Previously...

He closed and opened his eyes and sniffed, raising his head. He knew instantly he was in the presence of the feathered deer, Rowan, who always smelled faintly of snowfall.

She had told him once her people were nomadic and lived in a mountainous realm far past the furthest edges of the Forest, but even among them she had been an oddity. She was a majestic and steadfast hind.

Rowan was among the very first Lightbringers and a close friend and confidant of the magician in times past, but of late their relations were strained. The peahen, perhaps troubled by her tragic past, was more and more frequently leaving the Forest to wander nearby realms. Yorres, more and more obsessed with his magics, with his answers and theorems, scarcely noticed her absence. When Yorres first mentioned the idea of finding a path into the phantom zones, Rowan had laughed. Rowan had been out wandering on the night of the full moon when he had crossed over.

“Well, he stirs at last,” she clucked. “I suppose that means he’s merely underfed.”

“You have some explaining to do, Mister.” This quiet voice was scolding, but had a laugh behind it. Ah, it was his dear friend and comrade Fledermaus. As a young deer Fleder fled his first home and the abuse of his brother for the more pleasant climes of the Endless Forest. The solitary Yorres met him then, struck up a pleasant conversation, and the two had been thick as thieves ever since. They had walked beside and prayed to the Twin Gods together at Fleder’s first Abiogenesis. Fledermaus had been shy to the point of reticence in those times, and the naturally thoughtful Yorres had found a close friend in his mostly silent partner. Fleder found that his new companion was often absurdly silly; belying the serious stag he portrayed himself as before many. Yorres also displayed a carelessness and fearlessness he admired.

Yorres blinked upward into the grey-gold of the Forest twilight at his two friends, who stood smiling above him. He felt truly at home.

“Greetings, friends,” he yawned and stretched as he stood, joints popping stiffly back into place. “A pleasant evening.”

Rowan rolled her blue-white eyes and flared her neck feathers slightly. “And naturally, he wants to talk about the weather. Just where have you been - as if I didn’t know?”

“Hello, Rowan,” said Yorres, stepping forward and pressing his neck to hers (for this embrace was a familiar greeting among forest dwellers, often preferred over more formal and ostentatious bowing). “I have been a-wandering, oh yes.”

“I’m glad you’re safe. Jerk.” She smiled and looked around them.

“We’re alone still, I think,” said Fleder. “But probably not for long. We’d better move then.” He and Yorres briefly embraced. Yorres wanted to tell them both everything, right here and now, but knew he should be more prudent. He needed time, time to think and parse out who needed to know which parts of his tale. Surely many would believe none of it, but if he could keep the separate spheres in the air long enough the prophecy would simply come to pass. How exactly he was going to pull off this miracle remained a mystery to him.

“…this shall be the shining one, who will be called Morningstar,
And the lord of shadows will hear his voice and tremble…”

His ears rang with the oracle’s words, and his vision swam. Fleder propped him up on one side until his feet were under him. Somewhere nearby, a branch snapped on the forest floor.

“We will talk as we walk.” Yorres sniffed and tilted his head in the direction of his hidden den. Rowan and Fledermaus nodded solemnly. The three of them strode side-by-side out of the glade and into the slowly darkening old forest.

They walked for many minutes in total silence, only their footfalls betraying their passage. This was the way of most of their many, many long walks through the Endless Forest – silent, side-by-side, the comfort of being among friends who had no need to fill the wood with idle chatter. Questions burned in the minds and hearts of Rown and Fleder, to be sure, but for now it was good enough just to be together again, the three of them walking in silence, like in the old days.

“We have company you know,” said Rowan. “Been following us since the glade.”

“Should we split up?” Fleder suggested. “We can regroup later at the secret den.”

“Unnecessary,” said Yorres. “I have much to tell and little time to tell it. I’ll wager most everyone in the Forest will soon know this part. Only about half of them will believe it, hopefully.”

“Won’t be long before Walter or Sluggs catches wind of your heroic return.” Rowan said sarcastically, making a face so serious that all three of them started laughing.

“Something like that.” Yorres replied, composing himself. “And besides, the two of you already know the first bit.”

~

He had been scrying near the triple stones, called Deermuda by some, by the blue light of the waxing Imbolc moon, no less, on a spring night colder than any he could remember. His basin had been a natural one, of ice and snow. The candles, of course, had been provided by the Gods themselves.

“Lux.” He intoned, and the candles leapt to flame, melting the nearby snow. The water flowed into Yorres’ basin. Then it seemed as though the bowl were filled with moonlight. Dipping his antlers into it, he said the old words, whose pronunciation would be unknown to those who heard, but their meaning was this:

"The serpent will come from the hole
On the brown Day of Bride,
Though there should be three feet of snow
On the flat surface of the ground."


The surface rippled and bubbled. Yorres waited in silence as the snow fell around him.

The surface stilled. He saw himself in the reflection, but not as he was. In the image he stood before a shimmering grey curtain. His image bowed to the curtain, which opened. From within stepped a fawn with a pelt as white as the moon herself, with strangely large and expressive blue eyes. The fawn gazed upon him, and he bowed. They exchanged words, and he did not hear them.

A snowflake struck the image and it was lost.

Continue to Chapter Three