The Wood Gatherer
The frost would come and the winds would come, and the sky itself might open upon them, and they would want for wood. No ungrateful people existed like a people cold and wet, nor were there a people so cheery but had a fire and tales-and he could read the clouds. Those clouds bespoke of a quick burst of chill air, and for all he knew a demon of frost behind, for all the bright sun he could see. And though the sun was bright, he set forth from the tent, knowing it would be best if he set his hand to gathering wood. His wife followed him with eye most curious-was she not the one who gathered? Did he not expect her to provide for them? He waved to her to look after the children-it was his suspicion-his alone-that there was something in the air. And he wished for her to stay close to the encampment, at least for this day.
What manner of coldness did he expect? Only such as he knew in his dreams, or that the old men spoke of, for old men knew cold. There was no gray-haired man that could not speak of some terrible winters that had befallen, nor curse it, nor point out scars of frostbite, nor tell the harrowing tale of how he had yet survived. His dreams were of a coldness so terrible it would make the heart quicken, and the flesh stiffen, and all those who survived it would carry a terrible tale. He even imagined such a change in the weather as he gathered-and passed his fellows.
Ekar-he of the bright bow, who would slay the timid hart for their meals-he, did he meet first, and so waved to him.
"Lo! Man, this be a desert-you are after wood?"
"This is merely a plain, and the wood old-let me be-we'll have want of it."
"I tell you-we'll have little use of it. See-is the sun not bright? Hot-I say this week entire we will know warmth, and there will be not even rain-better you should think to find food for us all…take up the arrow and bow, and feed your people."
"I say no-for I feel a chill."
And though the sun rose and was warm, still, he could look into the face of that yellow disk and feel the cold. No-there would be a frost, and the ground would be hard. And he could even feel his flesh stiffen against that cold wind. So he yet ventured forth.
And came to the tent of Hijad, the healer, whose daughter all had come to know. She was fair of skin, and pretty, and yet she was to be the healer, and so all men knew to treat her as sacred-a thing set apart. Even though he by day did sometimes compare her to his wife, and not always to his wife's favor.
"How goes it, Hijad?"
"It goes as it will! All things go to the discretion of the gods, whether it please us, or no!"
"Uh-fine, Hijad, as you have said. I go to gather wood."
"Go-but I think you will not stave off this cold we will see. Still better to be engaged in this time…better to be in this time…"
And then Hijad turned his face away as his foster-daughter arose, she of green eyes and lovely hair. She peered from the tent, and spoke.
"Today, there is something in the clouds-I can imagine a foreboding!"
"A storm, I think, my lady!" the wood gatherer said.
"A storm, Hijad! I agree-there is something I can feel." Cassandra answered.
Hijad shook his head. "A storm is an easy thing-even an old woman, any old woman, might feel in her bones that a storm comes. But you-I sense power in you to see greater things than the change on the wind-so tell me-what do you see?"
She lifted her hand to her forehead, as she sometimes would when seeing the sight beyond sight. "A man, injured. His arm is sore, but he bleed only a little, and needs not a tight bandage-only healing words…" And then she smiled in Hijad's direction. It was Shinat, who shirked work more often than not with some illness-made up. Lo, but in a few beats, his shuffling form could be seen-he, a man whose oldest daughter was quick with child, and so he already saw himself an elder. And he gripped one arm in his other arm, as if wounded.
"Too easy, Cassandra!" Hijad spoke, but laughed. "I see you grow strong in knowing your people though! Long may it stand you good stead!"
The wood gatherer felt himself out of place in this conversation, and so went out to seek some kindling and timber for to fuel the fires they would need. And he was surprised that there were some bushes, and ancient trees, that would yet give forth their wood. Even though the soil was like a desert, barren of the goddess' blessing, here and there were yet signs of life-and he cut loose the branches where he could.
The stillness fell upon him as he cut the limbs, and he fell into the dream. Even as warrior before him had fallen, he could see the future, vast, before him. He wondered. He fell-into a dream.
What if it was no frost that would befall, but the twilight of the gods? What if it was the end of time? Could there be something worse than frost, or hunger, or the sickness that claimed children? What would befall his wife and sons even then? How should they endure? And as these questions raced in his mind, he continued to search out the wood.
And then he heard it-before he even saw, a hum, a vibration-a change in the wind. What would this be? What could this be-he did not even feel cooler-but only more heated-and then he * saw *--
What race of men were these, if men they were? Half men, half-horse were these! No-but he had seen men who rode the horse-were they such riders as the tribes of Scythia-the Lydian-nay, for those were…
And the men bore down upon him, and he saw that they had such faces as only gods might wear-terrible, terrible faces.
"My wife, and my children!" he thought. "How can I keep them from the cold?" He ran, trying to escape these demons, the bundle of sticks still in his hand. He ran, and felt his feet grow wings, even as the messengers of the gods had. Could he not feel himself part of the wind as he ran? But he would not surrender the timber-no-how else should they all stay warm?
No, he ran. He ran, and yet the breath of the horse touched him, and so he must, no, he could not help but feel the sticks fall from his hands. And the piercing…the sharp sense of mortality and the dying. How? Oh how?
How could they all be kept from the cold? Would they not be so cold? He felt the shudder of the change in the air, even as he stiffened against the earth.