlet hue.

    ¡°Calamity!¡± screamed the magpie. ¡°Calamity!¡±

    It flapped frantically through the night, and flew hither and thither about. Mindless with panic, it screeched and shrieked without respite.

    ¡°Calamity! Calamity!¡±

    ¡°Cease this tiresome yammering at once!¡± howled the great wolf, from the forest floor below. ¡°Why must you scream so, and disturb the peace?¡±

    ¡°Blind fool!¡± the magpie cried. It fluttered down onto a branch above the wolf. ¡°Well do you enjoy the illusion of peace! Well do you enjoy the tranquility of night! Do you not see our great brother, the moon? Do you not see how he bleeds? Do you not see how he falls from his sky? Can you not see that in this it must be that he heralds to us the coming of a Most Calamitous Age?¡±

    The wolf bared its teeth.

    ¡°I am neither foolish nor blind,¡± it growled. ¡°Have a care how you address your betters. I am not some soon-forgotten rodent flapping trivially through the sky. I am a wolf, little magpie, and the earth is mine. I am that which pursues and does not tire. I am that which devours and does not cease. I am the hunger in the night and the teeth in her shadows. Consider it your good fortune this night, feeble bird, that in my good humor I do not hunt your most cacophonous self and end your meager existence entirely offhand.¡±

    It yawned a dreadful yawn, its fangs glistening red in the moonlight.

    ¡°It is said that idle minds and timid hearts make for ruinous thoughts and I see it is certainly true. Hark unto me, little magpie, and hear the truth in my words.¡±

    ¡°Our great brother, the moon, does not bleed. Rid yourself of such thoughtless notions. Bleed? Ask yourself, how could an Ancient One bleed? And does the color red not signify luck, and joy, and happiness?¡±

    ¡°No, little magpie, he does not bleed. He garbs himself in regal decadence. He does not fall, but draws near, as near as he has ever been since he and our great sister, the sun, stepped into the sky.¡±

    Hearing sense in the wolf¡¯s wise words, the magpie looked back up at the moon, and saw to its great surprise that the moon¡¯s red glow was now indeed regal and kind, not at all the terrifying gleam that it had seemed even just moments before.

    ¡°It does not escape my keen eyes,¡± said the wolf with approval. ¡°How you look upon the moon with wonder anew. Indeed I say to you, our great brother does not portend a Most Calamitous Age, but instead beckons upon us an age of utmost providence, a Most Prosperous Age.¡±

    ¡°Do you speak truly?¡± chirped the magpie. It hopped and fluttered in excitement. ¡°Great wolf, do you speak truly?¡±

    The wolf laughed a raucous, rumbling laugh. ¡°I am not the fox with its tongue of silver or the hare with her quick words. I have spoken, and so it shall be. Any words that come forth from this deadly mouth of mine are as such that you may stand upon them as surely you do the very branch beneath you now, and I say a time of plenty is upon us. Rejoice, little magpie, for we shall grow fat, and merry, and abundant.¡±

    At this, the magpie¡¯s heart stirred in its breast and it knew the wolf¡¯s words to be true. It thanked the great wolf with the deepest profundity for its wisdom and offered its sincerest apologies for having disturbed the wolf¡¯s night, which the wolf magnanimously accepted.

    Then it flung itself back into the sky with a light heart, and began its long journey home back to its nest in the high trees.

    But barely a moment later the magpie, relieved and overjoyed at the wolf¡¯s shared percipience, found it could not help but burst into a song of gladness.

    ¡°Providence!¡± it sang. ¡°Providence!¡±

    It wheeled and tumbled as it flew over the Forest, riding the cool evening currents through the sky.

    ¡°Providence! Providence!¡±

    ¡°And just who,¡± came the soft and deadly voice of the great owl. ¡°Who is it that would dare to disturb the silence of my domain?¡±

    The magpie gathered itself into a swift and sudden stop. It settled onto the first perch it could find and lowered its head in deference.

    ¡°I beg your forgiveness, elder brother,¡± it said humbly. ¡°So drunk was I with joy and so beside myself that I was not aware of whose realm it was through which I travelled.¡±

    It lifted its head and found itself face to face with the great owl, now suddenly beside it. Dark and ominous in the light of the red moon, the owl gripped the branch with clawlike feet and peered at the magpie with large, unblinking eyes.

    ¡°Drunk with joy?¡± asked the owl. It enunciated each word with contempt, and the branch creaked in its grasp. ¡°Pray tell me, little brother, what joy is there to be found this night? Do you not see our great brother, the moon? Do you not see how he presages the Age to come and its many misfortunes?¡±

    ¡°With the deepest respect, elder brother,¡± said the magpie, bowing again. ¡°It may be that I bring news to the contrary.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± The owl¡¯s soft voice was low and dangerous as it twisted its head into a sharp, sidelong tilt.

    The magpie fought to keep its voice from trembling. ¡°From the mouth of the great wolf. See how our great brother, the moon, robes himself. See how he draws near. He does not signify a Most Calamitous Age, as even I had once thought, elder brother. But by his attire and adjacency, he announces the joyous coming of a Most Prosperous Age in which all manners of creatures can look forward to growing fat and content.¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Do not presume,¡± hissed the owl. ¡°To tarnish my ears with the words of the wolf that crawls. I am not some flightless scavenger forever scrabbling in the dirt. I am the owl, little magpie, and I am free. I am the wind in the moonlit sky. I am the silence in the deep night. I am that which watches and does not blink. I am that which strikes and does not miss. Truly you find yourself in the midst of a most fortuitous fate in that I have already slain and eaten tonight and am not wanton and wasteful, and therefore do not slay you out of mere, irritated, whim.¡±

    It ruffled its feathers, framing its dark figure in a more prominent outline of red.

    ¡°It is said that foolish minds and fearless hearts make for delusions of grandeur and I see now it is certainly true. Attend, little brother. Hear the truth in my words.¡±

    ¡°Our great brother, the moon, does not clothe himself in attire. Clothe himself? Clothe himself? Tell me, little brother, what need does an Ancient One have for clothes? Can there be anything more divine or more worthy of the star filled heavens than his unmarred and unmitigated form? And does not the shade red reminisce of flame, and anger, and war?¡±

    ¡°No, little magpie, our great brother does not garb or adorn himself. He darkens with ire. Dark is his crimson flush as he glares down at us from above, no less inflamed at the sight of your foolish figure singing shamelessly across his sky.¡±

    The magpie, unable to find an argument against the owl¡¯s ominous divination, looked up again at the moon and saw that its glow was indeed fiery and foreboding, not the joyous cast it had once seemed.

    ¡°It is entirely clear to me,¡± said the owl. ¡°How you now gaze upon our great brother, the moon, with a wholly appropriate quality of unease. And it is well you do. For he does not beckon unto us an age of plenty like the pitiful wolf so supposes, but an age of strife and conflict, a Most Contentious Age.¡±

    At the owl¡¯s declaration, the magpie¡¯s heart fell in its breast and it knew the owl¡¯s words to be true.

    But just as it was about to thank the owl for its wisdom and once again depart for home, the tree beneath them shook and the sound of deep, snuffly, wet laughter filled the air.

    ¡°Never have I ever,¡± wheezed a ripe, rich voice. ¡°Never have I ever heard such contrived nonsense, in all of my days, as I have just heard this night.¡±

    At the base of the tree beneath them, the bear scratched its back against the rough bark and laughed at the exchange it had overheard.

    The owl, affronted, spread its vast wings and glared down menacingly at the bear¡¯s guffawing form. ¡°Be silent, witless bear. Dare to call me a liar or laugh at my expense again. I will rip the small, dull eyes from your head and laugh over you as you suffer a slow and miserable end.¡±

    But its threats only amused the bear even further. It shook with amusement, showing no concern or even regard for the owl¡¯s mad-eyed gaze.

    ¡°Your words are but air,¡± it said, at last. ¡°Listen! My laughter echoes still. Listen again! I declare that never have I ever heard such contrived nonsense, in all of my days, as I have just heard you speak this night. Now come, little owl. Make good on your word. Look, I do not move.¡±

    It sat down on its haunches and looked up at the owl as if with great expectation.

    But the owl silently folded its wings beneath itself, and said nothing. It glowered again at the bear who broke into such thick and heavy laughter that it seemed to the magpie that the peals of its laughter spilled over from deep within its enormous being and carpeted the forest floor as it spread.

    ¡°Do not think to subdue me with empty threats and ominous glares,¡± the bear rumbled. ¡°I am not some small creature that flees or flies. I am the thunder on the Mountain. I am the storm that moves the trees. I am the inexorable darkness of night. I am the bear, little owl, and I am mighty. Dare to come near me. I will crack you open to the white meat.¡±

    It gave the tree a casual swipe that scored it through the bark and into its white core. The owl narrowed its eyes dangerously as the tree beneath them groaned, then fell silent.

    But the magpie, unable to restrain its curiosity, piped, ¡°Why do you say the owl speaks nonsense, Master Bear?¡±

    The bear idly scratched its chin. ¡°Because the truth is plain to see, little magpie, even for one with eyes as dim as mine. The moon does not darken with ire as our pretentious friend the owl so laughably divines. He does not fume above us as would an embittered infant. He blushes with love. He does not mark our passage into a Most Contentious Age. He draws near with reddened countenance to proclaim upon us a time of passion and love, a Most Amorous Age.¡±

    The owl laughed a high, cruel laugh.

    ¡°Blushes?! Blushes?!¡± It laughed even harder. ¡°A Most Amorous Age?! See, brother magpie, how the dumb bear fumbles with its meager mind. Not even the worms of the earth could believe such befuddled blather.¡±

    ¡°I speak the truth, little owl,¡± the bear growled, no longer amused. ¡°But if you wish to say otherwise, then by all means, come contend with me. Let us mete out the truth between us.¡±

    ¡°You are all mistaken,¡± hissed the snake. It slithered out from its home in the roots of the tree, disturbed from its sleep by the sound of their quarrel. ¡°You muddy clear waters, and complicate what should be simple.¡±

    ¡°The detail of whether our great brother, the moon, blushes or seethes is but minutiae. Can you not see that it is the turning of his tincture itself that illuminates the nature of the age to come? In its disharmony, he enlightens us to the coming of an era most rotten and wrong. He does not convey to us an age of passion or war, but an age of evil, a Most Iniquitous Age.¡±

    At the snake¡¯s words, the bear rumbled and took a single menacing step in its direction.

    ¡°Contend with me if you wish, Master Bear,¡± the snake said. It circled its long body in on itself in great looping coils. ¡°But I am not like the owl so easily vanquished. I am the last mistake and the final breath. I am the silence between the beats of your heart. I am the hidden knife and the sudden shadow. I am the snake, Master Bear, and I am death.¡±

    ¡°Be silent, worm,¡± spat the owl from its perch. ¡°Or I will fetch you up in my talons and grow fat on your carcass. You speak in the manner of simpletons and fools. Clearly it can be seen from even the most cursory glance how our great brother, the moon, nearly trembles in anger!¡±

    ¡°No, you are all wrong,¡± the wolf barked as it bounded through the trees. ¡°Has red not always been the color of joy and prosperity? How can it possibly elude you all that our great brother, the moon, by his garb, most assuredly summons a Most Prosperous Age?¡±

    ¡°Be silent, little brother,¡± the bear growled. ¡°Or be silenced. Mention such drivel again and I will lay upon you such destruction that none who come across your remains will recognize them for what you once were.¡±

    The serpent laughed in a fit of spits and hisses. ¡°Yes, little brother,¡± it mocked. ¡°This is a meeting of better minds than yours. Do not make the mistake of believing there is anything you can contribute.¡±

    ¡°I have yet to see any such contribution from yourself, little worm,¡± hooted the owl. ¡°Even my own children would have more wisdom to offer than anything we have heard from you this night.¡±

    ¡°I will eat your offspring as they slumber in your nest, owl,¡± the snake hissed. ¡°And thereby save us all from any idiocy that they have most assuredly inherited from you.¡±

    The owl shrieked in outrage, but was drowned by the bear¡¯s uproarious laughter.

    ¡°SILENCE.¡±

    An immense, powerful, quiet voice rolled through the trees and shook the earth as it passed. Leaves stirred and fell, as if struck by a sudden wind. Fur, feathers, and scales trembled as the air about them shuddered at the utterance of the single word.

    Without a single further word passed between them, the animals fled, terrified, each back to their homes in the Forest on the Mountain, stifling their yelps, whines, hoots, and hisses as best they could.

    The magpie, faster than the others, flew as fast as it had ever flown the rest of its way home without stopping to rest or sing. Only when the night had passed through the coming day, into the next, and the moon had returned to its pale, silver hue, did the magpie think and reflect on all that had taken place the night before from the warm safety of its home in the high trees.

 Chapter 3 - The Hero and the Fox

    Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, there once was a hero who was brave and pure of heart.

    Born beneath a perfect alignment of the Eight Immortal Stars, the great sages of their time had made a pilgrimage to the place of his birth and gathered over the hero as an infant. They performed their ancient rituals in the presence of the child and his parents, and foretold for him a great and righteous destiny, one that would shake the fundamental pillars of the heavens and the earth.

    But upon hearing the prophecies, his parents grew afraid that the agents of darkness would seek to destroy their child before his time. They fled to the furthest reaches of the kingdom and raised their child in hiding until he came of age. When they returned, they found their home being guarded by three large white herons, and so knew that what they had done was blessed and right in the eyes of heaven.

    Stories of a great and virtuous hero soon spread throughout the land. Villagers shared his stories with each other around their fires. Young women giggled and blushed as they gossiped of him amongst themselves. Boys acted out his adventures in the streets with crude paper fans and swords fashioned out of bamboo and twine.

    Tales of his exploits even went so far as to reach the great capital at the heart of the kingdom, and the ears of the divine emperor himself. Intrigued by the rumors, the divine emperor summoned the hero to his royal palace to honor him and to discuss with him the way of the enlightened man, for he believed himself to also be a moral and noble man blessed by the heavens.

    News of the hero¡¯s coming spread through the capital city like a forest on fire. Elated by the opportunity to witness a figure of such prestige with their own eyes, the common citizens rose as one and worked without rest to prepare the city for his arrival. They swept the streets and the alleys, swathed the entire city in red banners, and hung bright golden lanterns from the eaves of every building. Women bought the finest jewelry and face paint that they could afford. Men trimmed their beards and washed their faces until they shone, some for the first times in their adult lives. Everyone wished to make a favorable impression on the hero who was said to be the noblest and most virtuous among men.

    When he arrived, the city exploded with celebration. Streamers of every color flew overhead in great falling arches. Fireworks squealed and burst in the sky. Huddled groups of giggling young girls ran forward and adorned the hero and the imperial guards escorting him with garlands of the freshest flowers. They unrolled a long bolt of fine red silk at his feet and sent dancers before him, singing:

    Make way! Make way! The hero of man

    Blesses all who draw breath

    How fortunate is the divine emperor

    To meet with the second coming of Danmu

    Make way! Make way! The hero of man

    Blesses all who gaze upon him

    How fortunate are we all

    To bathe in the presence of heaven

    They made their way throughout the entire city, singing and celebrating the hero¡¯s coming until the sun was high in the sky.

    Once they arrived at the royal palace, they escorted the hero through a series of decorated doors and into a vast and lavish hall of wood and stone. Two rows of giant pillars, each hewn from single trunk pieces of ancient red pine, glistened with artisanal engravings of silver, mother of pearl, and unalloyed gold.

    A hundred ministers, advisors, and counsellors, in their decorated uniforms of red, black, and blue, stood in attendance alongside the ornate pillars with their wide sleeves held together and heads reverently bowed. They lined a broad carpeted walkway that stretched almost the length of the entire hall, from the entrance and down to the base of a large dais, where it lay flanked on either side by head high jade statues of long whiskered dragons. Atop the dais, the emperor sat on a throne of fragrant, dark softwood inlaid with a golden figure of a phoenix wreathed in chrysanthemums.

    The hero lowered himself onto all fours, and touched his forehead to the ground.

    ¡°Long life to the divine emperor for honoring his humble servant with his favor,¡± he said. ¡°Truly his grace is immeasurable!¡±

    But to the surprise of everyone present, the divine emperor did not rise in greeting, or smile down upon the hero. Instead, he gazed above and beyond the hero as if he were not there, and ran a pensive, ringed hand through his beard.

