Myran

by Angela J. Ford

  And then one of them was right beside us. His hands were on the lady, and his face was next to her ear. I could not see him, or the intense passion in his eyes, but I heard the intensity of his whisper in her ear: “No, Luthín, not this way, please. Do not risk banishment, please.” The lady turned rapidly towards him; I did not see the look of pure devotion that passed between them. I did not know what was going on, though I felt her sigh as if she were giving up.

  “Tilyon, don't you see? This is so much bigger than us.” The way she spoke to him was the way my parents had spoken to each other. There was a deep bond between the two of them. Then, it seemed as if music started playing. It simply rose from the ground and flowed, except it wasn't music. The giants, or whoever they were, started talking in another language, a rhythmic language where one syllable flowed into the next, almost as if carrying a melody. Their voices rose to a higher pitch; there were no deep strains to wreck the gentle tones. As beautiful as the solemn language was, it held a sort of dread, for the masters of it were delivering forth a judgment. At that time, I did not know it pertained to me. I did not know they were weighing the case of whether they would welcome me into their company of wildness and forest-dwelling or cast me out into the wilderness of the world, ruled and held in sway by the desires of the Black Steeds. Either way, my life would be wild and unnatural with the creatures of the wood responsible for my fate.

  When the long debate ended, the lady who held me suddenly sprang up. She may have been shaking with anger, but I rolled gently onto the grass when she deposited me on the ground. “Why?” she demanded. “Why is your decision so cautious? Can you not see with the way this world is? We have to join with the mortals. If they learn our language, so be it. If they learn the secrets of our hidden ways, so be it. If they join in our dances, so be it. The world is drastically changing, and your decrees will hold us back and keep us from taking the actions we need to save the world.”

  “Remember, we are not in charge,” that same male voice warned. “Remember who sprang from our midst.”

  I opened my eyes once more and saw them: all tall and slender with grim, pale faces. One by one, they took their lights, turned away, and, like phantoms from the underworld, drifted away into their secret places in the wood. I turned my small head to look for the lady, and she stood far above me with the one called Tilyon. There were tears streaming down her face as she melted into his arms, “I can't make them see. They refuse to understand.” Her voice was a whisper, almost lost in the heavy silence.

  “Luthín, you know it is because of fear that nothing is safe and nothing is sure in this world. We are immortal, but we are not all powerful. We do not see all of the future, only parts, and we cannot know for sure where they fit.”

  “Tilyon...” She buried her face in his shoulder, and as he stroked her back, I saw that maybe the fearsome, strong, and immortal creatures of the wood might have a weakness.

  Suddenly there was the snap of a tree branch breaking; this was done purposefully to alert the lady and her pale male. They turned, and my eyes turned for me. A male of their kind stood there. When he opened his mouth, I knew him to be the one in charge of the council. “Her people live in the White Steeds' fortress in Sanga San, close to Oceantic. Take her there.” Then he was gone, melting away into the darkness.

  The lady, still held by her male, looked down at me and then she looked at him. “I know,” was all he said.

  He released her and an unreadable look passed over his face. The lady swept me into her arms and faced the male once again. “I am sorry.”

  “I am with you. Come.” He held out his hand and pointed into the forest. We set off in that direction.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Small Beginnings

  I stood and watched the torrents of water thunder down into the valley; mirrors of colored light flicked off the surface of the waterfall. I loved to stand calmly on a brown ledge nearby, letting the spray wash over me while I observed the fluid movement of water. I was ten years old; I did not know I was living a strange childhood. No child was brought up in the wild, out among the creatures of the wood, as secluded as my guardians thought I was. I did not think anything of it. How could I? I was young and inexperienced in the norms of the world.

  Five years ago, when they had the chance, my guardians had chosen not to take me on a long journey east to the fortress of the White Steeds, where people of my kind lived. They choose not to take me to the land of the mortals, where I would be reared among travelers and warriors and those faithful to the protection and upbringing of the White Steeds. It also was risky for those who did not know the general area where the White Steeds' fortress lay; it was too much of a gamble for my guardians. They did not want to risk my life because the Black Steeds might raid the fortress at any time.

  Instead, forsaking the laws that bound them and the rules laid out by the ruler of the Green People, my guardians bore me southwest to the land of Shimla, close to the Land of Lock, also called Locherenixzes, and near the Jaded Sea. There they brought me up in a hidden world, not unknown to all creatures of the wood, but simply too far away to connect with the “wild things” and join in their nightly rituals. There they raised me on a small mountain, surrounded by the protecting forest and delightful scenery with many mysterious ways unknown to most. We lived in a cave; its opening was concealed by greenery, undergrowth, and other such shrubs. I was a child of the air and of the outside world, where finally my grief thawed, although its hold on me never quite went away.

  As much as I was theirs, it seemed I rarely saw my guardians. I could never bring myself to call them by their wild names, Luthín and Tilyon; those were their secret names for each other it seemed, calling them by name would break a tryst. They called me Myran because when I was six years old, my heart began to thaw and I looked at them and said one word, “Myran,” while pointing to myself.

