by Kevin Gordon
hundreds of tight yet deep rivers and dozens of smooth lakes with pure, crystal water that lay open all its secrets to the lucky traveler. The trees stretched high as if titans were reborn from ancient myth and the smell of their leaves permeated his body. He slowed his pace, listening to the birds sing in the roa, watching the small brown and green animals scurry back and forth in the underbrush, stood quietly as large furred creatures trudged through the rivers in search of food. It was at the bank of a lake that he now stood, watching a family of nusad bathing, taking long gulps of water. Three large ones, two others that seemed to be female, and an assortment of children gathered in the center, taking over the lake, for no other animals dared come near them. Their massive green-furred arms arced in the air, splashing water on each other in play and in bathing, as the males sharpened their long claws on rocks near the bank. The children danced around the adults, hiding under the water for as long as they could then springing up in a spray of water, chirping with what could only be laughter. For a moment, Graid wanted to expand his mind, experience life as they did, but resisted, feeling for a moment that it would be a form of violation. He peered down into the silvery surface of the lake, at his own reflection dancing beneath him.
Is that me? He had been traveling for a while without cleaning himself, and his face was caked with dirt, his hair matted close to his head. He lifted an arm to smell himself. I have been out here too long. No wonder people turned away from me. I need to bathe, and groom myself. He dunked his face deep in the water, feeling its coolness run down his neck and chest, washing away the oily grime. It took a while but eventually he felt cleaner and saw more of a glow in his reflection in the water. His muddy shadow drifted away from him, fading into the reeds and sand. A few of the cubs noticed him bathing, and one ventured over towards him. It took slow, careful steps, looking back to his friends who watched in silence. As it came closer to Graid, he became still, watching it plant one paw after the other in the water, trying to be quiet. It drew close to Graid, its nose rising in the air, its mouth opening slightly to taste the scents around him, revealing short yet sharp teeth that were just beginning to be useful.
You might not like what you smell, my friend.
Suddenly it stood up, rising as high as it could, its front paws extended in the air. It could only manage four or five feet, but it roared as hard as it could, baring small teeth and little claws. Graid smiled for a moment, then feigned terror, running back into the forest, as he heard the others roar along with the small cub. He stopped at a small hill, where he could still see the glittering lake and the small, brave nusad as it returned to its family.
Lying against a tree Graid slipped into a light sleep. In his dreams, he thought of all the worlds he had visited, all the people he had connected with. Seemingly on every other world, the cycle of birth and family was the core of their existence. On some, technology and advancement, power and wealth overran this cycle, replacing it with greed and envy, sloth and sin. It was on the more primitive worlds Graid felt a balance, though a harsh one. He dreamed of a world technologically advanced that had a balance, where family and love overrode the desire for wealth and power, where knowledge and curiosity flourished, where development of the mind was married with development of the body and where the people rose to be those of Kal instead of mere souman beings. He woke with the sun high above him, hearing the nusad make their way through the forest, headed for cool shadows and long rests.
Balance. That is the key. I feel as though we disturbed that balance, long ago, and all we face, Rell and Novan alike, is rooted in that mistake. My own creators ruined that balance with me, and I must solve it, before I could hope to solve the balance between our two worlds.
As he pressed further northwards, he could feel the slight chill of the approaching winter. The trees were growing thin, the bloom of flowers losing their radiance as all around him prepared for the long cold embrace. He sat by a river that had begun to freeze over, leaving only its center fluid. Graid sat within the folds of a tree, nestling into a natural cocoon of grass and leaves. He drifted in and out of sleep, feeling his thoughts grow more still, more in tune with everything around him. He watched as an unghot crawled slowly towards the river. Small, with a thick brown coat of tough, spiky fur, and an often disagreeable disposition, it dragged a branch filled with dead, small rodents hooked onto its spines. He watched it sniff around the banks of the frozen river, prodding hard with its nose. Something caught its eye, as it began to beat on a small spot with its paws, thick with hardened callouses. A thin layer of ice broke, and it pushed its way in, dragging the branch of rodents with it. Graid watched as its silhouette could be seen beneath the icy surface, scratching and pushing.