    ¡°We had heard so many stories of you, hero, and had been so intrigued to meet with your person for ourselves,¡± he said. His voice was cold and aloof. ¡°But now that the moment is upon us, we admit to finding ourselves deeply disappointed.¡±

    The royal attendees murmured to each other behind their sleeves in shock. Had not the divine emperor sent for the hero himself? Had he not looked forward to this meeting as much as any of them?

    The hero prostrated himself even further. ¡°O Chosen One of Heaven, your unworthy servant is but a mortal man, woven of flesh and blood. If the eyes of the emperor have found me wanting in any way, then may he command me to leave at once and it shall be done without delay.¡±

    The emperor said nothing, stroked his beard, and made a long, thoughtful sound.

    Then a voice spoke.

    ¡°Most honorable father,¡± it said. ¡°Most honorable father. I beg your forgiveness for my interruption, but I must implore you not to send our hero away so soon.¡±

    The voice came from an elaborate screened stall far behind the emperor¡¯s elevated throne. Although it swelled and carried easily throughout the throne room, it also somehow contained within it a measure of hushed serenity that settled and deepened the surrounding silence, a white flowered lily on the surface of a still, dark pond.

    ¡°It is not your place to be noticed or heard, most honorable daughter,¡± the emperor replied without turning. He lowered his voice a shade in warning. ¡°Remember your duty. Do not bring upon yourself the dishonor and embarrassment of being dismissed from this courtroom and our sight.¡±

    ¡°Again I must beg your forgiveness, most honorable father,¡± spoke the princess. ¡°For I would not have spoken as I did had I not been compelled by my very duty to remind this courtroom of our subjects and their great love for the hero. Did they not work long and diligently in preparation for his arrival? Were not their songs and celebrations so loud that the sound of them reached even our ears, here, in the heart of the palace? To turn the hero out so soon after such a welcome would only reflect poorly on the palace and our royal family.¡±

    As she spoke, the hero¡¯s mind filled with insight. He saw that the emperor, having seen the efforts of his people and having heard the sounds of their joyous welcome, had chafed and let envy grow in his heart. Envy had spawned dislike, and it was for this reason that the hero now suffered the divine emperor¡¯s displeasure.

    But the blade of grass grown in the minds of fools is a tree that bears fruit in the wise, and even as the flower of new knowledge bloomed within the hero, another grew beside it. He saw too that the princess had spoken with plural purpose, not as an arrow pierces a target, but as a net catches fish, and among them swam a singular intent of passing to him the knowledge and reason of her father¡¯s disharmonious state. The hero marvelled at the princess¡¯s conveyance and by it knew her to be intelligent, courageous, generous, subtle, and kind.

    ¡°O Most Insightful and Divine Emperor,¡± he said, speaking quickly. ¡°What mortal could hope to impress a chosen of heaven? Can a star stand beside the sun? What prowess or wisdom could your unworthy servant have hoped to display that would not waver and collapse when brought before the splendor of your divinity?¡±

    The emperor ran a gilded hand through his beard, and a pleased look gleamed in his eyes.

    ¡°Truly it is as you say, O Noblest of Kings,¡± the hero continued. ¡°And now your servant is proved a disappointment in his comparative simplicity and homeliness. How clear the difference must be between The Divine Incarnation of Heaven and this lowly servant in the eyes of all here in your presence! Command your humble servant to leave at once with his shame, and it shall be done in the swiftest of manners.¡±

    But the divine emperor brushed the notion aside with a wave of his hand. Assuaged by the hero¡¯s flattery, he smiled down upon the hero at last.

    ¡°The fault lies equally upon us, noble hero, for being as accustomed as we are with our own heavenly self.¡± he said graciously. He inclined his head ever so slightly. ¡°Forgive this humble emperor his unkind words, and continue to allow us the honor of your presence. For though the most esteemed princess speaks out of turn, the truth in her words cannot be denied. We have all been looking forward to this day.¡±

    The hero lowered his head. ¡°Truly your grace is immeasurable!¡±

    Behind her screened curtain, the princess smiled into a delicate hand. There amongst all the ministers, and nobles, and advisors of the great throne room, she alone had heard the true heart of the hero¡¯s words in response to her own, and so knew him to be insightful, brave, humble, and to hold within him a rare, selfless balance of cunning and wisdom.

    --------

    Over the course of the next few days, the divine emperor hosted the great hero in the royal palace. They touched upon many subjects and conversed over higher matters of philosophy, enlightenment, and fate. At each new turn of discussion, the hero spoke with such clarity and depth that many of those who stood in attendance trembled at his words and felt their hearts changed by his wisdom.

    The emperor asked to hold the hero¡¯s great iron fan and curved sword, and to hear from the hero¡¯s own mouth a personal narration of the many tales that had reached the capital. The hero immediately offered them up to the emperor, and there in the presence of him and his court, recounted all the notable events of his life starting from the very beginning and the moment of his birth, the sages, and the stars.

    The court of ministers, counsellors, and advisors listened to his tales in spellbound awe. They gasped at the recounting of the Divine Bull with its blood red fur and its amber eyes. They wept for the mother who gave her life for her daughter¡¯s in the Field of Stones. They laughed aloud at the antics of the feathered ogres, and then applauded enthusiastically at their demise. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    All the while, seated behind her screen, the princess listened in silence and felt her wonder of the wide world and her admiration of the hero grow with each passing day.

    But the emperor was not as pleased.

    The wisdom, the virtue, and the stories that so captivated the royal court, darkened and embittered the emperor¡¯s heart. He fumed with frustration at each eloquent phrase from the hero¡¯s mouth, and boiled at each retelling of his heroic feats. He tossed and turned in his chambers each night, anguished by the hero¡¯s celebrated status, and burned with a hatred that burns most intensely of all, a hatred without slight.

    Finally, one night, unable to bear the hero¡¯s presence any longer, the emperor came up with a plan.

    The following day, as the royal court convened and the hero bowed before him, the divine emperor bade the princess to come forward and sit beside him at his right hand. Perplexed, she did as he commanded, remaining hidden behind the screen with the help of her attendants.

    ¡°Today, hero,¡± said the emperor. ¡°What we wish to hear from you is not a matter of ideology or personal history, but one which lies much closer to our heart.¡± He gestured broadly to the screened palisade beside him. ¡°For many years, we have worried and deliberated upon just what manner of individual would be worthy to receive the honor of our most honorable daughter¡¯s hand in marriage.¡±

    The hero froze and the princess¡¯s heart became like a hummingbird within her. The ministers, counsellors, and advisors murmured excitedly to each other behind their sleeves. Could it be?

    The emperor raised a regal hand, adjuring the court into silence, then placed it humbly upon his chest.

    ¡°Hero,¡± he said. ¡°These past days have proven to us that none greater have come before you in our age, nor are any likely to follow. It is my utter belief that no father, rich or poor, could receive a higher honor than to have you as a son-in-law. Here, before a hundred worthy witnesses, I ask: will you take the princess as your wife?¡±

    So lay the first of two traps that the emperor had crafted with cunning care. If the hero refused, then he would be insulting the emperor and the princess so harshly that it would be punishable only by death. But if he accepted, he would be forever confined within the palace from then on, and his life as a hero wandering the land would be at an end.

    The courtroom exploded with whispers of excitement. The tumult of their noise resonated and rolled within the throne room so loudly that the hero had to yell to be heard.

    ¡°The divine emperor honors me beyond any of my wildest dreams,¡± he said. The attendants quieted to hear him speak. ¡°But your humble servant is not worthy to be granted such an honor. I am a simple man of lowly birth, with neither lands nor riches to my name.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense!¡± the emperor exclaimed, prepared for such a response. He lifted his head and raised his voice to address the entire court. ¡°Is there any person who could possibly claim to be more honorable than our hero?¡±

    ¡°It is not so, Your Majesty!¡± said all the ministers, counsellors, and advisors as one.

    ¡°Is there any man among men who could possibly claim to possess within themselves more strength or perception than our hero?¡±

    ¡°It is not so, Your Majesty!¡± they replied.

    ¡°Therefore is there any man among men more worthy to be considered for the princess¡¯s hand in marriage?¡±

    ¡°It is not so, Your Majesty!¡±

    Their words rang and echoed in the courtroom. Then they faded into silence.

    The hero, still procumbent, struggled in vain to extricate himself from his plight without insulting either the princess or the emperor who had so generously hosted him for so long.

    ¡°Most honorable father,¡± the princess¡¯s voice stepped gently into the bated silence, a fawn¡¯s first footfall into winter¡¯s first snow. ¡°Most honorable father. Though I thank you for the opportunity, would it not be an extraordinary shame to see the hero so restricted for the rest of his life? Truly it is as you say, any spouse of such a hero would undoubtedly be the luckiest woman of all.¡±

    She paused for the barest portion of a breath.

    ¡°But should he not be free? He is, after all, his own man with his own spirit.¡±

    The hero felt his heart move at her words, for in them he heard the courage to deny her father, the selflessness to deny herself, the generosity it took to wish for him his own desires, and foremost of all, the true silver bell chime of love.

    ¡°Do not speak unless spoken to, Most Honorable Daughter,¡± said the emperor sternly. ¡°The decision rests entirely in our hero¡¯s wise and capable hands.¡±

    In the long span of quiet that followed, the hero balanced the weight of many things in his mind. Acutely aware, as few ever are, that in that moment he stood at a great crossroads on the path to his fate, the hero dismissed the emperor, the attendants, and the palace at large from his mind and searched within himself to find a decision that would most satisfy his heart.

    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± he said, at last. He took a deep breath as the silence within the great hall deepened and grew still.

    ¡°If it truly is what you wish, then your servant would be honored to receive your daughter¡¯s hand in marriage.

    The throne room exploded with cheers and applause. The hero dared to lift his head and cast his gaze in the direction of the princess in her palisade. Momentarily forgetting that she was already obscured from sight, the princess hid her blushing face behind her small hands.

    The emperor smiled.

    ¡°We are most delighted, noble hero,¡± he extolled. ¡°We are most delighted indeed! Today we have found ourselves a son-in-law who is without peer!¡±

    ¡°It is as you say, Your Majesty!¡± said the emperor¡¯s one hundred attendants.

    ¡°But I¡¯m afraid,¡± said the emperor. He raised a ringed hand to summon his hall once again into an attentive silence. ¡°That this brings us to a single tedium of formality.¡±

    ¡°I am your humble servant, divine emperor,¡± bowed the hero.

    The emperor nodded. ¡°It is one of our oldest laws and one of our most ancient customs, for the bride and groom to present a gift to each other¡¯s families at the wedding ceremony. It is a tradition that is followed by all, rich and poor, noble and commoner, young and old. None are above this law, not even those of royal blood.¡±

    The attendants in the courtroom murmured to each other in agreement.

    ¡°But it is as you once said,¡± said the emperor. ¡°You are without riches or lands. We could not presume to take either your sword or your fan from you, for they are as much a part of you as your own hands and feet. Therein lies our dilemma.

    The emperor held his hands with his palms up, as if he was weighing the options between them

    ¡°If we ask for too simple a thing, it may give the impression that we were being too generous and therefore favoring you too highly. But we also cannot ask for something you do not have, or cannot grasp - that would run opposite to our desires and show us to be false and untrue.¡±

    Then he clapped his hands together in excitement. ¡°But we believe we have found a solution to this conundrum that will resolve all these issues and allow us to move forward with balance.¡±

    ¡°There is a rare silver fox that is said to reside in the land of the distant Mountain, at the borders of our kingdom,¡± the emperor continued. ¡°And while the palace holds many fine animals within its walls, it cannot yet claim the possession of a silver fox. Capture this creature for us and bring it back alive as your gift. Then none shall be able to speak against the union of our families, and you and the princess shall be married without delay!¡±

    And so sprang the second and more cunning of the two traps the emperor had devised. In truth, he had never heard of any such fox and had fabricated its entire existence. But since none had heard of it, none could deny it, and the hero most certainly could not return empty handed or declare the emperor a liar. He would search the lands of the Mountain, without result, until he was finally declared unfaithful, a swindler, or both.

    Once again, the throne room exploded with ecstatic applause and shouts of joy. Once again the princess smiled behind a trembling hand as her heart fluttered and shook with disbelief. And the emperor laughed and laughed with all the seeming appearance of magnanimity, gloating to himself at his victory over the hero.

    Suspecting nothing, the hero lowered his head a final time.

    ¡°Truly your grace is immeasurable!¡±

    ----------

    The next morning, the hero set off on his journey with his sword, his fan, and a small jade hairpin gifted to him by the princess as a sign of her favorable regard.

    When he reached the village at the foot of the Mountain, he called on all who lived there, asking for any information or clue as to where he might find the silver fox. But to his disappointment, the villagers of the valley knew very little about the Mountain or the Forest upon it, despite having spent their entire lives in its shadow.

    ¡°We have no reason to go up there,¡± one said.

    ¡°Who knows what could be lurking in the Forest?¡± said another.

    One elderly lady living alone with her husband simply shut the door in his face without a word.

    Undaunted, he gathered his belongings and went up from the village and into the Forest, where he searched high and low for the silver fox for many days and nights on end. He lay snares along the foot trails of small animals, stalked the most accessible sources of water, lay out the most tempting morsels of raw meat, everything he could think of. But even after nearly a complete turn of the moon, he found nothing to indicate that there was any sort of fox on the Mountain at all. With a grim determination, he returned to the village to restock on food and supplies.

    ¡°Hello!¡± a young girl called from the entrance of her home, as he was making his back out of the village. She bowed when he looked her way.

    The hero, cheered by the sight of the girl¡¯s young, happy face, bowed in reply. ¡°Hello. It¡¯s nice to meet you.¡±

    ¡°What are you doing here, uncle?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to catch a fox,¡± he replied. ¡°But I¡¯m sad to say I haven¡¯t been able to find one.¡±

    ¡°Of course you haven¡¯t found one, uncle,¡± the girl said, matter of factly. ¡°That¡¯s probably because you don¡¯t know where they are.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s true, it¡¯s true,¡± the hero sighed. ¡°If only someone knew where I might find one, and could share with me. But I have asked everyone, and can¡¯t seem to find anyone who knows.¡±

    The girl tilted her head, with a serious look on her face. ¡°But you haven¡¯t asked me.¡±

    The hero hid a smile and smacked himself lightly on the forehead. ¡°Oh, why of course I haven¡¯t!¡± He made a great show of formally walking up to the young girl, who giggled clumsily behind her hands.

    ¡°Lady,¡± he asked gallantly. ¡°Do you know where there might be any foxes on the mountain?¡±

    ¡°Of course I do, uncle!¡± the girl smiled proudly. ¡°I know where all the foxes are, even the silver ones!¡±

    At this, the hero stiffened with shock. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Really,¡± she nodded.

    The hero swallowed, mouth dry. ¡°Could you tell me, child? It would be such a help after so many fruitless nights.¡±

    The girl looked around secretively, then beckoned for the hero to lean in close.

    ¡°They live in the Forest,¡± she confided with a whisper. She pointed a small, stubby finger up the side of the Mountain. ¡°Up there.¡±

    His heart sank with disappointment. ¡°I see.¡±

    ¡°But you can¡¯t bring your sword into the Forest,¡± she whispered again. ¡°Or else they¡¯ll know, and they¡¯ll hide.¡±

    He frowned.

    ¡°Daughter!¡± yelled a voice from inside the house. ¡°Daughter, where are you?¡±

    ¡°Coming, father!¡± she yelled. She turned to the hero and bowed. ¡°Uncle, I need to go now. Goodbye!¡±

    He bowed. ¡°Goodbye.¡±

    She turned back into the house, and slid the door to a close behind her. But for a long moment, the hero stood and stared after her, thinking on the conversation that had just taken place.

    When he reached the entrance of the Forest, he stepped off the path, and wrapped his fan and sword in a well oiled cloth, tied it tight, and buried them in a shallow marked pit.

    He found the silver fox just around the very first bend of the Forest¡¯s path.

    It was resting on a log, bathing in the sunlight, as if it had always been so effortless to find. Relief, and a small sense of wonder, washed over him. But as he took his very first step toward it, it rose and leaped over a patch of bushes.

    Not wanting to lose sight of it, the hero ran after it, catching only the barest glimpses of it as he ran hard at its heels through the trees - a tail disappearing into some ferns, the sound of its paws padding furiously against the ground. But the fox was quick and seemed always to be a few steps ahead of the hero. Thoughtless now in his pursuit, he chased headlong after the silver fox, off the beaten path, and deep into the Forest.

