Aeolia

26: Firelight Whispers

The music drew her on, even when the clouds began to molt again. White feathers drifted around the woman, filling the prints that splayed behind her. Flakes caught in her hair, and yet she wasn't cold. Her body didn't feel like her own. She smiled.

     As she weathered on in her trek, Spire stirred in her arms. Ravine studied him, stroked his back, but he wouldn't wake. It was fine. She tried not to worry. They'd been traveling for a long time, and a little bird of such beauty and innocence wouldn't be used to this.

     But he was nearly home.

     All the while, the fire drew nearer. The woman could now pick the flames apart, see their separate flicks and flounders. Its light was comforting, glowing through the snow that had become a blizzard.

     And at last she reached it. The flames appeared to growing from the very earth itself, reaching up with orange hands through the layers of white, raised to the sky.

     Ravine sat with a heavy sigh. She hadn't realized until now how weary these past weeks had made her. Even with the assistance of Spire and Haze, getting here had not been easy.

     Ravine wondered aloud, in hopes that someone would hear her, "How far until Aeolia?"

     "Only a few days, at the most."

     Ravine turned. Behind her stood a whisperer, its fur woven through with snowflakes. She gasped. "Haze?"

     The whisperer dipped its head. "You are not entirely incorrect.
     I am Haze's brother," it said.
     "Honeybee gave word that you were stranded
     Alone in Seasons' Spiral
     When Winter went rogue and you had to hide.
     So I decided to find you, and here you are,
     Drawn to my gentle fire."

     The whisperer padded through the snow and settled beside the woman. Its paws didn't disturb the surface.

     "My name is Frost," it continued.
     "I am a member of the Outskirts
     And Haze was a member of the Mist.
     We were assigned to different roles.
     You noticed the stars in Haze's pelt, did you not?"

     Ravine nodded. "I did."

     "And you notice the snowflakes in mine?"

     "Yes."

     Frost made himself comfortable, rolling back on his haunches. His voice was different from Haze's, more grounded, and his mouth actually moved when he spoke.

     "There's a reason for that, for the stars and snowflakes," Frost resumed.
     "You see, whisperers flock mostly along the Great Coast
     Or what you would call the end of the world.
     One day, our Grandfather told us to disperse,
     To widen our intellectual scope. Whisperers
     Are fools for words like intellect and scope, and opportunity most of all.
     But Haze was torn between Aeolia
     Which lies along the First Cliff of the Coast
     And the southwest, where the Shrouded Lands lay.
     I believe you have been there already."

     "We crossed the Bridge to Infinity," Ravine said, staring hypnotized into the fire. "It was a beautiful place."

     "Yes." Frost flicked his ears. "Haze was always drawn to the Mist
     And the discoveries that swam among it.
     She has always been the poet among my line—
     Since she was young she has loved to spin
     Tales of wishful words, of poetry about the heart.
     I'm afraid to say, though I try to speak elegantly,
     I have nothing on dear Haze.
     Her head is filled with fancy and fire,
     A perfect missionary for her kind.
     You see, her troupe is represented by stars—
     Because they love to read them, read the Mist, read the very air.
     But I, however, felt I belonged to the smaller group
     On the edges of Aeolia
     Known as the Outskirts—where we are now.
     We are represented by the snowflakes
     Because Winter has proved most dominant here
     And the snow tells us things
     That evaporate when the sun comes out.
     Now, now, would you mind telling me
     What is wrong with your little Spire-bird?"

     The woman glanced down at the still form in her arms. Tears welled in her eyes. "I don't know. He's been acting strangely since we entered what you call 'the Outskirts.' It's like he's been remembering everything...even things he doesn't want to. I don't know what to do."

     Frost flicked his tail contemplatively. "Your Spire-bird," he said;
     "I can't see into his head, like other whisperers could.
     I was not blessed with that ability." His voice trembled but he continued.
     "I can read his basic aura, and from that alone,
     I can tell his brain has been overloaded, and he is tired.
     That, or someone else is tampering with it."

     Ravine swallowed. "What does that entail?"

     Frost cast his gaze to his paws. "There is a land to the north
    And another land to the south of here
     And both are home to creatures of dreams—
     Pleasant ones and nightmares.
     The north is the birthplace of something dark, something ancient
     The south is the nesting place of something light, something just as old.
     Either being could be tampering
     With your Spire-bird's head."