What are you doing, my friend?
The unghot emerged, and ran quickly back into the forest, leaving the dead rodents inside. A little while later, Graid woke to the rustle of leaves. Almost a dozen unghots were making their way towards the spot in the ice, dragging along their own branches filled with dead rodents. They all crammed into the icy tomb, going back and forth, bringing leaves in from the shore. After a while, all was quiet.
You’re settling in for winter, aren’t you? I’ve heard of animals that can survive being frozen alive, to be thawed with the spring, and come back to life. No predator will find you in there, and even if they did, they certainly couldn’t reach you, could they? Graid smiled. To disappear from sight, becoming all but dead to a deadly foe, and wait for a new roa of warmth and promise. He thought for a moment of the Rell, of Rellcine, hidden under the surface of Novan. If we buried a shelter, deep in Novan, just in case, some part of us would survive, should the worst occur. He looked back on the river, forgetting where the unghots buried themselves. One’s eyes must always be open, their mind always receptive to new ideas. Salvation may come when least suspected, answers buried in riddles ancient and complex.
He stood, stretching out his arms, letting out a yawn. His nose picked up the scent of something roasting far off.
Maybe it’s time I rejoined civilization, for a while.
Graid labored with careful steps, climbing a steep rockface with few footfalls and many frozen patches of ice. The sun was out, but it was a stingy beast, sparing little heat for the mountainside he travailed on, yielding dominance to vicious cold air currents that swirled and stung. Every once in a while he would pause and look back, the great verdant forest sprawling beneath him with three wide rivers slicing quickly through its body. There were no boundaries to be seen—the world yawned beneath him as a lazy companion, quiet, yet pulsing with life. There was such depth to this vista; trees, with roots that dug deep into the earth, rivers and lakes with depths could not be seen that held the teeming masses of life. He felt that with each step, he could see it more as a totality, gain some keener understanding of its workings. He saw the ice melting from the mountains into the small streams, flow into the lakes and oceans, saw the trees siphon nourishment from the banks of the water to grow the multitude of fruit that fed the animals living nearby. He felt the rain and thunder, the heat and dryness, and now, the cold chill. He never appreciated nature that much—saw it more as a dressing or adornment for his quarters. New to him was this concept of the cyclical nature of life, of birth and rebirth. On Novan time felt more linear—buildings never died, they were maintained. People may die, but another almost identical in appearance would be born somewhere on the massive planet. Life was churned and digested on Novan, a constant taken for granted. Here, every leaf was precious, every bush used for cover and every branch used to mount an assault on prey were equally indispensable. Graid didn’t know where he fit into this mechanism of creation, but he at least was beginning to understand it.
It felt good to Graid to use his muscles for something other than training, focus them on constructive purposes rather than destructive ones. The action of climbing was a satisfying one. It required careful balance, excellent sight, good hearing, and an intuition that was acquired rather than innate. Twice he al
most fell the full length he climbed, once only saved by dumb luck. The old Graid could easily have sailed above the mountain, or destroyed it with a few blows of energy. But he learned so much more approaching it like this. He came to understand the mountain and himself as well. One could only think so much, before the rockface demanded attention again. Even now, he slipped—
Whew.
—and only barely gained his balance. The Drugghid was nothing compared to this range. Graid knew any other climber would need at least three roas to come up this way. Around him many birds circled, curious as to his intentions on their territory.
I’m sure you fought hard for your nests, wherever they are. I’ll not disturb them. I just need to make it around them and a little further to the top.
He reached up a hand, and could find nothing to grab onto.
Could it be?
He clambered up, throwing his legs over, balancing on a thin ridge half the width of his body.
But it is beautiful.
He had reached the top. Beneath him was the Valley of Fellmis, where silver mists of water danced as thousands of delicate ribbons, shaped