    Still the fox eluded him, somehow managing to always stay out of sight and reach. As a final desperate ploy, the hero ripped his packs and supplies off his back just as the fox darted behind a large, moss covered tree. Unburdened, the hero flew after the silver fox, rounded the tree with a wild, excited laugh, and disappeared.

 Chapter 4 - The Child and the Frost

    Once upon a time, in a land far away, a daughter was separated from her father as a snowstorm descended upon the Forest on the Mountain.

    The sky had been clear that morning, as they made their way to the far side of the Mountain where the snow lay clean and untouched. Though the father had known better than to risk the winter¡¯s mercurial moods, he had been unable to resist his daughter¡¯s plaintive pleas and yielded to her excitement over her latest gift: a small, red sled with runners shaped as leaping fish, crafted specifically for her by the local fond blacksmith.

    Having no greater love than that which he held for his daughter, the father took the pair of them up the Mountain early that morning and spent its passing pushing his squealing daughter up the snow covered slope time and time again. Though his legs ached and his heart beat uncomfortably in his chest, he found ample reward in his daughter¡¯s delight and thanked the heavens in his heart for the opportunity to spend such a moment together with his child.

    But before he could even be aware of it, the clear blue sky frosted over into a dangerous pale gray. Small flecks of snow floated down onto them from above, sending the giggling child tumbling after them, grasping at them with her small mittened hands. Struggling to maintain an appearance of calm despite a dull grip of dread, the father gathered his daughter and her sled and hurried them back home.

    But the sky darkened and descended. The air, roused by the cold, stirred itself with a soft rush of freezing wind. Even as the child watched with wide, wondering eyes, small flakes of snow grew and gathered themselves into great falling sheets of sleet. They caught against her clothes and melted into them, chilling them with their touch.

    The child shivered and buried herself deeper into her father¡¯s arms.

    In an encroaching swell of desperation, her father discarded the sled and left it behind as the trail became blanketed by snow. He laid his daughter upon his back with her arms around his neck, and hastened with as much speed as he could muster. But the ill woken wind would not let him have his way. It pushed and pulled at him one way then the other, threatening to rob him of his balance and send him tumbling off the disappearing path. He bent his head low with a grim determination, determined to carry his daughter through the storm. But hurried and uncertain of his way, he stumbled.

    The child, her arms weary from clutching her father¡¯s neck, felt her hands part at the sudden movement. Before she could cry, the ground rose up to meet her in a rush and she tumbled head over heels off the beaten path.

    The world whirled and pitched about her for a terrifying moment, but she came to a sudden, jarring stop much sooner than she expected. Disoriented, breathless, but with no other thought than to get back to her father, she scrambled up onto her feet with a hand raised to see through the storm. But to her dismay, she could see no sign of her father or the path from which she had fallen.

    ¡°Father!¡± she cried. ¡°Father!¡±

    ¡°Daughter!¡± came her father¡¯s voice. ¡°Oh, what have I done? Oh my daughter, my daughter, where are you?¡±

    Snow frosted winds churned and tore through the air around her with a howl.

    ¡°Father!¡± she cried, again. ¡°Father!¡±

    ¡°Daughter!¡± his voice cried back, but already it grew faint. ¡°Daughter!¡±

    ¡°Father!¡±

    She ran towards the sound of his voice, but the powdery ground slid beneath her small boots, and tripped her face first into a thick blanket of snow.

    ¡°Daddy!¡± she cried, her voice breaking. But there was no reply.

    She picked herself up as quickly as she could, and brushed the ice from her face with clumsy, hurried swipes of her mittened hands. She looked around, desperate for any clue as to which direction her father might be, but the world around her tossed and whirled with billowing curtains of snow.

    Her heart breaking, she staggered after where she had last heard his voice, fighting to make headway through the storm. But no matter how hard she pushed or threw herself against the wind, it pushed back with twice the strength, blowing her back two steps for every one she made.

    All the while, the ground piled higher with snow.

    Shivering now from the cold, the child crawled into the hollow of a nearby log and huddled as deep inside of it as she could. She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, sobbing as she panted in small, panicked gasps.

    Then a voice echoed from the mouth of the hollow, faint against the background of the storm.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to die.¡±

    Trembling uncontrollably now, she looked towards the source of the strange voice to see a young boy crouched down near the log. He looked to be about her age, but was dressed inappropriately for the weather. He was bare footed, and was wearing only a thin pair of trouser pants and a light vest that flapped idly in the wind.

    ¡°I know you can¡¯t hear me,¡± he said sadly. ¡°But you¡¯re going to die in there. I¡¯ve seen it before. I would help if I could, but it¡¯s forbidden.¡±

    He sat himself down at the end of the log. ¡°But you won¡¯t be alone,¡± he said. ¡°I can do that much, at least.¡±

    She tried to respond, but no words would come. Her teeth chattered and her throat seemed to have tightened itself against the cold.

    ¡°But I can hear you,¡± she managed at last.

    His head snapped toward her, eyes wide.

    ¡°Really?!¡± he gasped. His eyes locked onto hers, searching. ¡°You can hear me?¡±

    She struggled to nod, the movement barely discernible from the rest of her trembling body.

    ¡°Then it will work!¡± he whooped, scrambling onto his feet. ¡°My parents said so! It will work!¡±

    He slid into the hollow beside her, but hesitated for a brief moment. He touched her arm, just once, as if she might suddenly bite, or burst into flame. But nothing happened.

    He smiled, delighted, and placed it firmly onto her shoulder.

    ¡°I¡¯m Aurm,¡± he said.

    She tried to answer, but found she could do nothing now but shiver and stare at the strange, sudden boy beside her.

    Then a small flicker of warmth fluttered in her toes. It was so light at first as to be barely noticeable, but it was there, and real, and not just a seeming of wishful thought. Slow but steady, it crept its way up her legs and back, growing in warmth as it did, until it covered her entirely in its glow. It soaked her freezing limbs in a seamless, enduring warmth, and melted away the dull bind of cold until finally, she breathed a long sigh of relief and sagged, exhausted, against the inner hollow of the log.

    ¡°Don¡¯t fall asleep,¡± warned the boy, Aurm. He turned to crawl out of the log. ¡°You need to move around. Your body needs to remember how to be alive. Come on.¡±

    She groaned at the thought of the effort, but followed him out of the log nevertheless, curious about her most unexpected friend.

    ¡°So what are you doing out here?¡± he asked, once she emerged.

    ¡°I was playing with my father,¡± she said. She patted the snow off of her clothes. ¡°We were sledding.¡±

    ¡°Me too!¡± said Aurm. ¡°I mean, I was playing too.¡±

    ¡°With who?¡± she asked.

    The boy shrugged and scuffed a foot against the snow. ¡°Just myself. I don¡¯t really have anyone to play with. Except for my parents, sometimes, when they¡¯re not busy. But they¡¯re resting now, at home.¡±

    He pointed a finger vaguely up the Mountain.

    She looked to see where he might be pointing to, but was surprised to see the blizzard still raging overhead. Clouds of snow spun and flew through the air around them, as if carried by strong, stormy winds. But the child felt neither the wind nor the cold.

    She looked down and was surprised again to find she was standing on top of a great snowdrift, as if it were solid ground, and not a powdery pile of loose snow. She jumped, lightly at first, then higher and higher. But the snow remained firm and unyielding beneath her feet. She stomped her weight down several times as hard as she could, amazed at the strange new experience.

    ¡°But what about you? Where do you live?¡± Aurm asked from behind her. The child had completely forgotten about him in her newfound delight.

    ¡°I live with my father,¡± she replied. ¡°He lives at the bottom of the Mountain.¡±

    ¡°Well that could mean anything,¡± said Aurm. He thought for a moment, then his eyes widened. ¡°Do you mean he lives under the Mountain?¡±

    ¡°Of course not, silly,¡± she said, condescendingly. ¡°What could possibly live under a mountain?¡±

    Aurm stared at her with an odd, almost wondering look.

    ¡°We should get you home,¡± he said, at last. ¡°If your dad is anything like mine, he¡¯s probably worried enough to be angry.¡±

    He turned and started walking up the Mountain. ¡°Come on. I know someone that can help.¡±

    Curious and not knowing what else to do, she followed.

    For several moments, the two children walked together in the strange, quick, companionable silence that only ever falls between the very young. They held it between them as simply as they would a length of string, and made no other noise save the soft rhythmless tread of their feet on the snow.

    ¡°Why isn¡¯t the snow falling on us?¡± the child asked, after some time.

    ¡°Because I asked it not to,¡± Aurm replied, without turning or stopping.

    ¡°You ask it not to?¡± she echoed. ¡°And it does it?¡±

    ¡°Not always,¡± he admitted. He looked up at the storm and smiled in a manner appropriate to one sharing a secret with a constant and longtime friend. ¡°It didn¡¯t before when I asked, but I think it¡¯s listening now because it¡¯s happier for some reason.¡±Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡°But we¡¯re here now,¡± he added, stopping at the face of an enormous, dark boulder embedded deep within the mountainside. He walked slowly, almost politely, up to the rock and placed his hands on its dark, jagged surface.

    ¡°Good morning,¡± he said.

    A good way above their heads, a patch of rock, nearly as wide as Aurm was tall, twitched, stirred, then blinked open to reveal a single large dark eye of the deepest midnight blue. It peered around above them before looking down and settling on the boy with a bright golden ringed pupil the size of a small melon.

    ¡°Aurm,¡± rumbled a dark, gravelly, voice. To the child, the voice didn¡¯t seem to come from the rock itself as much as it seemed to simply hang and resonate in the air about her. ¡°Good morning, little friend. It is good to see you. Are you out playing again?¡±

    Aurm shook his head, hands still pressed against its surface. ¡°No,¡± he said, then checked himself. ¡°Well, I was, but then I found someone who needed help.¡±

    The rock¡¯s gaze shifted onto the child, who suddenly felt very fragile beneath the scrutiny of the large unblinking eye.

    ¡°Oh, Aurm,¡± it said. Its voice resonated in the child¡¯s chest and she felt, more than heard, a soft groan of disappointment.

    ¡°Oh, Aurm,¡± it said again. ¡°What have you done? You know what has been declared. Their fates are not ours to touch or sway.¡±

    ¡°But she can see me,¡± said Aurm, defensively. ¡°She can see me. Father said I¡¯m allowed to help if they can see me.¡±

    ¡°She can see you?¡± it repeated, as if each word was to it a strange and foreign sound. ¡°How incongruous.¡± It directed its voice towards the daughter. ¡°Do you hear me even now, little thing?¡±

    She hesitated, wondering if it was her even proper place to respond, but nodded when Aurm smiled in encouragement.

    The boulder made a long, low, thoughtful sound.

    ¡°She just wants to go home,¡± said Aurm. ¡°Can you help her?¡±

    But the boulder did not respond. It gave no indication that it had even heard the boy, and stared at the child as if it could see nothing else. The rings around its pupil twitched in erratic, nearly indiscernible expansions and contractions of movement.

    ¡°What is this?¡± it said at last, in a dark, soft voice. Its eye narrowed. ¡°Is this a riddle? Why are you under there?¡±

    Confused, the child looked at Aurm for help. But he looked back at her with a look as lost as of her own.

    ¡°But it seems you are not yet self aware of it,¡± it mused, when she did not reply. It sighed, and the sound rippled through the children like the currents of a river. ¡°As it is too often so. Come, curious little thing. Place your hands upon me. There is much I would yet understand of you.¡±

    But the daughter did not move.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Aurm waved invitingly. ¡°It won¡¯t hurt.¡±

    ¡°Do not be afraid,¡± said the boulder. ¡°It is not my wish to harm you. It does not fall within my purpose to harm any living being as young as yourself, regardless of where they may have come from or what they truly are.¡±

    Only somewhat comforted, the child walked forward one nervous step at a time, encouraged the entire way by a steady stream of Aurm¡¯s reassurances, then slowly placed her hands on the boulder¡¯s dark craggy surface with a touch that thrilled and jittered up her arms.

    The boulder¡¯s eye snapped wide open, and its pupil shrank abruptly into a miniscule yellow dot. A low, shocked gasp pulled through the air, and in that brief moment it seemed to the child that the mysterious source of its voice now resided in the very center of her mind.

    There was a noise like the gnashing of mountainous teeth, and when it spoke again, the boulder¡¯s voice shook with a cold, shocked fury.

    ¡°Remove your hands.¡±

    The child froze, terrified by the suddenness and the sheer force of the boulder¡¯s malcontent. Its great eye swiveled down and glared at the child¡¯s inaction, seething with a near palpable air of revile.

    ¡°Remove. Your. Hands. At. Once,¡± it snarled, crunching out each word in a crescendo of violence. Its voice grew colder and darker, a churning of molten earth at the bottom of a frozen sea.

    Tears welled in the child¡¯s eyes, and she took a halting, frightened step back.

    ¡°Aurm,¡± it spat. Its furious gaze snapped towards the boy, who also stepped back, startled by the intensity of the boulder¡¯s regard.

    Its glare and voice softened. ¡°Oh, Aurm,¡± it said, before turning its singular gaze back upon the child.

    A cold, frozen silence loomed in their small enclosure beneath the storm. The child sobbed in small, terrified gasps, too terrified to move, even to the point of not daring to wipe her runny nose and eyes.

    A wisp of remorse flickered in the behemoth¡¯s dark eye. It gazed back and forth between Aurm and the child, then up at the storm that whirled overhead, then back down on to the two of them again, before slowly closing.

    ¡°But it is only a child,¡± it whispered, after a long moment, as if it were finishing a thought that it had been unraveling inside itself.

    It sighed a long, tired sigh, and the sound of it stirred through Aurm and the child like a haze over flame.

    ¡°It is not possible for you to understand,¡± it began to say very slowly, then paused. It opened its enormous eye to look directly at the boy. ¡°It is not possible for you to understand, young Aurm, the complete circle of consequences that you have drawn into being this day.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± asked Aurm, confused. ¡°But I was just helping her.¡±

    ¡°Then you were as the bird that flies against the wind and goes nowhere,¡± the boulder replied firmly, but not unkindly. ¡°Even then a life¡¯s worth cannot always be weighed so simply against its death. Truly, it may have been the greatest kindness to leave her to freeze and die.¡±

    It stared down at the boy, and its voice shook with a dreadful finality.

    ¡°Your actions and your actions alone, young Aurm, have turned our world down a forked path of fate with no more wisdom and foresight than the simple, clueless instinct of a child.¡±

    Then it did the last thing either of the children expected.

    It burst into laughter.

    Loud and intense, the sudden clamor of it thrummed through the children in almost painful waves of intensity. It set their teeth on edge and enveloped their senses. It was all their minds could do to grasp the edges of it as it beat about them like the pulsing of a giant¡¯s heart.

    ¡°But who can say that it is such an unfortunate thing?¡± it said at last, its voice steeped with merry timbre. The children sagged with relief as its laughter faded.

    ¡°Certainly not I, I am only so old. Destiny begets destiny. I cannot see beyond my horizon any more than a raindrop can see the crashing ends of the sea.¡±

    ¡°Though it is not without some measure of comfort,¡± it said, gazing on the two children before it. ¡°That it is not the most wicked of hands to have diverged our world, still again, and send it hurtling towards another new and wondrous fate.¡±

    Here it cast its eye up at the sky that swirled and surged overhead as if it could see through the storm¡¯s heavy clouds to the heavens beyond. Though she could not say why, the child felt with absolute certainty that if it had arms or hands it would have raised them.

    ¡°How strange a day this is,¡± it said aloud, to neither child in particular. It cast its gaze downward, then closed its eye. ¡°And how strange are the footsteps of our world. I, having not stirred since time immemorial and the coming of the second Age, when Man sang his first song beneath the schismed red sky, presumed my days of prosperity to be all left behind me, spinning as leaves in my wake.¡±

    ¡°But to have borne witness to this great turn of heaven¡¯s wheel with my own eye,¡± it continued. ¡°And to have been granted the rare pleasure of understanding its deep truth is an honor too exalted for the likes of this lowly mote. Could I ever have been more blessed or propertied than I now find myself to be at this very point in time?¡±

    It paused for a brief moment, and Aurm looked over at the child, confused. The child, having only just touched upon the thinnest thread of the boulder¡¯s imparted insight, stared blankly back.

