A Leopard in the Mist

by S E Turner

  'Well, it's not going to happen right now is it?' Arneb sat next to Skyrah and put a caring arm around her. 'Please don't worry yourself.'

  'It's all going to change, isn't it. Why can't everything just stay the same?'

  But as Arneb cradled her distraught friend, things were changing in the hut on the hill.

  Chapter Five

  Meric skidded outside Namir's hut and burst in unannounced.

  'Namir, Lyall, you must come quickly!'

  Lyall shot up off his low chair first. 'What is it? Please tell me it's not Laith.'

  The physician's anguished face told him what he already knew.

  'We are not too late, are we?' Namir dreaded the answer even as he said the words.

  Meric's look was sombre. 'No, Namir, but I don't think he will last much longer. He is asking for you both.'

  The brothers looked at each other. Lyall was already climbing into his fur coat, and with shaking arms, helped Namir into his. With fur boots already keeping them warm, Meric led the small procession. The long walk up the mound was the most difficult challenge they had ever faced. Even with everything they had been through, nothing had prepared them for this. Not a word was spoken, just the immense weight of emotions filled the ghostly night air, as neither wanted to confront what would be waiting for them at the top. They didn't even feel the bitter cold biting into their weeping faces, or the snow crunching beneath their feet. They climbed the unbearable path together with Meric's torch as their only source of light.

  Chay was waiting at the entrance with her head low. Even she was numb to the berating elements and couldn't look at the brothers. Her face was too stained with tears. Instead she drew back the thick aurochs hide and let them all in.

  Lyall held back to allow Namir in first and stood for a while adjusting to the frail figure before him. Laith had deteriorated so quickly. He couldn't believe that it was only the day before he had seen him. Now he lay shrunken into the bed, his grey face sagged into the pillows, and what little muscle he did have had melted off his bones overnight.

  His eyes opened to the sound of Namir's voice. 'My son, my precious son,' his voice was fragile and without strength.

  'I am here, Father. Don't strain yourself please.'

  'Where is Lyall?' he just about managed to say the words.

  Lyall knelt by his side and took his hand. The hand that was once extended to offer him sanctuary, the hand that reached out to him for forgiveness on the mountain, the hand that held him close as he went into battle, and now here was the same hand being offered as a parting embrace .

  'I am here, Father. Please save your strength.'

  'I have no strength left, my boys.' The whisper was slow and laboured.

  'Just rest. Please don't talk,' Namir pleaded.

  'I have to speak—I have little time left.' He stopped to take in air. 'I love you both so much. You have brought me so much happiness. I leave my legacy in you.' A tremulous smile touched his face.

  Namir was sniffing back the tears as Laith steadied himself again.

  'I have something for you, Namir... here... in my right hand... take it... please.'

  Namir prised his father's fingers apart to reveal an exquisite gold locket. Namir knew immediately what it was. He opened it to reveal a beautiful miniature painting of his mother.

  'I can't take this, Father. It has to stay with you.' He looked at Lyall.

  'Please... I have spoken with Lyall. He is happy... really... please.'

  'Are you, Lyall? Are you happy for me to have this?'

  'Brother, I had been lucky enough to spend fourteen years with our mother, while you had only two. You cannot remember her beauty, how gentle and funny and caring she was. I have a picture of mother constantly in my head, and you will, too, if you have this locket.'

  'Lyall, that is more than love. That is more than generous. I cannot find the words to say.'

  'I love you, brother. You have shown me how to be gallant, gracious, and loved. Please take it as a token of my love for you.'

  Namir put the locket round his neck and kissed it. 'Thank you.'

  Laith coughed weakly from the back of his throat. 'Be happy with Skyrah... you were made for each other... the thought of you growing up together... has touched my heart. And Lyall... my firstborn son... there is a wife for you... closer than you think. I'm sorry we didn't have longer together... but... you had the most wonderful mother taking care of you.' A stab of pain stopped him, and his fingers grabbed Lyall.