  They understood more than one would think, for although they left me alone with the talking animals and other creatures of the wood, they were always somewhere, watching out for me, whether I saw them or not. Frequently one or the other would leave on a lengthy excursion and come back rather uplifted. Yet to me, they always seemed sorrowful for what they had to give up. I never heard them speak their musical language, sing, or dance, yet they belonged to the woods, and the tales my mother told me of their joyous rites and their arrogance against outsiders stuck in my head. They were good to me though; I suppose they raised me as they would have raised any of their own wild, young ones, even though they never had their own. Maybe their intense love for each other was enough. Sometimes, with one look, they seemed to swallow all that was in the other’s mind. At times like those, I was reminded of my parents. The older I grew, the fainter those memories became, but the grief and fear never went away.

  Out in the land of sunshine, with sparkling water spraying my face and hair, I was young and vibrant and quite myself. I almost could have been a “wild thing.” Sunlight bleached my hair, and my skin was darkened by it. I had grown taller, almost to my allotment of five feet, three inches. I wore a dress of forest green, which I was constantly outgrowing, but the lady always made sure I was well dressed and comfortable. She combed out my hair and braided it for me. She sent me, well-fed and barefoot, out into the sunshine to grow and learn from it.

  Alienated as I was from the normal world, I had my share of friends, for the creatures of the wood were abundant. It was likely the animals of the wood spread news of my guardians and their decision to the ruler of the Green People. We were far away enough not to concern ourselves with him and what he thought. Maybe my guardians had contact with him, but such elder things I did not concern myself with.

  I hummed softly to the sounds of the forest, the creatures were busy yet warm in the sunlight and happy. Absentmindedly, I picked up a pebble and dropped it over the edge. I watched it fall and then shoot into the waterfall, joining the waves of water, off on a new journey. I wondered where it had come from, where it was goin
g now, and where it would end up in its new phase of life.

  “You know,” squeaked a voice behind me, “pebbles don't have lives, no more than rocks.”

  “But the trees have spirits and so do the grasses, if only they would wake up,” I replied, without even turning around.

  “Or so you've been told,” the voice went on, “and you believe all this?”

  I laughed, “You talk, and so do I. Here we can believe what we want.”

  My friend, the chipmunk, scuttled up on the ledge beside me. He was almost as large as a squirrel with two, long stripes going down his back. I had met Mok a while back when I was still learning to let go of the lady and step out on my own. He had encouraged me, and because his name was long and difficult to pronounce, I called him Mok. Although I was older, I still held on to that short, childish name. It had a safe and familiar air to it, and Mok did not mind at all. “You can not always believe what you want,” Mok told me as I settled down on the damp ledge and he stood on his two back paws beside me. “Mostly you have to believe what is true.”

  “Oh, but I do,” I contradicted, always slightly annoyed when Mok's wise side came out. “But we are out in the wild, and as you always tell me, anything is possible.”

  “Anything?” Mok tried to lighten the subject. “Tell me then, o young one, will you dive into the waterfall, find your pebble, and follow it through the course of the waves and currents, or will you wait for it to return to you so you may skip it over creek beds?”

  I loved to dream; Mok had passed me the right bait. I spread my arms wide. “Yes, I will sprout wings and fly down to the depths, where I will grow fins and a tail and swim the glorious sea!”

  A gentle wind swept by me as if hushing my words, while the waterfall continued to drown out sound. “You like tales of old; I suppose you could repeat back to me the story of the Five Warriors by now,” Mok remarked.

  I smiled at this. It was true, my love for stories continued to grow; my mother saw the need to fill my mind with the grave histories of old times and what went on in other worlds. Those were dark times, and I loved to hear of them, of the sorrow and bleakness, and how Five Warriors rose up to save the people of the Western World from being destroyed and demoralized from the rule of Sarhorr. Stories such as those reminded me of a rainy day. The clouds grew heavy and dark, the rain poured down in an endless torment, and the wind blew fit to rip the treetops. Then it grew calm, and the silver rays of the sun began to show, at first muted through the dispatching clouds. It got brighter until one could see blue skies and know the storm was over and sunshine was there to stay once again. Such stories always gave hope, for they were not simply fabled tales surrounded by false hope, but the stories actually happened, and they sprouted truth, evident even among the creatures of the wood. It was told in the beginning that all Green People lived in the Western World. Because of the darkness swiftly taking over, they all sailed to the South World. Although I had heard of their special powers and renowned wisdom, I did not realize the importance of my guardians nor what they had given up for me. “Yes, I know that tale." I nodded. "Mok, tell me another one.”

  He barked shortly, something was bothering him, but he tried not to let on. “I do not know any new ones you would like. Maybe you are a story; maybe we are all just a story, and these events will make all the difference.”

  “What events?” I asked, picking up another pebble to send it on a long journey; its journey might end better than the last pebble.

  “You should run in the woods while you can, Myran. I do not know what will happen, but I must be off.” And just like that, he was gone.

