Snow Mountain

- 12 -

As she flys from the mountain, it feels as though she has left something behind.

All day and all night she rides to the north. The plains horse beneath her steams with sweat, and foam froths at the bridle, but still she kicks it harder.

But no matter her haste, or how she urges her mount on, she can not shake the pull in her chest to go back. Like a physical thing it tugs her, as though she is anchored to the mountain.

She cannot explain it. Her instinct has never led her astray before. It has always guided her in the past, to find what she seeks, be it prey or a course of action or victory. And there can be no victory if she stays on the mountain.

So why does her heart sing for her to return?

The confusing thoughts mar her reason as night falls. She does not know whether it would be better to press on, and risk the horse collapsing, or stop for rest, and lose time?

She decides that time is the more precious, and continues on.

The road winds through wooded valleys green with new growth. At night all the vibrant green is in shadow, and the signs of spring are the smells and the hoots of birds and other beasts busily going about their business.

Jalintu slows her horse to a walk through the woods. She knows the roads are more treacherous near trees, and a stray root is enough to kill a horse and rider. Her horse, grateful for the respite, slows to a plod, kept steady by his rider's continuing nudges.

Suddenly the forest stills.

Jalintu stills as well, pulling her horse to a stop. The only sound is the horse's breathing, and a faint clank of metal as he chomps the bit.

She looks up.

Above, in the canopy a bird sits, so big and large Jalintu at first cannot believe it is a bird.

But it is. Huge, white, as big as a man. It spreads its wings and silently sails to the ground. It lands in the road before her and her horse steps back sharply, startled by the flapping wings. The wings fold and the bird raises its head, and Jalintu at last sees it for what it is.

An eagle. With its white plumage and night time appearance, she had instinctively guessed an owl. But now she can see, in the moonlight that filters through the trees, that it is an eagle, from its thick hooked beak to its sturdy wing joints. Its head cocks, regal, golden eye seeming to glow in the darkness.

And then she realizes it is glowing, as are its feathers. Veins of light, white and bright blue, tendril beneath its wings, shining out through its feathers. Jalintu thinks suddenly of the woman she saw beneath the mountain, the woman Fyar called his mother, and she realizes who stands before her in the road.

I was born from the earth and sky.

Unable to greet him with words, she slides from her saddle and kneels in the dirt before the lord of the sky.

"You are going the wrong way."

Jalintu looks up, then swiftly looks down again. The eagle's eyes are piercing. She hears the drag as it moves one scaled claw toward her, then another.

But when the talons enter her vision, they shift to feet, bare in the dirt of the road.

"My son lies behind you."

Fearfully, Jalintu looks up into the god's face.

Just as with the golden and green woman beneath the mountain, Jalintu is struck by the indescribable beauty of the man before her. His features are perfect, a jawline sharp and angular like a bird's beak, brows high and arching and haughty as a hawk's. Just as the woman Fyar called his mother glowed has lights of blue and rainbow white beneath his skin. It makes Jalintu think of gemstones fragmenting into rainbows and the clear blue sky.