  Lyall kissed the fleshless hand amid his watering eyes and running nose. He wanted to say a thousand words in response, but nothing came out. 'Take care of each other boys ... you are a leader now, Namir... and you are a king now, Lyall... rule wisely... rule together...' His face winced with pain again, his breathing was shallow. He croaked the last few words. 'I will always be with you.'

  His eyes closed. The pained breathing was unbearable. It got slower and slower. Namir sank down beside his father's skeletal frame. Lyall watched Namir's head rise and fall with each breath. Lyall couldn't move. He held on to the ancient hand until it went limp. Then he knew. With one last sigh, the breathing stopped. Namir held him with all his might, held his head back and let out an anguished wail.

  Skyrah heard his cry .

  She sat up and looked straight at Arneb. 'Did you hear that?'

  'Yes, what is it?'

  'It's Namir. I must go to him. He needs me.' They both climbed into their furs and hurriedly made their way to the source of the cry. They were not alone. Everyone had heard it and were heading in droves to the leader's hut.

  Before the community descended, Zoraster staggered over to his old friend and kissed both cheeks. Without a word, he hugged Namir and then went to embrace Lyall. He looked at Meric, then at Chay and nodded, he then crouched low and took himself out of the tent.

  'Should I go with him?' asked an anxious Lyall.

  'No, leave him,' said Meric. 'He has already instructed us not to follow.'

  'But why? He will freeze to death out there.' Lyall went to put on his coat and get Zoraster back inside, but Meric stopped him.

  'He has made me promise him, Lyall. This is his way, we cannot interfere.'

  'Interfere with what?'

  'He has spoken to the spirits. He wants to prepare the funeral pyre on his own.'

  'What? Right now? Why can't it wait?'

  'I don't know. We have to respect him, Lyall. It's what he wants. We cannot interfere.'

  Lyall called to his brother. 'Namir, please.'

  But he was blind to what was going on around him. Immersed in grief, he sobbed into his father's thin frame. Skyrah came in and fell at Namir's side. it was only then that Namir let go of his father's body and held on to her tightly. Arneb stood at the entrance in disbelief.

  'What happened, Meric?' Skyrah wanted to know. 'Yesterday he was fine.'

  'We cannot know what the gods decide, Skyrah. We cannot plan or predict life and death.'

  'But I had no time to say goodbye properly,' whispered Namir.

  'But you have, Namir. Both you and Lyall have been here every day. He got to know his other son. He knows your love for him. He knows that you are fine men and that it was time for him to go.'

  'I was not ready, though,' he cried.

  'But he was ready Namir, and the gods were ready for him. He has no use of his old worn body anymore. He is with Canagan and Artemisia. He is flying with them now.'

  Lyall didn't register the symbolism, but Namir did, and suddenly felt more settled knowing that they were all together again. He could almost see them welcoming Laith with outstretched arms. Perhaps they had gone back to being children once more, just like Namir wanted to: the three of them playing and talking for endless hours about the future. He cradled that thought for a while and it made him smile. Was there really a place full of love, peace and harmony? Or was it just found in one's own heart? How cruel the real world is, he thought to himself, and soon he too was longing to be transpo
rted back to the time where he was without worry or concern, just living on wild hopes and unexplainable dreams for an endless happy future.

  'Come, Namir,' said Meric, jolting him out of thought. 'I have to address the crowd now. Will you join me?'

  Namir looked anxiously at Lyall.

  'You go, brother. You have a community who want to welcome you. I will be right behind you.' He threw a thin smile and gave Namir the strength that he needed.

  Meric made his way outside and stood at the entrance. The air was cool, but not freezing anymore. Above, the clouds moved quickly to allow the bright full moon some access. People did not shiver now. A blanket of warmth and love cradled each and every one of them. The thaw was on its way. And with the thaw comes new beginnings.

  When all was hushed, Meric began his accolade. 'Friends, comrades, brothers and sisters of the clan. Tonight, our great ruler died.'

  A gasp went up from the crowd and tears flowed.