  I did not think much of it; Mok was always coming and going at odd times. I did not even let my thoughts drift to what his words should mean if he were trying to give me a warning. I stood, the warm spring, almost summer, sunshine was heating up the ledge. As cool as the water was, I suddenly wanted to be away from the reflecting mirrors and under the chill shade of the far-reaching tree boughs. I scrambled up the little incline away from the thunder of the falls, the only thunder that did not scare me. Thunder sharply reminded me of loss and fear, the flame and me all alone in a place of murder, but thunder I could see, beautifully cascading to lower levels, was peaceful. Still, I did not like storms.

  “Myyyrrraan,” a small voice droned, drawing out the vowels in my name.

  Instantly I grew excited; this was another old friend I loved to see. I turned on the grassy slope, trying to catch sight of the tiny creature. Bright wings whirled past my face, and then I felt the light body on my shoulder. “Whryling, where are you?” I called softly, and then she appeared in front of my face.

  “Myran.” She laughed. “Come, I have treasure, hidden away in the forest, to show you. Come!”

  Whryling was a Shimidrain, one of those mysterious “wild things,” except that she was different, younger, and unwise. We were the same age, and she had not an inkling of what it was like to live with the creatures of the wood and be a secretive immortal. For one, she told me her name, which any other creature of the wood would never do. Then she lived by daylight and slept by night, which only the Green People did. Most of the "wild things," also called Idrains, were nocturnal and lived in the middle of Shimla, where they met for their glorious midnight rites. Whryling was far from all of them; she was clueless, and so was I. Parentless as we both were, and growing up peculiarly in a dangerous world, it was almost normal for us to drift together. I still was a Cron with my long hair, short frame, and knowledge of the common tongue. She was a Shimidrain; she was shaped like an abnormal butterfly with the body of a lady and brilliant wings. I had no adventurous spirit, unlike most Crons, I clung to safety and what I knew. Whryling, unlike most Idrains, did not understand the musical language or that she was supposed to spend her life singing and dancing in the dark with countless others. With these abnormalities, we made the perfect pair.

  “Treasure, what kind of treasure?” I asked.

  Whryling just giggled and fluttered off ahead of me; I laughed too and ran after her, away from the open meadow and the crashing waterfall. We raced off without a care to the cooler shades of the forest, where the mushrooms poked up among thick, green moss and green leaves floated down to cushion my bare feet. It was much quieter in the woods. Smaller animals lived there and occasionally rustled the underbrush. If we did not think about it, it was almost as if we were alone in our private world. No one bothered us; no one set down laws or curbed our wild antics. We weren't quite wild because although Whryling knew nothing about life and the fear, I did, and, to an extent, that held back everything we did. I was not adventurous, but I loved to see and hear. “Here,” Whryling called. She was up in a tree, dancing on a branch I could not reach and laughing at me. I craned to see her.

  “I want to see,” I shouted up to her. “Bring down the treasures!”

  She laughed and flitted away. A few minutes later, a large, spotted mushroom hit me on the head. It was as big as Whryling, but she had no problem throwing it down for me to see the unique designs on it. A few seconds later, I was picking up a stone—smooth, light and more white than gray. She dropped a piece of cloth; it was ripped with strings hanging off of it, and it was black. Suddenly, young as I was, I did not think much of Whryling's treasures.

  ***

  The rest of the day we spent in the forest, hiding from the sunrays and following tree roots and strange paths we made up. I had stuffed the treasures into a hollow tree truck; Whryling was too scatterbrained to care, and we enjoyed ourselves. In the back of my mind though, I could not forget the piece of black cloth or what that might mean.

  When the shadows grew long and we had lost ourselves too thoroughly to find our way back, Whryling, suddenly exhausted, flopped down in a grassy hollow, wrapped in leaves. Just at the right moment, Luthín stepped out of the woods and came toward me with her hands outstretched. It seemed as if no matter what I did or where I went on top of our mountain, whenever it grew dark and my playmates left me,
Luthín would appear. Maybe she followed all day long, unseen, always watching, or maybe she simply knew. “Come, Myran, it's time to go home,” she said, every time. This time, she said the same thing; she looked calm as always, shimmering in her pale colors. I walked into her arms, and she lifted me up to carry me home. I felt her heart beating quickly, and then faster than usual, she rushed me back to safety.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Goodbye

  “News! News!” A voice rang out like a bell, alarming the world. I heard the sound of thunder. It wasn't my waterfall. Immediately, I felt my body go rigid. “Where are you? Where are you? Good news!”

  Even the words could not quell my fear; I dropped the pocket of vegetables I was chewing on for the first meal. Through round eyes, I saw Luthín rise and Tilyon stand at the entrance of the cave. Sunlight streamed in, lighting up every dark corner, and I waited for her to sweep me up and hide me while death and devastation destroyed them. I felt the numbness in my mind taking over. I did not realize the voice was calling for a joyous occasion; my flashbacks were too vivid. And then she was beside me, taking me in her arms and whispering in my ear, “It's all right; it's okay. Come back, Myran. It's only a friend coming with good news. It's all right; it's okay, Myran. Myran...”

  Slowly the dark vision receded, and I hiccupped. Only then I realized that I had been holding my breath. I looked into her eyes; she was sure of her words. Her clearish eyes took on the color of sunlight and warmed me, letting me know this time it was all right and that the thunder was not going to claim her.