    ¡°Now,¡± said the boulder. It opened its dark eye and looked towards the child, its pupil soft and large. ¡°I would ask your forgiveness, little one, and offer my humble apologies, though I wonder if you are in an appropriate state to receive it.¡±

    When the child did not move or respond, it sighed with a deep breath that curled gently with amusement.

    ¡°Aurm.¡±

    Its gaze swiveled back towards the boy, who was clearly befuddled by the happenings of all that had just taken place.

    ¡°Aurm,¡± it rumbled again. ¡°The child belongs to the village in the valley. Take her down to the edge of the Forest by the woodcutter¡¯s hut. Her father will be there when you arrive, desperate and worried. You must hurry and do this soon, your Touch is already fading.¡±

    Aurm scowled. ¡°Then why did you not just say that earlier?¡±

    The boulder chuckled, a muted echo of its thunderous laughter.

    ¡°My apologies to you as well, young Aurm,¡± it said. ¡°One stumbles often when one gazes too far ahead. It seems that even I have much to learn.¡±

    Then it looked upon the child one last time, and gazed deeply into her eyes. ¡°But before we depart, little thing. I would leave you with a final word.¡±

    ¡°Everything that loves in life are different faces of the same mountain. Everything that consumes are the many colors of its shadow. There is a fear in every joy. There is recompense in every loss. It will seem at times, little thing, like there is no constant, no certainty in our ever shifting struggle for balance. But bear your fears with courage, it is the road that circles back that teaches us of our home.¡±

    With each word it spoke, its large, dark eye grew and enveloped her vision until it became all that she could see. Its voice expanded and filled her mind with its soft growl.

    ¡°Farewell, little thing. Be wise, be kind, be strong. We shall not meet again.¡±

    When her senses returned, she was surprised to find herself following Aurm down the Mountain, and that the blizzard had calmed into a stiff, snowy breeze. Suddenly she shivered, and wrapped her arms around herself as the cold came creeping through her damp winter garments.

    ¡°We¡¯re almost there now,¡± said Aurm. ¡°Look, you can see the woodcutter¡¯s hut from here.¡±

    He pointed up ahead and the child saw that they had come to the edge of a small rise that sat above a large, snow covered clearing. The scene lay quiet and still, nearly devoid of any sign of life except for a thick column of smoke that streamed steadily from a single, solitary hut.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to have to go the rest of the way yourself,¡± Aurm said. ¡°This is as far as I can go.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± asked the child. She turned to look at him.

    The boy shrugged. ¡°Father won¡¯t tell me, but they once brought me here and made me promise to not go any further than this spot right here.¡±

    She huddled deeper into her clothes as the breeze picked up for a brief moment.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± she said. ¡°I can go the rest of the way from here.¡±

    ¡°I know you can,¡± he assured. ¡°I¡¯ll watch from here to make sure you do.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said, then started making her way down towards the clearing. ¡°Good bye.¡±

    ¡°Good bye.¡±

    The child walked a few more steps before she turned, and waved.

    ¡°Thanks for saving me!¡±

    He waved back, and his face brightened into a smile. ¡°I¡¯m glad I met you!¡±

    ¡°Me too!¡± she shouted back.

    She turned back towards the hut just as its door burst open and the magistrate came running out, followed slowly by the limping woodcutter.

    ¡°Daughter!¡± he cried. ¡°Oh my daughter!¡±

    ¡°Father!¡± she shouted happily. ¡°I¡¯m here father!¡±

    The magistrate ran toward the child with all the speed he could muster, slipping and stumbling through the snow in his haste, and wrapped her up.

    ¡°Oh my daughter,¡± he sobbed, weeping without shame. ¡°Where have you been? How have you returned to us? I thought surely you had perished. How could I have forgiven myself?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, father,¡± the child assured him. She pressed her hands consolingly against his cold cheeks. ¡°I met a friend, father. A boy! He showed me how to get back.¡±

    She turned in her father¡¯s arms to point up at the rise where she had last left her newfound companion, but the boy was nowhere to be seen.

    The magistrate brushed the last of the snow from her clothes with compassionate clicks of his tongue. ¡°The fault is mine, my daughter. The fault is mine. What an ordeal you must have endured. We must get you back to the warmth of our home, swiftly and without delay.¡±

    ¡°But he was just there, father,¡± she insisted. ¡°A boy. His name was...¡±

    She frowned as her mind stumbled across a sudden gap in her memory. She rubbed her mittened hands into her eyes, searching for what once had been, but was interrupted by an enormous yawn. She blinked and swayed in her father¡¯s arms, as a weariness deeper than she had ever known swept over her.

    ¡°His name was...¡±

    A disquieting unease crept into a corner of the magistrate¡¯s heart. He placed a gentle hand on her head, and guided it to rest on his shoulder.

    ¡°Oh, my sweet daughter. Do not trouble yourself anymore with the memory of the nightmare through which you have so recently passed,¡± he said soothingly, rocking himself from side to side. ¡°Father¡¯s got you now. Father¡¯s got you now.¡±

    Exhausted, the child fell instantly into a warm, deep, and dreamless sleep.

    She would wake the next day in her own bed, bruised but refreshed, with little memory left of her adventure on the Mountain. Given time, even what little she remembered would fade, leaving only the occasional dream of a sudden, strange boy on the Mountain.

    But the magistrate, carefully carrying his one love back down to the village in the valley, reflected bitterly upon his actions that had so imperiled his daughter, and vowed before the heavens and the earth never to forgive himself, and never to let such danger even dare to come so near his beloved daughter ever again.

 Chapter 5 - The Raccoon and the Monkey

    Once upon a time, in a land far away, there once lived a wily little raccoon and a clever little monkey deep in the heart of the Forest on the Mountain.

    They had all the appearance of being the closest of friends. Being both shrewd and quick of thought, they enjoyed a sense of symmetry in each other¡¯s company, and could often be found conversing with one another over the small happenings of their day to day life.

    One beautiful morning, the monkey, swinging through the trees, spotted his friend the raccoon far below him on the forest floor. The raccoon was moving in what seemed to be a great hurry back in the direction of its home, and carried in its mouth a large white bone.

    ¡°Good morning, brother!¡± the monkey shouted from above.

    The raccoon jumped at the sudden sound, and dropped the bone from its mouth. But when it saw the monkey hopping down through the branches, it spread its small arms wide in welcome and placed a firm footpaw on top of the bone.

    ¡°Brother monkey!¡± it shouted. ¡°How are you enjoying yourself this fine morning?¡±

    ¡°I am enjoying it and myself most deeply,¡± the monkey replied, dropping itself down beside the raccoon with a bow. ¡°And I would return the greeting in kind if the answer were not already so apparent! What is this treasure you¡¯ve found?¡±

    ¡°What, this?¡± The raccoon looked down at the bone as if surprised by the attention being called upon it. He waved a clever front paw. ¡°A paltry thing not worthy of your notice, dear brother. It is a crumb that I have come upon by pure happenstance. A meager discard, no doubt fallen from the mouth of a much greater beast, and forgotten.¡±

    ¡°A crumb?¡± The monkey tittered behind a hairy hand. ¡°Surely you jest. Nowhere does there exist any such ¡®crumb¡¯ as the likes of this morsel you hold beneath your foot, should scraps fall upon us from the table of heaven itself!¡±

    It hopped and laughed in place at its own joke, shrieking in its amusement.

    ¡°Worry not, old friend, worry not,¡± it said, once its merriment subsided. ¡°I promise that I will neither pass a claim nor seek to partake of your day¡¯s reward. What you are fortunate enough to find is yours to keep. I am simply curious as to what it is you plan to do with such a find.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± said the raccoon, mollified by the monkey¡¯s good spirit. ¡°I admit that when I first saw it, I thought to crack it open for the sumptuous marrow inside. But then the thought occurred to me that I have not dined on hot bone soup in a very long time. So I hurry home to my hollow, fully intent on preparing and most thoroughly savoring this rare and wholesome delicacy.¡±

    The monkey¡¯s mouth watered at the thought of sweet marrow and fragrant soup, and despite its earlier reassurances, found itself longing for a taste of the dinner that had been so described. Quietly, it struggled to find a course of action through which it might gain possession of the bone for itself.

    It smiled a wide, placating smile. ¡°Dear friend raccoon,¡± it said. It wrapped an arm around the raccoon¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Let us discuss other matters. Do you remember the pine nuts I fetched for you from the tops of the high trees, very nearly a span of days ago now?¡±

    But the eye of an old friend is a sun in a cloudless sky, and the raccoon tightened his footpaw over the bone.

    ¡°I only mention this,¡± continued the monkey. ¡°Because it crossed my mind just earlier this morning that it has been some time now since I accomplished this favor for you. Is it not said that a debt between friends is as a wound that festers?¡±

    Here it tapped a finger on its chin, then clapped its hands together.

    ¡°Brother, what do you think of this? Why don¡¯t you give me that small mouthful you¡¯ve found. Though an old bone is a poor equal to the fresh picked meat of the Forest¡¯s pines, I would be only too delighted to overlook the disparity for the sake of our friendship.¡±

    ¡°Dearest friend,¡± replied the raccoon immediately, his footpaw not budging. ¡°Let it not pass beyond the shadow of doubt that neither flame nor flood could keep me from allowing the blemish of such a burden on our friendship overlong. For how precious and rare is a friendship such as ours?¡±

    ¡°As precious as the stars in a moonless sky,¡± nodded the monkey sagaciously. ¡°And as rare to hold.¡±

    ¡°It is as you say,¡± the raccoon agreed without the slightest hesitation. ¡°But, dear brother, and how I despise mentioning this at all, do you not recall the plump, beautiful fish I snatched out of the river for you, just a few days past? How I delivered it, still fresh and writhing, straight into your eager hands? Surely such a specimen could not possibly be found unworthy when brought before an obligation of mere nuts.¡±

    ¡°How right you are,¡± exclaimed the monkey, but its heart twisted inside its chest. ¡°How could I have forgotten? It was a heavenly gift!¡±

    ¡°How generous of you to say so,¡± the raccoon bowed.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°But it is with some shame,¡± the monkey quickly added. ¡°That I must also remind you of the night when I snuck up into the home of the owl as it was away and stole the warm treasures from its nest. Did I not come down with one in each hand, one for myself and one for you? Did we not feast ourselves on a kingly dinner? Did we not delight in the rich, golden sap they held within?¡±

    ¡°We certainly did,¡± the raccoon chuckled through its teeth. ¡°But it is with some shame of my own that I must remind you, dear brother, that while you were the one who snuck into the nest, I was the one who came upon the knowledge that the owl was in fact nesting. Furthermore, I was the one who discovered the times when it left to hunt. It was only after I had devised a plan and shared it with you that it became possible at all for you to venture up unto its nest, and to retrieve its eggs without harm.¡±

    ¡°But the onus of risk was carried by myself and myself alone,¡± the monkey replied with a short smile. ¡°If the owl had returned to its nest before I had made good my escape, it would be a lesser monkey standing here before you today.¡±

    ¡°But seeing as how we both profited in our shared dinner of the eggs, I still do not see a reason for me to share my fortunes with you and not take it for myself,¡± said the raccoon, sharply. ¡°Though you may clutch and wheedle with old forgotten debts, is I who came upon it on my path. It is I who found it amongst the roots of the trees. And it is with the greatest regret, dear brother, that I can only conclude that there is no measure of obligation between us that compels me to concede this tiger¡¯s bone to you.¡±

    The monkey shrieked with fierce, high pitched laughter.

    ¡°Tiger¡¯s bone?¡± it scoffed. ¡°What nonsense you speak! What drivel falls from your mouth. There has not been a tiger in the Forest since its trees were but seeds on the wind, and the Mountain but a churning within the earth.¡±

    ¡°How the gilding falls from your silver words, dear brother,¡± the raccoon replied haughtily. ¡°And certainly it is a tiger¡¯s bone. Though the recognition of the monstrous scent only comes to me through the ancient memories of my forefathers, it is impossible to deny or ignore. The bone reeks of tiger as if the scent and the bone were one.¡±

    But the monkey laughed in mocking disregard. ¡°So I am to believe the sleeping memory of your dead ancestors over the truth of my eyes? Look at it! Even with your dull eyes it is clear to see that though it is certainly not small, it is not by itself large enough to have once belonged to an animal as immense as the tiger.¡±

    The raccoon¡¯s ears flattened angrily against its head at the monkey¡¯s discourteous words with regard to its ancestors.

    ¡°Nay, little brother,¡± the monkey continued, not noticing. ¡°I have come across the remains of many a felled creature, and I say to you that the origin of this bone is obvious to anyone with the wit and will to see the truth before their eyes. It is the bone of a man.¡±

    ¡°It matters little what manner of flesh it was before it became naught but bone,¡± the raccoon snapped. It bared its teeth with a growl. ¡°This bone is mine, dear brother. It is in my possession, and so it shall remain.¡±

    The monkey opened its mouth to retort, but was interrupted by the sound of dry, raspy laughter that burst from somewhere in the branches above them.

    The mad old raven, having alighted quietly above their heads during the course of their discussion, had overhead nearly all that had passed between the two friends.

    ¡°What an amusing spectacle I have come across this fine morning,¡± it said, still laughing. ¡°A most amusing spectacle indeed.¡±

    ¡°Begone, carrion,¡± the raccoon snarled with a sharp sudden flush of irritation. ¡°Do not meddle where you are not wanted. We speak of matters beyond your knowledge.¡±

    ¡°Do you, O wily raccoon?¡± the raven croaked, its amusement nestled between each fold of its creaking voice. ¡°Do you truly?¡±

    ¡°This is a matter between friends,¡± the monkey cut in, before the raccoon could reply. ¡°In which you have been neither invited nor sought to so taint with your depraved insights. Depart at once, foul creature.¡±

    But the raven burst into another fit of uncanny laughter, as if it had found the monkey¡¯s words the most hilarious of all.

    ¡°A matter between friends, is it?¡± it gasped. ¡°Is it really now?¡±

    The two friends glared menacingly as the mad old raven cackled and cawed on its perch above them. But their glares served to only tickle it even more, and it laughed even harder at the sight. Wholly unconcerned, it shook its head and flapped its wings in its amusement, sending tufts of dark plumage raining onto the angry pair, before finally settling itself back to near solemnity.

    ¡°I think I really must thank the pair of you,¡± it chuckled. ¡°It has been some time since I have last seen such an apposition of convenient paradigms, and I cannot remember when I have ever enjoyed myself as immensely as I do now.¡±

    ¡°Either speak the truth plainly or begone,¡± spat the raccoon.

    ¡°Or stay,¡± added the monkey, a stone now in its hand. ¡°And let us see whose merriment shall come at the expense of whom.¡±

    But the raven, having seen the stone, had already flown off from its perch and circled over their heads. It cried in a loud, dissonant voice.

    ¡°How sturdy and strong is a friendship as closely acquainted as the one this humble raven has just witnessed with its own eyes? What great records it keeps! The prowess of its remembrance! I would sooner live a thousand unhinged existences of abject loneliness than suffer such a companionship for the duration of even a single breath. Even as they contest a point of insignificance that is neither one nor the other, how truly could their friendship be equated to a snare that entangles and binds? If they were truly friends, would not the path forward be clear?¡±

    Then it flew away, still cawing and laughing madly.

    For a short time afterward, the raccoon and the monkey fell into the prickly, soon forgotten silence of those who stubbornly endure moments of inconvenient truths as they pass by.

    ¡°It is a mad animal,¡± the raccoon growled, once the raven had disappeared from view. ¡°With no care or concern for the peace or private affairs of others.¡±

    ¡°The creature knows nothing but to bring grief and agitation upon whatever it happens to come across,¡± the monkey agreed.

    Having said this, the raccoon and the monkey exchanged hasty goodbyes and slunk off, each in their own direction. They did not see each other again until they crossed paths the next morning. There, they greeted each other with their usual, familiar cheer and made no mention of the bone, or the raven, or even any of the words that they had passed between each other just the day before.

 Chapter 6 - The Merchant and the Mustache

    Once upon a time, in a land far away, there once was an old couple who lived at the edge of a quiet village that lay in the shadow of the Mountain.

    They were simple and poor, and did not have much in the way of worldly wealth. Their cottage, in which they had spent the entirety of their married life, was modest and small. Their clothes were humble and homespun. Their food was homely and plain.