  'He died in peace with his sons at his side. He is at rest now.' His voice was shallow.

  The men were shocked, the women wept silently.

  'I know that all of you have looked up to Laith and respected him throughout your life. He has been a great man, a great friend, a great father and a great leader. I know he will be missed.'

  As the crowd looked up to him, Namir stepped out of the hut with Skyrah at his side, and Meric continued.

  'Laith would not want tears now. He would want you to rejoice and celebrate his life. He would want you to go forward into the future with strength, dignity and fortitude. He has set the way. It is now Namir's destiny to rule. This is Laith's son; this is your new leader. Embrace him, pray to the gods for him. Namir will now rule the Clan of the Mountain Lion, and with Skyrah at his side, they will offer you the same support and guidance, and they will lead you into a peaceful new era. For they, and their children, are the future.

  Chay kissed Laith's forehead and covered his body with the white shroud. On the morrow he would be raised on to the pyre being prepared by Zoraster and his body offered to the gods. She heard the cheers go up for Namir, their new leader, and his wife to be, and watched as Lyall put an arm around the new hare in his life.

  Chapter Six

  'Meric says the pyre will be lit at midday tomorrow,' said Lyall as they descended the hill together.

  'And that we should prepare any words we want to say by then,' reminded Namir.

  'I will collect some Rowan berries to lay on the pyre,' said Skyrah. 'To feed his soul in the afterlife.'

  'I think I will have time to forge a spear that will protect him on his journey.'

  'Thank you, Arneb.' Lyall touched her arm and his eyes softened. 'That is so kind of you.'

  She looked to the ground. The moment didn't go unnoticed between Namir and Skyrah.

  'Laith chose my name when I was born; it's a very protective name, so I want to repay the gesture.'

  'What does your name mean?' asked Namir with interest.

  'It means special hare,' she said with pride.

  'That is so beautiful,' Skyrah sang out. 'And so meaningful that Laith chose it for you. '

  'I know. I am blessed, and I feel that I will always have a part of him with me.'

  Namir smiled and looked at Lyall.

  'All four of us have a part of him,' he said gallantly. 'And that is the legacy he has left us.'

  'I understand now what Meric meant about embracing his life and rejoicing for him in the afterlife,' said Lyall.

  'We are sad, but he has touched all of us in some way,' said Skyrah.

  Lyall then thought of Zoraster. 'I hope that Zoraster is back now. Did anyone see him return?'

  'I can't say I did,' said Namir. 'But there were so many people up there, he could easily have slipped in unnoticed.'

  'He needed some time on his own, Lyall,' Skyrah guessed. 'He has just lost his greatest friend.'

  'That's what I am concerned about, though.'

  The next morning the whole community was awake early. Arneb had donned her apron and huge gloves and was making a start on the spear. Skyrah had gone to the Rowan tree to collect her star shaped berries and decided she would make a rune stave as well with the precious wood. Namir was preparing his eulogy, and Lyall had gone to check on Zoraster.

  The day had started off crisp and clear with a warm glow amid a crimson sky. There were a few heavy clouds appearing over the mountain, he noticed, but they were too far away to bother the clan on this day of mourning. A scattering of snowdrops were beginning to poke their heads up through the softening soil. That always heralded a change in the seasons. Everyone welcomed these jolly souls because they indicated that warmer weather was on its way. He side- stepped graciously and made his way to Laith's hut, following the rise that he had climbed so often before. He remembered the first audience he had there as a young boy: cold, alone and terrified. He smiled when he thought of Skyrah holding his hand throughout it all. How he needed her on that day. That feeling of dread and anguish would never leave him, and he shivered at the memory. Yet, here he was now, with that same feeling of dread, not knowing what to expect, not knowing what was in store for him. The same shiver went down his spine.

  The moment fast forwarded to when Namir came out of the enormous hut and ushered him in to meet his father, and after the initial introduction, Lyall realised that Laith knew his parents. The echoes of a past life played out as a conscious thought.

  'Did you know them?'

