Previously...

It had grown quiet and still beyond the entrance to Yorres’ cave, and the rapidly cooling ground had encouraged the last of the summer crickets to do some singing. So it is early autumn, then, Yorres thought absently. The three of them sat in silence, turning Yorres’ story over in their minds. Rowan looked uncomfortable, for that had been the day she and Yorres had argued by the forest’s edge – about her leaving, about his vision. It had ended poorly, she mocking him and him tramping off in a fury. But he was not to tell that part of the tale.

“I thought long and hard on the words Sluggs had told me that day,” Yorres continued, “and I studied the words and symbols of making and opening. I determined that not only was it possible pass through the veil, but that it would take strikingly simple spellcraft to create the effect. Through some practical application and evocation, I learned in this very room that what Sluggs had said then was true – I lacked the skill and power to little more than open a tiny crack into that place, and I could hold it open for but a moment.”

“So wait, wait,” Fledermaus interrupted. “Sluggs basically told you point blank that you shouldn’t pass through the veil. So you went home and immediately tried to do just that?” He shook his antlers and harrumphed.

“Not exactly,” Yorres replied. “If I understand what Sluggs was saying correctly, it would have been impossible to pass over in any event. For starters, I simply didn’t possess the ability to do it alone. In addition, to pass through that veil without some sort of divine protection was tantamount to suicide. Even if I had been able to pull back the veil, to cross the threshold meant certain death.”

“So... What are you saying?” Rowan queried.

“I guess I was… I don’t know, curious.” Yorres sighed. He was still quite tired, but knew he had miles to go before he would sleep again. Mar Sart would have told some of his return by now, who knew how many. He looked to the door expectantly, but heard no hoof beats. “I thought, maybe if I could just see inside for a second… but it was pointless. I could see nothing beyond it but a grayish void.”

“I thirst,” said Fleder. Rowan nodded.

“As do I,” Yorres agreed. “All of this talking has dried my throat to cracking.” He stepped nimbly to a lowered area which held a natural stone basin. “Aquavitae” he croaked, and crystal clear water seemed to seep into the bowl from the earth until the basin was filled. Rowan and Fleder joined him at the pool’s edge and lowered their mouths to the cooling water. They drank until they were sated, and settled together on a large flat stone near the water’s edge, and after a moment of silence, Yorres continued, his voice echoing flatly from the surface of the pool.

“At that time, I had some idea of the changes I needed to make in my spell of opening. Firstly, I needed a more powerful reagent component than the hibiscus and orchid I had been using. Secondly, the ritual itself needed to be more intricate and elegant, which as Sluggs had predicted meant I needed a second spellcaster.” He thought for a moment, then continued, “Mytress was an obvious first choice for a joint spell, as we have had much practice together at cooperative spellcasting. However, her earlier reaction to my vision told me I should seek help elsewhere.

“I had several candidates in mind, but ultimately I sought out Quezecoatl.”

This revelation was met with stony gazes and silence, but in that silence the three of them distinctly heard slow footfalls just outside the den. Had they the time, Fleder and Rowan might have expressed surprise or displeasure. The High Priest was known to most as Queze, a large, muscular stag with a long serpentine tail terminating in a clutch of feathers. His magical head-dress was a fetish given to him by the strange and seemingly brutal deity he worshipped. This set him at some odds with the more peaceful forest philosophy. As a priest, he trained body and mind diligently so that he might hunt the sacred sacrificial beasts for his bloody alien rituals. Further, Queze was an accomplished healer and sorcerer in full spite of the fact that he paid no obeisance whatsoever to the Twin Gods. This was very upsetting to the more superstitious and devout deer, some of whom secretly accused him of heresy. Fleder and Rowan blinked at Yorres in blank surprise.

“There is no more time,” Yorres whispered hurriedly. “Listen to me now, and keep secret that which I say; I have passed beyond that veil and have returned with more than idle knowledge. I have received a great prophecy, a truth that is to come which will change the Forest forever and will touch every deer in the Endless Forest. I speak of the Lightbringer who is to come, who will be greater than any in ability and influence.” Yorres stopped, and swallowed. The outside footfalls now clicked inside the immediate cave entrance. In a voice as quiet as running water, Yorres whispered, “This shall be the shining one, who will be called Morningstar…”

“Welcome home, Lightbringer,” a warm voice echoed from the doorway. The three of them started a little, then slowly rose. “A little bird told me you had finally come home, so I thought I’d come looking for you.”

A great stag stepped into the candlelight, and Yorres, Rowan and Fleder immediately expressed different signs of relief. Yorres even laughed and trotted forward to embrace his old friend.