    But the meager quality of their life did nothing to lessen their joy of it, or the love they had for each other. Their cottage was more than large enough for their shared life. Its roof and walls were sturdy and strong. Their clothes were hardy and kept their old bodies dry and warm. Their food was filling and hot.

    One evening, just as they were sitting down for their evening meal, three sharp taps knocked loudly at their door.

    ¡°Who could that be at this time of night?¡± the old husband wondered aloud.

    ¡°It does very little to sit there and ask,¡± his old wife chided with a chuckle. ¡°Go now and see who it is.¡±

    With a grumbling smile, the old husband moved to do as his wife bade, and opened the door to reveal a small, elderly man with a head of snow white hair, and a long, black, curling mustache. He wore a simple robe of dark blue silk, and carried himself with the still but spry confidence of one who has capably weathered their old age.

    He bowed deeply at the sight of the old husband and his wife, his posture loose but composed.

    ¡°My deepest apologies for having disturbed your evening,¡± he said. His voice was soft, but rich and smooth, as pleasing to the ear as a current of warmed honey. ¡°My name is Lu, formerly known as Huang, and I am a humble merchant upon whom disaster has befallen and left penniless. Bandits have waylaid me on the road and robbed me of all I had. I am in desperate need of food and shelter, and though it most assuredly shames the works of my forefathers, I have come knocking at your door to plead for these base simplicities.¡±

    But the old husband steeled himself to deny the stranger at the door. Not because he doubted his story or character. Indeed, the merchant had impressed him with the soundness of his etiquette and candor. But the old husband and his wife were well into their old age, and barely capable of living within their means on their own. They could not afford to share their belongings with every destitute person that stirred their sympathies as they passed by.

    But even as he opened his mouth to speak, his wife¡¯s warm, familiar hand pressed against him softly from behind.

    ¡°It would be our great honor, merchant Lu, to share our home and our meal with you this night,¡± she replied, with a smile and a deep bow of her own. ¡°Please, come in. Though our home may be paltry and bare, we offer what little we have in the hope that it might bring you some relief in your troubled times.¡±

    She turned aside to her husband, her intent clear in her smiling eyes. ¡°Come, honored husband, we must not keep our esteemed guest out in the cold.¡±

    ¡°Certainly,¡± replied the husband reflexively, though he wondered at his wife¡¯s intentions. He stepped away from the threshold with a bow. ¡°Merchant Lu, our home is yours, and we your servants. Please do not hesitate to make yourself as comfortable as you wish.¡±

    The merchant bowed even deeper. ¡°May the heavens return your kindness a thousandfold.¡±

    Inside, the old wife hurriedly prepared another helping of food and utensils and placed them at the low sitting table by the hearth. With a word and a bow, she offered their new guest the seat of honor where her husband usually sat, and seated herself closest to the fire where the smoke and heat tended to grow thick and uncomfortable. The old husband, puzzled, but not one to doubt his wife¡¯s initiative, sat between the merchant Lu and his old wife without a sound or sign of displeasure.

    Once they were all seated, the merchant Lu pressed his hands together and murmured a word of thanks. He lifted a spoonful of thin, watery rice porridge to his mouth, followed by a few thin vegetables. A dexterous hand held his long mustache back away from the table with a casual motion that mindful repetition had clearly chiseled into an instinctive grace.

    ¡°Delicious,¡± he declared. His voice was utterly sincere and did not contain within it even the tiniest trace of deceit or mockery.

    He looked up at the husband and wife who had not yet touched their food or even their utensils, and a strange, almost pleased look flickered in the depths of his inscrutable eyes.

    ¡°Please, my esteemed hosts,¡± he bade, as the barest hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. ¡°There is no need to restrain yourselves. Is this not your own home? Please join me in this most delicious dinner that you have prepared. That I would find such a meal out in these far lands in my moment of need is a most unexpected delight.¡±

    At this, the old couple picked up their utensils and ate their evening meal together in the company of their guest.

    Once they had all finished eating, the old wife hurried to clear their bowls, and, to the ever growing confusion of her old husband, returned with three of their finest cups and an urn of their most expensive wine, that even they seldom ever drank.

    A rare and wide smile burst through the merchant¡¯s careful composure at the sight of it, for he was well known amongst his companions to be a great lover of liquor.

    ¡°What manner of fortune is this?¡± he asked, amazed, as the old wife began pouring the wine. ¡°That where I should expect hunger, I would be well fed, and where I should expect thirst, I would find wine. Truly, my esteemed hosts, you are as a cool breeze in the summer and a stream in the desert, that you would go to such lengths for a mere passerby.¡±

    He accepted his cup of wine with both hands and emptied it in one quick swallow, smacking his lips loudly in appreciation as he did. He was followed immediately in similar manner by the old husband, who was also not one to let an opportunity at such fine wine slip by.

    The old wife filled their cups as soon as they emptied.

    ¡°We are merely an old aged couple, our guest,¡± she said as she poured. ¡°Content to live our lives as humble blades of grass, to enjoy the entirety of our lives in the lands of our ancestors, and to be buried in their company.¡±

    ¡°Content, and then happy besides,¡± agreed her husband, with a fond, quiet look at his wife.

    His old wife smiled a soft, small smile at the touch of his warm gaze.

    ¡°My esteemed hosts, you humble yourself too much,¡± the merchant scoffed, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes the only indication that he had observed what passed between the old couple. ¡°It is not a blade of grass I have come upon today, but a deep rooted tree that stands strong and shelters against both the rain and the sun.¡±

    He raised his newly filled glass with both hands in salutations. The old husband and his wife lifted their glasses likewise in return.

    ¡°But what will you do now that you are without your goods, sir merchant?¡± the old husband asked.

    The merchant downed his glass with yet another single mouthful and ran a hand through his long black mustache.

    ¡°It is an inconvenience,¡± he admitted. ¡°But nothing more. If I am to be fully honest, my hosts, I did not travel out into the deep country seeking to further my trade. The true reason I journeyed so far in my old age, as silly as it may sound, is that I came upon a rumor that an old acquaintance of mine was seen out here in the wild, and I found myself yearning to meet with them once again.¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    The old husband scratched the side of his face thoughtfully as his wife refilled their glasses.

    ¡°Out here, sir merchant?¡± he asked. ¡°So little changes here besides the seasons that every new face that passes through is a significant occurrence, each one entirely by itself. If there is truth to the rumors you have heard, then it is likely that we may have come across this person ourselves. Perhaps you could describe this friend you seek?¡±

    The merchant shook his head with a sigh. ¡°It has been so many ages since they and I have last seen one another, I could hardly expect them to be the image of what they once were. Even then, I would not be the one to ask. For I must confess that while they and I are certainly acquaintances, we would have been better described as utter enemies at the time - as far apart in both temperament and character as the east is to the west.¡±

    ¡°Enemies?¡± the old wife repeated, a curious look on her face.

    ¡°You would come so far for an enemy?¡± the husband asked.

    ¡°It is, perhaps, a strange thing,¡± the merchant replied, nodding his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement. His eyes touched on the old wife¡¯s for the barest fragment of a breath. ¡°But as old as I am, and with so many familiar faces now living only as dreams, even the face of an old enemy can seem a warm fire in the night. Silly though it may sound, it was for such a reason that I even attempted this journey, and it is this reason that has brought this humble merchant that sits before you now.¡±

    ¡°I believe I understand,¡± the old husband nodded slowly. He gestured at his wife. ¡°We two are the last of the children we grew up with and played together by the river long ago. As it goes, some of the other children and myself grew to be such bitter rivals that we thought the flames of our hatred would outlast even the Mountain above us!¡± The old husband laughed. ¡°But if I were to somehow see any of them again now, I would not be surprised to find myself hurrying to embrace them, regardless of how immutable I once believed our enmity to be.¡±

    The merchant nodded in agreement.

    ¡°The sentiment is the same,¡± he replied. ¡°I, too, am among the last of those whose youths we spent together. The one I seek in particular was one against whom I felt as naturally predisposed against as the earth and sky. How we quarreled! How we fought! We struck out at each other at every opportunity, and taunted each other even as we were licking our wounds, some of which became scars that I carry upon me still.¡±

    He nodded gratefully to the old wife as she refilled his glass.

    ¡°But in the end, neither one of us was able to establish dominance over the other.¡± He laughed. ¡°It was not until our paths had long parted that I realized just how deeply our battles had left within me a well of respect, and even admiration for the foe I had left behind.¡±

    He took another sip of wine, slowly this time.

    ¡°I think I also understand, in my own way,¡± said the old wife. She gave a slight bow, returned almost immediately in kind by the merchant. She continued. ¡°Back when I was at a marrying age, there was once another girl in the village whom I competed against for the attentions of my not-yet-husband.¡±

    She laid a hand over her husband¡¯s, who hid any emotion his face might have belied by bringing his cup to his mouth.

    ¡°We were very cruel, even evil, to each other in the midst of our pursuits,¡± the old wife continued. ¡°Though we fancied ourselves learned in the ways of the world, it is clear to me now how truly young we were. We cut at each other with our whispers and our turns of phrase, and wounded each other with our words in ways we couldn¡¯t have possibly understood. For is it not clear in our old age that even the pettiest words can leave the deepest scars?¡±

    ¡°Indeed they do,¡± the merchant murmured.

    ¡°I thought I would never forgive her,¡± the old wife continued softly. ¡°And it is with some shame that I admit to having felt very little sorrow when she passed away one particularly bitter winter, frozen and alone. In truth, I may have rejoiced. It was not until many more had come and gone that I thought on her again, and saw how painfully and tightly I had been holding on to the hurts she had inflicted, and what a simple thing it was to let them go.¡±

    The merchant looked on as the old wife spoke with a rapt, somber expression on his face, and the yellow firelight gleamed softly in the depths of his eyes.

    ¡°It was only then that I realized the unique bond that she and I had shared, and how she had understood me in ways that no one else, not even my husband, ever would. Only then, long after she had passed, did I mourn the foolishness and the tragedy of our path¡¯s end, in that we had never spoken a single word of kindness between us, and never would.¡±

    The merchant made a low sound of agreement. The old wife put a hand over her mouth, embarrassed.

    ¡°Forgive me, sir merchant,¡± she said, bowing again. ¡°It is not often we are granted the pleasure of sharing our home with so congenial a guest, and I fear my husband and I are more talkative than is seemly.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense,¡± the merchant waved. ¡°I cannot tell you how much pleasure it brings me to find that we are all of the same mind, my hosts.¡±

    He raised his cup again. ¡°It is an honor to spend an evening in your company.¡±

    The old couple raised theirs.

    ¡°The honor is ours, merchant Lu,¡± said the old wife.

    ¡°Entirely so,¡± added her husband.

    They downed the contents of their glasses together in a brief but measured moment of companionable silence.

    ¡°Well then,¡± said the merchant, putting his cup back on the table with an air of finality. ¡°You show me great kindness, my hosts, in the sharing of your food and wine, but do not let yourself be troubled on my account any longer. As the night grows weary, all I ask now is that I would be allowed to rest and sleep here by the fire, where it is warm.¡±

    The old husband, red nosed and drowsy in the combined warmth of the fire and the wine, began to nod his agreement.

    ¡°We will not allow it, honored guest,¡± the old wife interjected. Her husband blinked, surprised out of his growing stupor. ¡°Your trials today have been far greater than ours. It only follows that your exhaustion and weariness also surpasses ours.¡±

    She rose, still holding the urn. ¡°If you will just wait one moment, sir guest, I will lay out our thickest and warmest blankets as your bed tonight. It is plain to see that your need is surely greater than ours, when one considers the hardships you suffered today and the travels you will endure tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°I could not possibly,¡± the merchant protested futilely as the old wife went to retrieve the blankets. But a warm, familiar look stirred again in the depths of his eyes.

    The old husband, equally amused and frustrated at his wife¡¯s unusual behavior, could not help but chuckle.

    ¡°It seems, merchant Lu, that you have little say in the matter,¡± he said, then stood to help his wife. ¡°Our blankets are plain and unadorned, but thick and warm. They will not fail to provide you a most refreshing night of rest. Seeing as how your need is indeed greater than ours, I too must insist that you use them tonight.¡±

    The merchant stood, and bowed. ¡°You are too kind.¡±

    The next morning, as they all stepped outside to say their farewells, the old wife asked her husband to pack some rice and the rest of the wine for the road. Incredibly perplexed by the peculiarity of her actions, but having the patience to wait until they returned to their privacy, the old husband did as she asked and stepped back into their cottage.

    After a brief moment of silence, the merchant leaned in close to the old wife.

    ¡°Speak truly, daughter,¡± he asked, very quietly. ¡°How is it that you know the old ways?¡±

    ¡°My lord,¡± she replied. Her voice trembled and her eyes welled with tears. She turned and bowed as deeply before the merchant with her hands folded in front of her. ¡°It was my mother who passed on the knowledge which she had received from her mother, who learned it from her mother before her.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± said the merchant, smiling down on the elderly woman with his hands clasped behind his back. ¡°Hear me. You do their memories and their teachings a noble and worthy service.¡±

    The old wife¡¯s bow sank as low as she could physically manage. ¡°If it is so, it is only because my lord has chosen to bestow such honor upon them.¡±

    The merchant¡¯s smile broadened. ¡°Well answered, child, and do not fear. You and your spouse have pleased me greatly, and it shall not be forgotten. Now compose yourself, quickly. Your husband returns.¡±

    The old wife hurriedly returned to her standing position just as the door slid open and the old husband returned from the cottage. He handed the merchant a small sack of rice and a stoppered gourd.

    ¡°Will you be needing anything else, merchant Lu?¡± he asked.

    ¡°This is already far more than enough,¡± the merchant assured. ¡°You and your wife have been kind in more ways to me than I can bear in good conscience.¡±

    He bowed deeply with his hands folded at his waist, a gesture returned immediately in kind by the old husband and his wife.

    ¡°Thank you both for your kindness,¡± he said, picking up the rice and wine as he rose, and though it may have been a trick of the morning light, for the briefest of moments it seemed to the husband that a wild, almost vicious, smile played at the corner of the old merchant¡¯s mouth.

    ¡°I shall never forget it for as long as I live.¡±

    ¡°Please travel safe,¡± the old wife replied. ¡°May you find only blessings upon your journey.¡±

    Then the merchant stepped back on to the path that ran past the old couple¡¯s cottage, and turned back one last time to bid a final goodbye to the old couple that stood still watching on. A wide, joyful smile now splayed fully across his ancient face, the merchant lifted his face to sky humming an old, forgotten tune, and made his slow, steady, unhurried way along the path that led out of the quiet village, and up into the depths of the Forest on the Mountain.

 Chapter 7 - The River and the Rhyme

    ¡°Go away!¡±

    ¡°Stop following us!¡±

    ¡°Stupid little orphan!¡±

    Summer had laid siege on the spring bound Mountain. The trees of the Forest surged over their ancestral home, vibrant and buzzing with life, draping the Mountain in brilliant, bursting swaths of deep green. Down in the valley, the early afternoon sun warmed and woke the trees, enfolding all who travelled along the path to the river in a soft, mellow scent of earth and pine.

    But the magistrate¡¯s daughter, several paces behind the other village children, did not have the heart to see any of the beauty that surrounded her.

    ¡°We said stop following us!¡± one of the children shouted.

    ¡°Why?¡± she asked, still again. The word was a dry and twisted husk in her mouth from overuse. ¡°Why can¡¯t I join you?¡±

    ¡°Why do you think, orphan?¡± the blacksmith¡¯s son sneered. He was the oldest of the group by at least two winters, and its accepted leader. ¡°You¡¯re nothing. You¡¯re trash that even your parents didn¡¯t want.¡±

    ¡°But they did!¡± She panted as she struggled to keep up with the bigger children. ¡°They did! They just wanted to give someone who would never have a child the chance to raise one. My father told me.¡±

    The other village children exploded with sharp laughter.

    ¡°I would say that too if I were him,¡± said one.

    ¡°It¡¯s because he¡¯s too fat and ugly to find a wife,¡± added another.

    ¡°Only a wifeless magistrate would want a daughter that her own parents threw away,¡± said the blacksmith¡¯s son derisively.

    The magistrate¡¯s daughter blinked heavily, pained by the cruelty of their words.

    ¡°That¡¯s not true,¡± she protested, but her voice trembled. ¡°My father is not ugly, and I¡¯m not trash.¡±

    The blacksmith¡¯s son laughed even harder, goaded by the sight of her crumpling countenance.