  'Many moons ago I knew your parents, Lyall. So many moons ago now.'

  'Perhaps they knew you would look after me and that's why they sent me to you.'

  'Yes, perhaps they did.'

  A cool breeze brought him back to the moment and he ventured into the dwelling. He bent down low as he entered, and found himself in a cold, blackened space. It took his eyes a moment to adjust and then he focused. A shrouded image on the floor greeted him. There were two candles beside the body, flickering contentedly. They became more illuminated with the fresh air he brought in. They were full of life and cast a brightness in the gloom, just like the snowdrops he had witnessed all but a few minutes ago. He gasped and shivered again. There was nothing else in there; it had all been removed. Meric and Chay must have worked through the night. He knew that Zoraster would return to his old hut to see out his final days, and this one would be burnt down as an offering to the gods—to help Laith on his journey in the afterlife. He bowed to the corpse. Even in death, the image appeared strong, proud and regal. He sat on the cold floor, crossed his legs, and remained in that position, thinking, reminiscing and bringing every memory back to life. The candles danced for him while time stood still.

  'Thank you, Laith, my mentor, my guardian, my father. Thank you for finding me. Thank you for giving me a brother. Thank you for giving me my life—twice. I never really thanked you. I always thought we had plenty of time. I thought you just knew how I felt.' He shrugged. 'But I should have told you. I should have told you many times over. I had already lost one father. I should have known how I would feel and not take your life for granted. I thought you would live forever.' He paused to reflect on life. 'Is that why we mourn so much in death, for the unsaid word in life? Is that why we can't let go? For misplaced promises and the lost hours that we try to grab when it's all too late?' He wore a sad thin smile and dropped his head again. Two fingers of his right hand placed a kiss on the cloth covering his body. It was like a stone statue: cold, hard, lifeless.

  Eventually he whispered his parting words. 'I hope you are with mother now. I hope Canagan is at peace.' He stood up to take his leave and looked back when he reached the doorway. 'We will be together again one day—all of us.' He turned for the final time and went to the only other place that Zoraster could be: the standing stones.

  The views from there were breathtaking, and the immense weathered boulders stood proud like old decorated guardsmen with their white patches of lichen and beards of tangled moss. Lyall gazed off towards the rising sun, and w
itnessed the rays tinge the surface of the mountain range. A shiver passed through his bones. The wind had picked up pace on the higher ground, and as he entered the sacred circle, he was transported to another zone again. This was the time he witnessed the name giving ceremony, where Zoraster had administered the tattoo onto little Arran's arm. He relived the moment the blood drained from his face and how his hands flew over his ears to block out the cries. He could hear those same sounds again, deafening in the silence, and Orla's wails begging the spirits to give her tiny boy the strength to overcome his pain. Everyone just stood there” watching, waiting, mesmerised. He remembered all too vividly how shocked he was. How he really believed that a baby was about to be sacrificed. He smiled at the memory, for now Arran was so proud of his eagle tattoo and showed it off to anyone who would take the time.

  He snapped out of his trance and looked around. At first, he didn't notice them, but then he saw Meric kneeling by the pyre, hunched over a frozen figure. At once he knew. He flew to Meric’s side and stood there disbelieving what he was confronted with.

  Meric looked up at him, immersed in deep remorse. 'You were right to be concerned and I'm so sorry.'

  Lyall breathed in deeply and ran anguished hands through his thick black hair. He paced about exhaling heavily. 'Has he been here all night?' he managed to say but already knew the answer.

  'He must have. He didn't come back while Chay and I were with Laith. Then we left to go home, and I assumed Zoraster had found somewhere else to spend the night.'

  'It seems he did.'

  'I had no idea that he would do this. He said that he wanted to prepare the pyre on his own. He told us he needed to be with the spirits.'

  Lyall looked up to the skies and shook his head. Breathing in deeply and sighing in despair, he was at pains and distraught. 'Does Namir know?'

  'No one knows. I am the first one here.' His voice was low and sad. 'The pyre has been built and been made for two people.'