“Greetings, Virgil,” he said, stepping back to look his friend in the eyes again. By the shining expression on the strong, brown deer’s face he could tell Virgil was very happy to see him. The two were fast friends from their youth and were very close. When fawns, Virgil’s love and respect of the Forest and her inhabitants neatly complimented Yorres’ natural piety, wonder and curiosity. As they matured, Yorres had followed the path to spiritual enlightenment, while Virgil’s innate sense of duty, alongside his considerable strength and speed, led him down the path of a Forest Guardian, a protector of the innocent and defender of the weak. His good looks and easy-going manner belied his mature and calculating mind, which he frequently used to his advantage. Virgil was a master at reading situations, facial expressions and body stances.

As he smiled and bowed deeply to Rowan and Fleder (who stepped forward in turn to greet and embrace their mutual friend), in the recesses of his mind, Yorres had already begun to worry. How much had Virgil heard? He was no doubt mentally recording and cataloging their every step, word and breath even now. How long until he unraveled the entire tapestry? He had no time to worry about it now, but it worried him just the same.

“I hate to be very rude,” Virgil said politely, “but I have some great need to speak to Yorres in private. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important?”

“Not at all,” Fleder said automatically, “not at all. We were just catching up some with our long-absent comrade. I suppose we can pick this up tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course,” said Yorres. “That is if Rowan doesn’t mind.”

“Hm? Oh. Oh, no of course not.” She said, looking up suddenly. “Welcome back, Yorres,” she said again. “I think I must be off. Will you walk with me a while, Fleder?”

“Naturally, m’lady,” Fleder said nasally, bowing with mock humility. “There would be no greater pleasure.” Yorres and Virgil chuckled.

“Stand up, you nitwit,” Rowan answered, laughing and turning to exit.

“Goodbye,” said Fleder, who stood for a second looking like he was going to say something else before eventually nodding and turning to follow Rowan into the night.

“Well,” said Virgil, regarding his friend, “you’re as skinny as ever. Have you eaten yet?”

“Not really, but I seriously haven’t the time.” It was hard to tell if Virgil was really concerned or had some ulterior motive, so Yorres immediately asked him. “Who was the little bird?”

“There’s no fooling you, is there?” Virgil asked. He paced around the interior of Yorres den. The two of them had spent many a late night here, discussing their lives and problems, sharing their secrets. “It was our teacher, Magnet. And Quamar. They wanted me to find you and bring you along with me.”

“Damn,” said Yorres, pawing the stony earth. “I had hoped for some reprieve before the council sought me out. Time is a luxury I lack.”

“So, do you want to tell me?”

“What?”

“About this prophecy?”

Yorres regarded him with reproach. “Eavesdropping is a very bad habit that has many pitfalls, Virgil, one of which is hearing things out of context.”

Virgil shrugged.

“Still,” Yorres continued, “you would do well to keep any little you did overhear to yourself for the time being.” He took a long hard look at Virgil. “It is my intention to reveal details regarding my trip to the elders in a public setting, when the time is appropriate.”

“And that time is not now?”

“Indeed it is not. So,” Yorres asked, a little nervously, “are you going to?”

Vir stared at him. “To what?”

“Bring me along with you?”

Virgil thought for a moment, gazing into the dancing candlelight as he slowly turned and made his way back to the entrance. “How could I? I never found you. Your old den is just as empty and dark as it has been for many months.” Yorres stepped forward and was shoulder to shoulder with his old friend, gazing out of his den and into the starlit magic that was night in the Endless Forest.

“Thank you.”

“You might want to vacate the premises for a while,” Virgil advised as the two of them stepped out into the night air. “If I found you here, others will soon as well. You may rely on that.”

“Yes, and there is still far to go. May I ask you one more favor?”

“Of course!” Virgil beamed into the moonlight.

“Where might one find Kaoori at this hour?”

Virgil considered, sorting through the vast catalogue that was his mind, then said matter-of-factly, “Likely one of the patches of violets near the old oak. Go carefully, Yorres,” he said, looking steadily into his eyes. “I am glad you are well. If it is your wish to remain unseen, conduct the business you have before dawn.” Yorres nodded his understanding. Virgil nodded in return, reared, and galloped off into the darkness.

Yorres turned around slowly, walking just inside his den. He took one last fond look around.

“Nox,” he breathed, and each and every candle was instantly snuffed.

He took a few steps away from the now trampled grass near the entrance. “Recipero,” he instructed, and the grasses sprang back to vitality, some even growing a little. It would not hide their presence in the den if someone ventured within, but it would have to do. After all, he was in some hurry now to beat the rising sun. With and huff and a rear, Yorres galloped toward the Great Oak.

Continue to Chapter Six