    ¡°My father is not ugly, and I¡¯m not trash,¡± he taunted, mimicking her high voice and twisting his face into a cruel, ridiculous expression. ¡°Of course you are, little orphan daughter!¡±

    He started to dance in place and chanted the words to a rhyme that he had made up not long ago. The other village children laughed with delight, and clapped along as they joined in, hopping on one foot then the other.

    Little orphan daughter left beside the road

    Too ugly for her parents, they didn¡¯t want her home

    Along came a magistrate too homely for a wife

    And found an ugly daughter who¡¯d stay with him for life!

    Trash begets trash so the wise man says

    Filth begets filth is the lesson for today

    If your parents hate you, there¡¯s no need to be afraid

    Just find an ugly magistrate and ask if you can stay!

    Once finished, they cheered loudly and patted one another on the back. They pointed, laughing, at the subject of their rhyme, and the thick, slow tears that had begun to trickle down her face.

    ¡°Please,¡± she sniffed, her voice breaking. She hastily wiped her face. ¡°Please, can¡¯t we just play? I promise I won¡¯t bother anyone.¡±

    ¡°You bother us by being there,¡± said the blacksmith¡¯s son. He turned back down the path, and gestured to the others to do so as well. ¡°That¡¯s what it means to be trash, orphan.¡±

    ¡°But why?¡± she wailed.

    ¡°Because I said so!¡± he shouted. He turned and stepped near the magistrate¡¯s daughter, hands balled into fists.

    ¡°Now you¡¯re really starting to irritate me,¡± he growled. ¡°I¡¯m warning you, orphan. Go away.¡±

    The magistrate¡¯s daughter hesitated, too scared to speak or move.

    The blacksmith¡¯s son¡¯s hand blurred and struck her cheek with a sharp blow that sent her head spinning. Before she could think to recover or cry, he planted a foot in her stomach and sent her tumbling down into the dirt, gasping. The rest of the village children hooted and jeered behind him.

    ¡°That¡¯s what you get, orphan,¡± he panted. His eyes glared down at the magistrate¡¯s daughter with a wild, flushed, almost pained look, but he kept his chin raised. ¡°I¡¯m warning you. If you keep following us or keep trying to play with us, you¡¯re going to get worse.¡±

    He turned back to the group of children.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    Breathless and disoriented, the magistrate¡¯s daughter could only watch as the blacksmith¡¯s son and the rest of the village children continued on their way down to the river, and left her behind without looking back.

    --------------------

    The candle¡¯s flame stirred and sputtered in the quiet dark of the magistrate¡¯s daughter¡¯s room.

    The magistrate bent low over his daughter, holding her head carefully in his lap. Between his hands, a large bruise lay splashed across the skin of his daughter¡¯s pale cheek like a plum stain, startlingly visible even in the dim light.

    He spread a sharp, pungent ointment over the dark skin as gently as he could manage. Sullen and red eyed, she made no sound of discomfort or pain, though she smarted and ached at every light touch.

    ¡°Oh, my beautiful daughter,¡± he said at last. His voice was heavy and distraught. ¡°Oh, my beautiful daughter. Why must you continue to concern yourself with them and punish yourself so?¡±

    Despite the many tears she had already cried that day, her eyes filled and overflowed, pouring down across her face and onto her father¡¯s lap.

    ¡°They bring you nothing but pain and grief.¡± His voice twisted with anguish. ¡°How many more times must you learn this? Why must you so pander yourself to them only to come back broken?¡±

    Tears continued to stream from his daughter¡¯s eyes and her shoulders shook. But she remained silent and did not reply.

    The magistrate let out a long, tired, sad sigh. He drew a cloth from a bowl of hot water that he had brought in beside him, released the water from it with a slow twist, and washed her face and brow with the warm wet cloth.

    ¡°There now,¡± he said, his voice consoling. But her tears only grew larger, and she sobbed at the touch of his loving care.

    ¡°There now,¡± he said again, softer this time. ¡°There now. Your skin will wrinkle if we allow so many tears to dry upon it.¡±

    Patiently, he waited for her tears to stop, washing away each tear as it fell. When they ran dry, he dried her face with a fresh cloth, then ran his hand gently through her hair.

    For a long, heavy moment, neither father nor daughter spoke. Though she laid with her head on her father¡¯s lap and he ran his hand through his daughter¡¯s hair, the air about them hung in a painful pall. The candle¡¯s thin flame did not brighten the room so much as emphasized the smothering, surrounding darkness, and cast long flickering shadows across the lines of the magistrate¡¯s solemn face.

    When the magistrate finally spoke, his voice was low and quiet, as if the silence was a small, slumbering thing that he did not wish to rouse.

    ¡°We must at least bring this matter before the blacksmith,¡± he murmured to his daughter. ¡°As I keep telling you, he is a man of worthy character. He would be deeply troubled by his son¡¯s deeds, and bring the entire matter to a swift and peaceable conclusion.¡±

    But his daughter shook her head quickly in his lap with a soft sound of disagreement.

    The magistrate laid a hand across her brow. ¡°My daughter, there is no shame in this course of action. It is the duty of every parent to guide their child. The blacksmith would only appreciate that we have brought his son¡¯s troubled behavior before him. He would ensure that no ill repercussions return to you.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    But his daughter shook her head still again. She made as if to speak, then stopped, waiting until she could be certain of her voice.

    ¡°Please,¡± she whispered at last.

    The magistrate hung his head, frustrated to the brink of humorless laughter. Though he had planned to quietly visit the blacksmith the next day even if his daughter refused, he felt his will bend, then fold beneath the soft weight of her quiet request. He sighed, and ran his hand through her hair.

    ¡°Very well,¡± he sighed, still again. ¡°Very well. But as both a father and a magistrate, I must tell you that I do not know much longer I will be able to continue my silence. Do you hear me, my daughter? Do you understand?¡±

    She hesitated, then nodded just once. Her father patted her brow.

    ¡°Then that is all we shall say.¡±

    With a grunt of effort, he replaced his numb, damp leg from beneath her head with a nearby pillow. His daughter, not turning, listened quietly as her father stood, slid open the door, and left the room. His soft, heavy footsteps faded into the distance, then grew as he returned to her room and kneeled again beside her.

    ¡°Here now,¡± he said quietly.

    The magistrate set down before his daughter two beautiful, bright, red-orange persimmons, the likes of which she had never before seen. Just at the very peak of taut, lush ripeness, their delicate, sweet fragrance filled the room with a gentle, comforting spirit. Even by the dying light of the candle they seemed to her eyes as beautiful as any jewel worthy of the emperor¡¯s crown.

    Her father rose as if to leave, but slowed and stopped at the door.

    ¡°My most precious and beautiful daughter,¡± he said softly from the door. ¡°Though you are no blood of mine, let it never be beyond a shadow of a doubt that I love you, and I always have ever since the moment I first held you in my arms. You are my greatest gift, and far above any measure of prosperity I could ever have hoped to achieve.¡±

    Despite her numerous tears that day, his daughter¡¯s eyes filled and overflowed, still again, as if for the very first time.

    ¡°Good night, my daughter.¡±

    The magistrate stepped out, and slid the door closed behind him.

    -----------------------------

    Late the next morning, the village children set off once again beneath clear, cloudless skies to spend the hot afternoon on the banks of the river.

    But the magistrate¡¯s daughter did not follow immediately after them. Instead, that morning, she watched them from behind her door, waiting for them to disappear around the bend in the trail. Once they were gone, she disappeared back into the depths of her father¡¯s house and emerged, nervously holding in her hands a small, cloth covered basket of woven bamboo.

    With the sun bright and warm above her, the magistrate¡¯s daughter slowly followed the trail that led to the river, fighting to contain the hope that slowly rose in her heart with each step. But her thoughts fluttered and soared beneath the cheerful vigor of the day¡¯s beauty. She imagined herself removing the cloth with a flourish, and the looks of wonder and delight that would unravel across their faces at the sight of her gift. She imagined the slow but warm welcome that would ensue, and how they would call for her from the front of her house as they waited for her before they left each day. Rounding the final bend, she heard the shrill, sharp sounds of children playing in the river¡¯s cool waters and broke into a wide, excited smile.

    ¡°How many times do we have to tell you to go away?¡± shouted the blacksmith¡¯s son, as soon as she appeared. His loud, harsh voice caught the group¡¯s attention and they turned to watch the magistrate¡¯s daughter as she approached.

    Her smile faltered at his harsh greeting, but held.

    Just wait, she thought, just wait.

    He just had to see what she had brought. Then the rest would follow.

    ¡°I have something to share!¡± She held her basket high, her voice bright and cheerful.

    ¡°Something to share?¡± the blacksmith¡¯s son echoed scornfully. He stepped out to meet her, eyeing the basket with suspicion.

    Before she could react, he lunged forward and snatched the cloth off the top to reveal the two ripe, perfect persimmons that she had received from her father just the night before. Beneath the clear bright light of the midday sun, the fruits gleamed and shone like orbs of fire. Even in the open space of the riverbank, she could smell their rich, subtle fragrance and saw that the blacksmith¡¯s son could as well.

    ¡°I thought we could let them cool in the river before sharing them all together,¡± she said, careful to keep her voice pleasant and warm. As she spoke, she looked around at the rest of the children¡¯s faces and felt as if she could almost see their eyes lighting up at the thought of the sweet, chilled fruit.

    The blacksmith¡¯s son, speechless, reached slowly into the basket, and picked up one of the fruits in his hands. Only the magistrate¡¯s daughter saw the quick look of wonder and curiosity that swept over his face before it twisted and hardened into a mien of sharp scorn, bitter fury, and something darker entirely.

    ¡°You thought we were going to let you join us because you brought some stupid fruit?¡±

    He clenched his fist hard over the tender persimmon, and it crushed in his hands with a soft bursting sound, encasing his hand in the fruit of its sweet, syrupy innards.

    The magistrate¡¯s daughter flinched, visibly, at his words. She stared in shocked disbelief at the sodden mess of fruit in his hand. Her bright, sunny smile cracked and shattered like hurled pottery, and despite a trembling, visceral effort to hide her grief, her face crumpled beneath the sudden cruel truth of her reality.

    But the blacksmith¡¯s son¡¯s mouth thinned and curled at the sight and he scowled at her with a strange, horrible look of revile that the young child would never forget.

    ¡°You thought this would make us want to be your friends?¡± He flung the messy remains onto the stricken, motionless child with a contemptuous swipe of his arm. ¡°How dimwitted are you, orphan? You thought fruit would help?¡±

    He snatched the second persimmon from the basket, dropped it at his feet, and stomped his foot down over it, sending juice and innards splattering out onto the mud of the riverbank.

    Wounded as she had never been wounded before, the magistrate¡¯s daughter could only watch and cry helplessly. The blacksmith¡¯s son seized her by the hair with a vicious jerk, and she screamed, dragged back into the moment by the cruel pain.

    ¡°You want to play so much?¡± he breathed. He strode into the shallows of the river, dragging the magistrate¡¯s daughter behind him by her hair, and threw her out into the deep waters.

    Overpowered, the magistrate¡¯s daughter tried to scream as she slapped painfully into the surface of the river, but the cold river frothed and churned as it enveloped her, filling her eyes, her nose, and her mouth with a rush of sound and shocking sensation. She flailed, searching for a purchase, a hold, anything to help her escape. Finally her feet found the loose ground of the river¡¯s bottom and pushed.

    She came up out of the water, gasping, and sobbed wretchedly, wishing with all her heart that she were rather at home, enjoying its quiet, dry comforts and the sweet fruit her father had given. She fought her way back towards the river¡¯s edge and away from the current that threatened to drag her under. But her heart sank with a cold wash of terror as she heard low urgent murmurs, even a cry of alarm, and saw the blacksmith¡¯s son dislodge a rock the size of his fist out of the mud.

    ¡°I told you didn¡¯t I?¡± He hefted the stone in his hand, and his eyes shone with a wild, flushed, determined light. ¡°I told you it would be worse the next time you bothered us again, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± she half sobbed, half screamed. Terrified, she raised her hands before her. ¡°Stop! Please! Stop!¡±

    Through the haze of her tears, she saw his dark figure shift slowly, then snap with a sudden, sharp movement.

    The rock struck her head with a shattering, deafening impact that thundered in her ears and filled her nostrils with the scent of iron and blood. Her vision swam with jagged red and black tones. She heard the sounds of screaming and shouting, as if from a great ways off, but was neither able to look nor move as she slipped bonelessly beneath the surface of the water.

    But instead of pulling her out and away from the river¡¯s edge, the waters stopped and gathered themselves around her. They pressed in around the half conscious child, invisible, unseen, and held her where she had fallen.

    She would not remember it later, but for a very brief moment the magistrate¡¯s daughter felt for all the world like an infant in her mother¡¯s arms, and felt a very faint, muted pull of a long forgotten memory.

    The waters of the river washed away the remnants of fruit from her small body and the blemishes from her hair and clothes. Sliding over her, they closed the gaping, bleeding wound on her head with a soft touch, gathered her halo of blood, and sent it away with the current.

    ¡°Be strong, little sister,¡± a voice whispered, clear and sharp in her ears. ¡°Do not mind your wounds. See now, I tend to them. Do not pale at the sight of your blood. See now, I wash it away. Do not let him poison you. They that wound what they cannot heal inflict upon themselves the deepest scars of all.¡±

    But before the dazed, fading child had the chance to think or even absorb what she had heard, there was an approaching sound of distant thunder, and two long familiar arms dove towards her through the river¡¯s surface above.

    The next thing she knew she was being pulled and then carried out of the river in the arms of someone whose shoulders and gait she instinctively recognized. Exhausted and broken beyond belief, she wrapped her arms tightly around the figure and hid her face in their neck as they emerged from the river, and stopped on its bank.

    The riverbank that had been a hubbub of noise just moments ago was completely quiet. Not one body stirred, not one bird sang. Even the river seemed to slide by with a hushed, bowed air.

    ¡°Follow me.¡±

    The magistrate¡¯s low voice snarled with a cold, glacial fury that she did not remember having ever heard before.

    But as they made their long way back to the village, followed by the hesitant tread of a much smaller pair of feet, the magistrate¡¯s daughter felt the thought slip quickly and quietly away, overwhelmed by a warm, pounding darkness that grew and blanketed her with the sweet, intoxicating bliss of a deep, dreamless sleep.

    -----------------------------------

    Once back in the village, the magistrate led the blacksmith¡¯s son to his father¡¯s shop still holding his sleeping daughter in his arms. He recounted all that his beloved daughter had confided to the blacksmith in the presence of his son, and made no effort to lower his voice or hide his words despite a quietly gathering audience.

    The blacksmith¡¯s countenance darkened with each tale, and grew incensed as the magistrate finally described the events of that day and what he had witnessed with his own eyes. Seeing the truth of the matter reflected in his own son¡¯s frightened face, the blacksmith punished his son severely with a rod of thick bamboo, then and there, as the entire village watched on. Then, with his son weeping beside him, he prostrated himself before the magistrate, put his head in the dirt, and begged forgiveness.

    The magistrate, having seen in the blacksmith true surprise, outrage, and sorrow at the sudden knowledge of his son¡¯s actions, forgave the blacksmith in the presence of all that had gathered. He declared the matter a fact of history, trusting the blacksmith to do what was wise and necessary.

    When the magistrate¡¯s daughter awoke the next morning with a bandage wound tightly around her head, the blacksmith dragged his son out before the magistrate¡¯s house and repeated the entire affair, punishing his son in her sight before falling on his hands and knees before the child in true, heartfelt repentance.

    But the magistrate¡¯s daughter could not find within her the power to speak words of either forgiveness or fury, and stared with dull, shadowed eyes as the blacksmith bowed again and again, and the sun rose higher and higher into the sky.

    In the moons that followed, the blacksmith¡¯s son began his apprenticeship in his father¡¯s shop, and would remain by his father¡¯s side until he was no longer a child.

    The magistrate¡¯s daughter, still recovering from her wounds, did not leave the confines of her house and, as time passed, began to quietly study the arts of literature, calligraphy, and mathematics at the urging of her father, though it was contrary to the customs of the land.

    Neither she nor the blacksmith¡¯s son would ever return to the spirit of the child they had once been, ever again.

 Chapter 8 - The Circle and the Flame

    Once upon a time, in a land far away, there once was an old storyteller who knew all the stories of the world.

    He was a peculiar man, a wanderer who did not see the world in the ways of most. He knew the shape of others only as they appeared to him on the road, and all who passed him by only knew him ever to be on it. As such, he had come to know the contour of his entire life at an early age and made his peace with it: he had been born on the road, he had lived on the road, and he would die on the road.

    But how exactly the old storyteller had come into the knowledge of his numerous stories was a complete mystery, and the source of much speculation amongst travellers.

    Some said that he must have been a prodigious scholar in a past life, rewarded by the heavens for his studious spirit with a knowledge that accumulates from one life into the next. Some said that he had stumbled upon the path that leads to the very end of the world and the Orchard of Great Records where the infinite happenings of All That Has Been are inscribed within the ringed cores of its ever verdant trees. Still others said that the old storyteller was a fallen Immortal, punished and made forever aware of his insignificance by being granted the knowledge of all things and the inability to act upon it.

    Of all the many rumors about the old storyteller, the latter was the most whispered and most convincing of all, for he was indeed a very old, nearly decrepit man, and had been so for as long as anyone alive could remember.

    One warm spring night, a band of weary travellers made camp by the trailside, fatigued but no less cheerful from a full day¡¯s passing on the road.

    They set up camp with a well practiced, near thoughtless ease. They lit a large fire at its heart and gathered around the flame with their rations in hand. Low, comfortable conversations and the smells of savory cooked food soon filled the space of their makeshift home with a faint but enduring sense of warmth that lingered on even as the sun sank beneath the horizon and folded into twilight.

    They were musicians, acrobats, rope walkers, dancers, performers all, all simultaneously loved and belittled by the threads of the societies through which they weaved. Though very few were related by blood, they considered and cared for one another as one family. No one else would. They were bonded by the sorrows and joys of their shared life between earth and sky.

    As they huddled together and raised their hot food to their mouths, an old bent figure strode out of the surrounding darkness and into the light of their fire. He had large, white bushy eyebrows that hung down over his eyes, and a long white beard that went all the way down past his waist. A short, stout walking stick gleamed in his hand, polished to a dull shine from years of steady use.

    ¡°Grandfather!¡±

    The leader of the weary band jumped up at once, for the old storyteller was a familiar and unmistakable person to all who had found refuge on the road.

    The old storyteller bowed to the leader and his circle of companions. ¡°My apologies for so rudely interrupting your gathering this night.¡± His voice creaked and stirred like the low hanging boughs of an ancient tree. ¡°But the road is long, and the night is dark. Does your fire have the flame to spare for an old wanderer such as myself?¡±

    The leader smiled as whispers of excitement spattered through his ring of companions. To be graced by the presence of the old storyteller was a rare, near regal, indulgence. ¡°Of course, grandfather. Please. Our fire is yours.¡±

    Needing no bidding, the group of travellers shuffled and widened just enough to make a gap in their ranks. The storyteller sat down into the seat with a sigh of relief.

    An expectant hush fell upon the circle. The fire spat and snapped.

    ¡°If it would not be too much trouble,¡± the old storyteller said, calm beneath the gaze of every eye. ¡°Would there be any food for an old wanderer to eat?¡±

    One of the children immediately lifted her bowl to offer the storyteller a share of her dinner, but was stopped by one of the older, more accustomed members beside them who remained as they were, waiting and watching.

    The group¡¯s leader sat up straight and tall in his seat within the circle. He ran a hand through his darker, smaller beard as if pondering a grave and weighty decision. Then he shook his head and sighed in such a way that it pulled through the air and summoned the gazes of all the others onto himself, if they were not already there.

    ¡°Does the tree that drinks water not provide shade?¡± His voice moved through the silence like rich velvet and dark wine. ¡°Does the deer that eats grass not provide sustenance?¡± He lifted an open hand before him with the palm facing up. ¡°To give something for nothing goes against the natural order of heaven, and beckons calamity. What have you to offer in return for such nourishment?¡±

    The old storyteller heaved a great sigh of his own as all the heads of the circle turned back in his direction, but his dark eyes glittered with mirth, for these were the words of an ancient custom of trade and respect, passed down only from memory to memory, inscribed on neither scroll nor stone. By the leader¡¯s carriage, the old storyteller knew him to be a man of the world and by his words, a true heir of the old ways.

    But when the storyteller spoke his voice was weary and tired. ¡°I am merely an old vagrant. With nothing to speak for but the dust on my feet and the hair on my head. I have no coins, no gold, no goods to barter. They are nothing but a burden upon the transience of my ways.¡±

    Then he smiled a small mysterious smile and his voice grew in strength, but not volume, until it became all they could hear. ¡°But in their place I have learned to carry within me a parchment that does not cease, and upon it I have written the tales that lay beating at the heart of all I have seen and heard. Its words are as wings on my shoulders and weapons in my hands. It is my sun that breaks the horizon and my steady star in the night. Such is my offer in exchange for the price of a meal and a flame: a passage from this parchment, and a worthy exchange I find it to be.¡±

    The leader swept the arm of his open hand out wide with a smile. ¡°A worthy exchange indeed. Are stories not the earth and the seed from which our lives grow?¡± he exclaimed, looking around the circle. ¡°A story for a meal, and a meal for a story. By the ancient stars above us and the first flame that danced away the dark, a bargain is made.¡±

    With this, he gestured to an older member of their group, who placed before the old storyteller a meal that had been preparing for him, unnoticed, from the very moment he had first arrived.

    The storyteller accepted the meal with a gracious nod. Then, as if unaware of the attention sharpening upon himself, he lifted a steaming spoonful to his lips, blew on it with care, and took a bite.

    ¡°Now,¡± he said, speaking around the mouthful of food. A low, sly gleam crept into his down turned eyes. ¡°What story would you like to hear tonight?¡±

    Like a beast surging forward, the circle exploded with the sound of nearly a dozen excited voices, and their leader burst into laughter.

    ¡°Tell us the story of the tongue-cut sparrow!¡±

    ¡°Tell us a tale of the great hero!¡±

    ¡°I want to hear about the lands at the end of the world!¡±

    ¡°Tell us the story of the hare and the moon!¡± piped one boy, louder than the rest.

    Everyone else groaned. Someone¡¯s hand reached out and struck the back of his head.

    ¡°Who doesn¡¯t know that one already?¡±

    ¡°You would squander this opportunity like that?¡±

    ¡°I just wanted to hear how it would sound coming from him,¡± the boy protested weakly, rubbing the back of his head. But he was ignored.

    ¡°Tell us a tale of Danmu!¡±

    ¡°Tell us of the Daughter of Heaven!¡±

    The old storyteller raised his hand and summoned the circle once again into a sudden and utter silence.

    ¡°Hmmm.¡±

    He took another bite of his food and looked around the circle with careful deliberation, meeting and holding each pair of eyes for a fraction of an instant before moving on to the next.

    ¡°Hmmm.¡±

    He closed his eyes, hand in his beard, and tilted his head first one way then the other, as if shifting a weighty thought about in his mind. Finally, he nodded to himself. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°Tonight,¡± he said. ¡°This flame and this circle beckons from me a very particular story.¡± He opened his eyes to look up at the star studded sky. ¡°How strange. For though it cannot claim to be the most captivating or even the most meaningful tale, tonight I am reminded that it is, in its own way, the most important one of all.¡±

    He looked back down and around at the others one last time.

    ¡°Very well.¡±

    The old storyteller cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his seat.

    The fire cracked and popped

    ¡°This is a story as old as any I have ever told,¡± the storyteller began. ¡°Older than the mountains and the rivers. Older than the sun and the moon. Older, even still, than the stars themselves.¡±

    He paused, and the gathering hush tightened and stretched like a zither¡¯s string before the first note.

    ¡°It is a story of the beginning.¡±

    A long, long time ago, before turtles laid their eggs and tigers learned to smoke, the heavens and the earth were one.

    All of existence lay in a great, swirling orb of watery vapor called Chaos and in it only an infinite darkness reigned. There were no mountains. There were no seas. There were no trees. No forests. No moon. No stars.

    Out of that darkness stepped the First, clothed in a robe of pure white.

    She was as perfect as the sea. Her eyes revealed the truth of all things. Her touch bent and bowed all of existence before her. But she was not beautiful. She was not wise. She was not strong. Such was the path the First and Only found beneath her feet. Not beyond compare. Without compare. She was everything, and nothing.

    Compelled by a purpose she did not understand, the First wrenched the heavens and the earth apart with a foot and a hand. She breathed in the sweet, fresh air of new skies and gazed down upon what she had wrought. But she became dispirited when she saw she was indeed the Only, and that Only meant Alone.

    Here she spread her great arms and shouted the single loud lonely word that lies inexpressible at the heart of every being. Its utterance shook the finest motes of existence and left them reeling in echoing strains of heartbreak and hope. Its trembling, shimmering sound twisted then soared up, up above even the heavens, and shattered into slivers of pure silver that nestled themselves deep within the cosmos and burned with a pale white light. Seeing how they shined, bright against the black, the First felt her hope rise above her loneliness, and so named herself Mother, the first of many.

    Now Mother was tired and weary from her labor. Having no place to rest or call her own, she looked back and forth between the heavens and the earth. She looked above and saw how the heavens glimmered and shone with newborn stars. She looked below and saw how the earth lay cold and lifeless beneath her. And as easily as a leaf turns towards the sun, she stepped up into the heavens to make for herself a home at its heart.

    But the heavens, yet newborn and young, were not prepared to receive her. They shuddered beneath her first step like a pond beneath a stone. They howled at the raw touch of her purpose. Having known only an eternity of darkness and chaos, they thundered with the deafening, discordant, agonizing peals of emergent life. So loud was their tumult that the broken shards of Mother¡¯s silver cry stirred from where they slumbered, and woke.

    They rose from their countless positions above the heavens in total unison and bowed, all of them, each to their neighbors. Then as one, without a word or thought passed amongst them, they stepped the very first step of what would be their endless dance.

    And so came the Second, blinking out of the moving starlight.

    He was of humble appearance. He held his hands folded before him and spoke with a soft voice. But before his eyes bloomed the great Tangle of All Paths like the ever moving veins of a mountain. He, and only he, can walk there and back again between Then and Now, and so he called himself Time, the Mountain and the Mile.

    As he appeared, Mother gave a cry of delight. She threw herself into his arms with a joy that forgets dignity. In turn, Time gazed upon Mother and saw that she was beautiful, strong, and wise, and it was so. When Mother saw the image of her in his eyes, she blushed without shame and there grew between them a fluttering of a hundred wings that was both hot and cold, painful and sweet.

    Moved by the stirring in his breast, Time reached inside and drew the shape of it from within himself. He broke it into two pieces, one large and one small. The larger one he cast up above the heavens where it chased away the dark and shone with a bright and burning light. The smaller he threw in the other direction and built eight and twenty houses for it to dwell in. Together they symbolize both the steadfast and ever changing nature of that from whence they came.

    So came the Sun and the Moon, the Third and Fourth to come.

    Then Time looked down from the height of the heavens onto the earth, now lit by the light of day, and felt a great Sensation well up within him that would be the beginning and end of all things. Unable to restrain himself, he bellowed a great wordless roar of exultation, and out of his mouth sprang two beings, first one then the other.

    The first came with fierce, glaring eyes and a smile that rumbled with distant thunder. His back bore a tall, flapping banner and his hands wielded a long, wide glaive. The second was robed in a thick leather apron and smelled of metal and flame. In one hand he held a hammer, and in the other a measuring stick.

    Together they were the Fifth and the Sixth, the Conqueror and the Builder, and their coming portends all.

    For an age, the four of them lived in happy company beneath the watchful eyes of the Sun and the Moon. They ruled over the heavens and the earth in perfect harmony as one family in one heaven over one earth.

    Soon, Mother¡¯s belly rose and grew plump. Before long, she and Time bore their first child, the Seventh to come, whose laughter banished shadows and danced amongst the stars. Her parents wept before her, enthralled by her beauty, overwhelmed by the immeasurable love that welled within them, and so together they named her Fate, the summit of all paths.

    But seeing the love that Mother and Time had for their child, the hearts of the two brothers twisted with envy and they went off by themselves into the furthest corner of the heavens. They muttered to one another with dark resentment and from the crossing of their shadows welled two black pools that spilled over with the consistency of oil and blood.

    Two figures rose from the pools whose faces and forms were hidden in the deep folds of dark hooded robes. The first clutched a gourd of oleander and aconitum in a pale sickly hand, and a thin bright dagger in the other. The second had his lips sewn shut and held an endless scroll on which a record of all deeds done in a private and secretive spirit are kept.

    So came the Eighth and the Ninth, the Sunderer and the Shadow.

    Urged on by the two brothers, the Sunderer waited for the cover of a moonless night to creep into the small space between Mother and Time where their child slept. Unnoticed by either parent, he brought the mouth of his gourd to her lips and she drank its contents greedily drop by drop until she finally succumbed to a weariness heavier and deeper than slumber. Then he hastily returned to his brothers who praised the virtue of his strength to such a degree that he cackled and clapped his feeble hands together in excitement, for the Sunderer will always and ever be one to seek such gratifications.

    When Mother awoke and found her child cold and lifeless between them, she threw her head back and let out such an agonized cry that the Sun and the Moon hid beneath the horizon and the stars turned their backs in sorrow.

    Beneath the black and bitter sky, Mother and Time mourned without cease for the duration of one and twenty days and nights. They buried their child deep within the bowels of the earth and wept over her such tears that the soil of the earth could no longer contain them and their waters rose and overflowed, threatening to submerge all the lands beneath its waves.

    Then out of the waters rose one who resembled the daughter they had lost, but also did not. She was as naked as a newborn child and bore three faces upon her countenance. The first wore an expression of surprise, the second that of horror, and the third an expression of welcome. She held her cold hands against the faces of her parents, and kissed their eyes until their tears stopped, telling them that in the end their parting would only seem a swift and fleeting dream. Once their tears abated, she bade them farewell and disappeared from their eyes.

    But all shall meet her again, for she is the one who waits at the end of all paths, garbed of both face and form in the same manner as those whom she receives.

    Another age passed. Mother¡¯s belly grew swollen and plump again with love, and she gave birth to a second child. A son. When he was born, he did not cry, or wail, or even utter a sound at all. Instead he emerged from his mother with open eyes that watched without blinking and burned with pale yellow fire. He looked up at his parents and smiled up at Mother and Time as if he already knew them. And so he did, for he carried within him the memories of his elder sister.

    But the brothers gathered once again in the far corner of heaven, urging the Sunderer to do as he had done before.

    But Mother knew now the shape of their hearts, they who had not come from her. She bent low over the child who had already known the taste of treachery and whispered into his ear.

    Immediately the child leaped into the air and became at first a butterfly that sparkled with the light of many gems, then a bear as large as a mountain, then a pheasant as quick as thought, and finally an eagle with wings like sails. Without even taking the time to bid Mother goodbye, he folded his wings beneath him and plummeted down to earth below.

    The Builder and the Conqueror, not ones to be easily denied, leaped after him waving their hammer and their glaive. But it would be to no avail. The nameless child was in the wind and hidden from their sight within the fast growing forests of the earth.

    So came the Tenth, formless and free, and to him we owe the deepest debt of all.

    Finally Mother gave birth to a third and final child, the Eleventh, who was of such exquisite beauty that all that moved within the heavens and the earth became still and fell into a profound silence. The seneschals of heaven - the stars, the Sun, and the Moon, hung all together in the sky and gathered low over the sleeping child in rapt reverence. Even their combined light could not have hoped to compare with the child¡¯s transcendent bearing.

    So heart rending was her beauty that when the Builder and the Conqueror returned from their long and fruitless pursuit, they dropped their instruments at their feet and kneeled before her without a word. Then the Builder gathered jade, pearl, and precious stones in vast quantities. He built around the child a divine palace and laid such enchantments upon it that it would never fall or crumble away. Before it he built an entrance of stone and steel in front of which the Conqueror stood guard.

    Relieved and pleased by the harmony their child had brought at last to the heavens, Mother and Time moved happily in together with their child and named her Daughter, most beautiful and beloved of all.

    And so the Age of the Ancient Ones of heaven began. Once again one family in one heaven above one earth, they presided over the world and its balance of good and evil, right and wrong, light and dark. Countless eras of men would pass peacefully within their keeping, and while they ruled they were extolled throughout the land for their wisdom, their beauty, and their strength. Indeed it is said that they would have ruled for an eternity, if it were not for their Daughter and her heart that grew too big for the palace walls of jade, pearl, and precious stones.

 Chapter 9 - The Farmer and the Fish

    Once upon a time, in a land far away, there once was a rice farmer who lived by the river that flowed from the far Mountain.

    He was a simple, pragmatic man, who worked every day of every season without rest. His hands were leathery and gnarled. His skin was burnt and brown. His back was crooked and stiff. But the farmer was long accustomed to such ailments, and even proud of their burden. They were a testament of his life and trade, passed down to him by his father, and his fathers before him.

    He lived by only a few tenets: to provide for his family, to work without rest, and to raise his children to live as he did. All other thoughts or notions that might have once entertained his mind at a younger, more fanciful age, had been set aside and disregarded for so long that they had faded then forgotten entirely.

    As such, the farmer, now at the twilight of his prime, gave very little thought to the concepts of enlightenment, morality, or destiny, and scoffed at those who committed their lives to the pursuit of poetry or music. What advantage could be gained by their knowledge? Such subjects were insignificant by nature.

    He could tell when the earth had awakened to spring and was ripe for planting by the feel of it beneath his feet. He could anticipate the weather from the ache in his bones and the taste of the wind. He could smell disease in his crops while it lay in just a single stalk. These were things worth learning. These were the true skills. While his life perhaps could not be said to be one of leisure, it was only by the possession of such knowledges that he could make it a life without need, and this gave him great pride.

    One morning, when the sun was just beneath the horizon and the sky glowed with its arrival, the farmer set out onto his fields to examine his crops in the pristine purity of the fresh day. As he walked, the air was cool and sweet in his lungs, the earth soft beneath his feet, and he revelled at the quiet and calm of the coming dawn.

    But as he neared the edges of his paddies by the river, a light, tinkling voice spoke suddenly from nearby.

    ¡°What a peculiar creature you are!¡±

    Startled out of his reverie, the farmer searched about for the owner of the most unexpected voice, but to no avail. The stalks of rice were at the peak of their height, nearly ready to harvest. Any manner of person or creature could be hidden amongst them, and remain so with only the slightest effort.

    ¡°Who are you to trespass onto another¡¯s land and insult them without even so much as a proper greeting?¡± he called.

    At this, the voice burst into strange, bubbling peals of delighted laughter, the likes of which the farmer could not recall having ever heard before.

    ¡°My humblest apologies, good stranger,¡± the voice replied, once its humor had subsided. ¡°It was not my intent to offer offense of any shape or form. Indeed, it was wholly unknown to me that you and I could speak with any sort of mutual understanding at all! I was simply speaking aloud that which I found you to be, though clear to me now just how discourteous it was for me to do so.¡±

    The farmer, curious at only by the voice¡¯s unusual tone but also its curious manner of speech, followed its sound out of his fields and down to the river¡¯s edge.

    ¡°But as for having intruded upon your lands,¡± it continued, as the farmer at last came into view. ¡°I am afraid I must argue my innocence, and am sure you will come to agree. For I have trespassed no land.¡±

    The farmer¡¯s mouth fell open in disbelief.

    The owner of the voice was an enormous sleek fish, covered from head to tail in large shimmering scales that gleamed like mother of pearl. As wide and as tall as a grown man, it floated in the middle of the great river and stared back at the farmer with open curiosity in its large luminescent eyes. Its great tail, still visible beneath it in the river¡¯s murky waters swayed powerfully from one side to the other as it swam idly and easily in place despite the currents.

    ¡°Is it customary amongst your kind to greet another so open-mouthed?¡± the fish asked with sincere curiosity. It opened its mouth wide in an attempted imitation of the farmer.

    ¡°Fish,¡± said the farmer, weakly.

    ¡°I am,¡± it replied, with pride. Then it paused. ¡°Or I was. It may be that I have become something else entirely now, now that I am what I am.¡± It thought for a moment, surprised. ¡°How unexpected. Now that I have discovered the thought within me, I admit to now finding beneath it a measure of sorrow. I am no longer what I used to be. How regretful it is to have left such a thing behind without notice or farewell.¡±

    But the farmer, still dazed, did not have the ears to hear the fish¡¯s words.

    ¡°A fish,¡± he repeated himself. ¡°Have I passed away in my sleep and awoken in the afterlife? A fish speaks to me with the speech and reason of men.¡±

    At this the creature laughed at the farmer¡¯s bewilderment, though not unkindly. ¡°Truly the strangeness of our circumstance cannot be overstated!¡± it said. ¡°But know, friend, that it is also as such for me. Now that I am as I am, it is as if the entire world has become a wide and endless wonder.¡±

    ¡°But how has such a thing come to pass?¡± the farmer asked. ¡°How is it that you are capable of such a feat? Are you alone in your possession of such knowledge? Or perhaps are you the first of a new species yet multiplying beneath the surface?¡±

    Here the fish sighed. ¡°Regretfully, I cannot answer any of your questions with any assuring amount of certainty. I believe I am alone in my awareness and speech. Or at least, I have not yet found any others whom I could call brothers or sisters in likeness.¡±

    ¡°But as for how I came to be as I am, I will share all I know. Listen, friend, and let us ponder on it together, for it is a tale without substance or song.¡±

    ¡°For as long as I can remember, I have been like any of my brethren, and ours is a desultory existence. Born in the waters of the river¡¯s genesis, we spend our lives travelling back and forth between river and sea. We go from need to need, want to want, moved by impulses beyond our contemplation or contention, and bound by fate and blood to follow in the great journey of our ancestors.¡±

    ¡°One day, during our season of return, my brethren and I started our way up the river to reach the waters of our birth. Now this particular passage of our journey is a fearsome ordeal. The currents we fight against are swift and strong, and those who would prey upon us are many, fierce of feather and fang. Only the fastest and the most fortunate survive. As such, as we near this trial, it is necessary for us to consume anything and everything we come across that bears even the most remote possibility of providing nourishment and strength.¡±

    ¡°It was only by a stroke of luck that I happened to notice a small red mass floating down through the river towards me, and though I cannot say why, it beckoned to me. It called to me as powerfully as that which calls me from river to sea. It beseeched me, begged me to devour it, to imbibe it, to take it in me. At very nearly the same instance, my brethren and I, for they too felt its pull, leaped our way forward with a frenzied strength. But having noticed it before the rest, this humble fish arrived upon it first, whereupon I consumed it immediately, and continued on my mindless way.¡±

    ¡°But as we swam up the river, leaping over one barrier after another, great changes began to take place within me. I felt first a strength like I had never felt before. Suddenly I was leaping over each new obstacle with only the slightest effort, and leaving my kin far behind. The power! The ease! Before I knew it I was revelling in my own strength, marvelling at it even as I wielded it as if I were born to it. Suddenly the great river seemed all at once so narrow, and my brethren, so small. But as even as my elation at my newfound strength died down, I felt something completely new and remarkable grow inside of me. Strength, I had always known and understood the shape of. But here, here was a thing that I had never felt before, not once, in my dull life. Here was something wholly wonderful, and wild, and heretofore unknown.¡±

    ¡°What was this thing?¡± the farmer asked, immersed in the fish¡¯s tale despite himself. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    It smiled a warm, cheerful, silvery smile. ¡°A question.¡±

    ¡°What am I doing? I wondered to myself. Though you may be disappointed that it wasn¡¯t at first a more profound question in the manner of wondering on the nature of what I was, or the purpose of my existence, I can assure you with absolute recollection that this was the very first question that came to my mind.¡±

    ¡°But even as I asked the question to myself, I realized that I was not truly asking myself what I was doing, for that could not be any less apparent. The question beneath the question was why was I acting as I was. Even as I asked, a part of me marvelled that such a thing could be asked in such a way, and the moment this thought came upon me, I stopped everything I was doing. Unsure of what it was I should do or why it should be done, I watched the rest of my brethren, or they that had once been my brethren, make their way past me and up the river.¡±

    ¡°Bereft of my purpose by the awakening of my reason, I stayed as I was without moving for a day and night. I wondered on the current of life I had so mindlessly followed, and how now I should shape my fate now that it was my own. But my mind was yet young and the river around me was devoid of any semblance of sentience near enough to mine to help enlighten me or discuss with me these matters I now found so consuming. And so I decided to journey back into the ocean and deeper waters where I hoped I might find more opportunities to do so.¡±

    Here the fish smiled again.

    ¡°Then to my delight and my surprise, my friend, I found you! A scarce three days into my journey. A being that speaks and reasons much in the way I do, despite the differences of our circumstances.¡±

    ¡°And what a good fortune it was, friend,¡± said the farmer, who had composed himself during the fish¡¯s story and gathered his thoughts. ¡°Who knows how long you might have wandered the waters alone, seeking what you might not find?¡±

    ¡°It is only too true,¡± the fish replied happily. ¡°Which is why I am so pleased to have found you, and to have heard your voice and comprehend the subtle meanings within it. Could there ever be a doubt that our crossing has been wrought by heaven¡¯s hand? Please, once again, accept my most humble apologies for the perceived insult earlier this morning, for truly it was not my intention to so slight you, so unaccustomed am I to the manners of your kind.¡±

    ¡°Think nothing of it, friend,¡± the farmer replied warmly. ¡°I also have much to apologize for, gaping as I was without a thought for comment or reply. For truly, I have never seen your like before.¡± Here he paused. ¡°But if I may say so, though you are certainly strange, it cannot be denied that you are also a singularly beautiful creature.¡±

    The fish, thrilled from its first conversation with another, all but preened at the farmer¡¯s flattery. ¡°Am I? Am I truly? I must confess, the thought has never crossed my mind.¡±

    ¡°It is beyond question,¡± the farmer assured. ¡°Why, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if you were the most beautiful thing to be found beneath the surface of all waters, be they the rivers or seas.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t know about that,¡± said the fish, shyly. ¡°The ocean is an endless domain, full of beings both big and small that even I have yet to come across.¡±

    ¡°But surely you must stand at the very pinnacle when it comes to sheer beauty?¡± the farmer asked. ¡°Or at least very near it. What could there possibly be that could even hope to match the incandescence of your beauty?¡±

    ¡°Oh the oceans are full of all manners of creatures,¡± said the fish with a serious, yet timid voice. ¡°I have seen the living mountain, gliding through the depths with its dozen milky eyes and a hundred long arms. I have seen the great serpents draped in their scaled robes of every color. I have heard the songs that are sung ceaselessly beneath the waves of the world¡¯s edge. Even in my mindless travels, I have come across such things that even now I still wonder if they were mere memories of a dream, and not instances of passing in the waking world.¡±

    ¡°To think that such a realm existed beside ours,¡± the farmer marvelled softly, almost as if to himself.

    ¡°I am not even a drop of rain before all that it is and holds,¡± the fish agreed.

    ¡°How extraordinary,¡± said the farmer.

    ¡°You seem so surprised,¡± the fish noted. ¡°Is it not the same for your world?¡±

    ¡°Well, certainly our world has its wonders,¡± the farmer replied. ¡°Indeed, I remember marvelling at such things when I was young. So much so that I would run out each day in my excitement to discover yet another,¡± mused the farmer ¡°But if we are to be honest, I must admit they all seem so commonplace to me now. I suppose I grew, as all living beings do. Wondrous delight became as clothes of my youth, too colorful and too bright to suit the responsibilities I had assumed. The distant Mountain that once stirred my heart, remained a Mountain and the river remained a river.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t say I completely understand what you¡¯re talking about,¡± said the fish. ¡°But it seems a sad thing.¡±

    ¡°It is our way of life, friend,¡± the farmer replied. ¡°Joy or sorrow have little to do with anything. They will not feed or clothe my family. They will not shelter us from the storms. Such things are only accomplished by the solemn steady work of my hands. Such things are the harvest I reap from the stalk of my labors.¡±

    ¡°All the same,¡± said the fish. ¡°It still seems a sad thing.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said the farmer, uncertain of how to respond. ¡°Perhaps.¡±

    Just at that moment, the first rays of the day¡¯s sun broke over the distant Mountain and swept soundlessly over the land. The wind stirred, and the long stalks of rice lifted and swayed in the beams of morning light.

    ¡°What is that?¡± asked the fish, from the low surface of the river.

    ¡°That is the sun as it breaks over the Mountain,¡± the farmer replied, lowering his hat against the light.

    ¡°Do you mean to say that you have seen the sun?¡± asked the fish, in awe. ¡°Oh how deeply I envy you at this moment, friend! Tell me, what does it look like? In my few awakened days, I have imagined a great bright line as long as the sky itself, making its way across the heavens.¡±

    The farmer laughed. ¡°That would certainly be a sight to see. But no, my friend. Rather, imagine a great figure in the sky, no bigger than the size of my head to your eyes.¡±

    ¡°So small?¡± the fish wondered.

    ¡°Just so,¡± the farmer assured. ¡°But also imagine, if you will, that it burns with such brilliant flame that no living thing could bear to gaze into it for too long, lest they be blinded. It is the crown jewel of heaven, and worthy of the name.¡±

    ¡°How I would love to see such a thing with my own eyes,¡± the fish swooned.

    The farmer looked at the fish with a curious shadow in his eyes. ¡°For all the world, why shouldn¡¯t such a thing be done, friend?¡±

    ¡°How could it?¡± the fish asked. ¡°I have no limbs with which to easily leave the waters, and even if I had, I would surely drown in your air before long.¡±

    ¡°Before we met, your words may have been the truth,¡± said the farmer. ¡°But now that I am here, I am certain such a thing could be done.¡±

    ¡°You would help me?¡± the fish asked, eyes wide with happy surprise.

    ¡°Oh most assuredly,¡± said the farmer. ¡°Sizable though you may be, it would not require much strength for me to lift you out of the water long enough for you to behold the sun. It would be but the briefest of moments, after which I could return you back into the water, safe and unharmed.¡±

    ¡°I would greatly appreciate such a thing, friend,¡± said the fish, swimming over without hesitation. ¡°Truly, I would. How the heavens have blessed me with the fate of meeting you! Though I do not yet know how I would repay such a gesture, I swear by them that I shall not fail to do so, whatever the cost.¡±

    The farmer smiled. ¡°Do not let the thought burden you overlong.¡±

    As soon as the fish came near the farmer, the farmer seized the fish in his arms and hauled it bodily out of the water, and up off the river bank. The fish, with only a mind for the sun, panted in the thin air and heaved about, searching for it until at last it caught sight of the dawn.

    ¡°Beautiful,¡± it gasped. ¡°How beautiful. To think I would see such a thing so soon in my waking life.¡±

    For a moment, as the farmer continued to climb his way up the river with the fish in his arms, the creature did not speak. Instead, it watched the rising sun in silent, teary eyed wonder - the pink and yellow splashed sky breaking into purest blue, the Mountain bowed beneath it, and the endless green of the wetlands swaying as they danced in its light.

    ¡°My friend,¡± it panted at last to the farmer, who continued, still, to make his way away from the river. ¡°Every fiber of my being thanks you. But I am afraid the time to return has come. Even as I speak, my strength wanes within me. We must not stay away overlong.¡±

    But the farmer did not respond, and continued walking away from the river with the fish in its arms.

    ¡°Friend, I¡¯m afraid I really must insist,¡± said the fish. A thrill of pale gray fear touched its heart for the first time in its awakened life, and hastened his words. ¡°My friend, I would not bear to think on what might happen if I am not soon returned.¡±

    ¡°I am sorry, my friend,¡± said the farmer. ¡°Though I cannot claim to be overjoyed, it is as I said. Joy or sorrow will not feed my family, and I have many mouths to feed. A creature of your size will fill their bellies for a great, long time. I would rather were that you were a simple, dumb, fish flailing ignorantly into oblivion, than to be so aware of your approaching fate. But there are things I cannot change, and I must do what needs to be done.¡±

    With that, the farmer said no more and made his long, slow way back to his farm. The fish cried and pleaded, but the farmer deafened his ears to its words and continued home until they weakened, faded, and finally stopped.

    That evening, the rice farmer and his family enjoyed the most lavish dinner that any of them had ever eaten in their lives. The smell of it as it cooked over their fire was fragrant and clean. The taste of it was succulent and sweet. All the family¡¯s members ate until they were bursting, and some more for even then.

    When at last his children gathered to sleep around him and asked him just how he had managed to procure such a specimen, he simply told them not to ask mundane questions. They too, he said, would certainly come to be able to do such things once they grew older.