Author: bekern

I write, draw, and make stuff in general.

The Faded Kingdom – Chapter 13

As the Human walked, the air grew warm and dry. More than once, the Human had to stop and cough as the air filled with with a fine ash. The ground was studded with burnt stumps of trees, and the blackened bones of small animals who had not escaped the blaze. The ground took on a glassy look, as if from a fantastic heat. Strangely, as the devastation grew worse, signs of life could be found. A blade of grass pushed through a crack in the baked ground, while a tiny leaf was just budding from the side of a blackened stump. The air was a mix of ash, heat, and the occasional whisper of spring. The sky was nearly pitch black above, with just a sliver of Sunset  to be seen ahead. Turning, the Human noted a slight glow that resembled the light just before dawn. It was so faint as to seem illusory. The Human turned back towards the Sunset and trudged down the path.
The air became uncomfortably warm. The earth itself radiated heat, and, in the deeper cracks, embers flickered. A hot breeze fanned the embers to life as it brushed past, but there was no fuel left to feed the embers into flames. The path began to slope downward sharply, and the Human could see that the path descended into a large bowl-shaped depression. It appeared to be headed to the heart of the devastation, a large mound of burnt wood, still lit with fitful coals.
As the Human drew close, the mound of wood resolved into what seemed to be a huge nest, carefully woven from wood the size of the Human’s wrist. The nest sat just to one side of the path, at least 10 paces across, with the lip rising chest-high to the Human. The heat emanating from it was nearly unbearable. Hot gusts pushed out, forcing the Human to lean forward to make progress, one arm raised to both light the way and provide protection from the ash. As the Human drew even with the nest, it shuddered, and the air suddenly cleared as a new, even hotter wind blew away the ash. The coals in the nest flared nearly back to life, and the Human staggered back. The crystal was no longer needed to see the path, as the glow from the nest was nearly as bright as a torch. The Human drew closer to the nest, peering over the edge to see the source of the heat. Inside, sat an egg, as wide as the Human was tall. The shell was a glowing pearl white, with streamers of red, orange, and yellow light flowing over its surface. Blue and green sparks played around it, as it began to rock slowly back and forth. Fascinated, the Human stood and stared, too enraptured by the beauty to be afraid.
The sparks flew more densely as the egg shivered and with a sound like nearby thunder, a crack appeared across the center of the shell. Beams of brilliant crimson, gold, and white flew from the crack, forcing the Human to raise a hand protectively. The air vibrated, not with a true sound, but with a palpable joy. The crack in the egg grew wider and a metallic red beak forced its way out into the air. A head feathered in gold and orange followed. The eyes, both a crackling electric blue, locked onto the Human. The beak opened and the Firebird sang a note like the dawn after an eternal night. The Human felt tears of rapture begin to flow. For the first time since coming to this dim place, the Human knew joy.
The Firebird shouldered its way out of the shell, which turned to find white ash as it fell away from its former occupant. Shaking the ash from its feathers, the Firebird cocked its head to one side and took a cautious step towards the Human.
The Firebird sang notes of light and warmth which formed radiant thoughts in the Human’s mind. “Blessed are you who first grace my sight, O child of the Present. My rebirths come once in a thousand years, and rarely have a witness, much less one who comprehends what is unfolding. Pray, tell me what brings you here to my presence. To be born is often a lonely thing, and I thank you for sharing it with me,” it sang.
The Human drew a breath of clean, warm air and spoke, bowing as far as the edge of the nest would allow.
“Truly I am blessed to have witnessed such a miracle. I only happened to be here through an unfortunate chance. Your rebirth has been the one true moment of grace in this land and for some time before I arrived here. I seek my family, who passed into death without me. My grief brought me to the Past, and I am seeking to restore my family to me.”
“It is good that you seek restoration, rather than Oblivion. That cursed place offers not the cleansing power of destruction, only dissolution. I can see the grief at the heart of you, and would offer a way to remove it.”
“Is it in your power to restore my family to me?”, asked the Human, hopefully.
The Firebird stepped forward, perching on the lip of the nest. Its legs were covered in golden scales, and its talons shone like red gold. It shook out its tail, and spread it out into a broad fan. The pattern was similar to that of a peacock, but in ruby, topaz, and amber rather than sapphire and emerald. The warm light that shone from its feathers illuminated the blasted land around the nest. As the light drove away shadow, life began to spring forth in earnest. Blades of grass pushed through the layer of ash, and tree roots broke through the patches of fused glass. Saplings struggled out from the burnt stumps, shattering the charcoal shapes as they grew. Flowers sprouted from the cracks in the ground, which had become filled with rich soil.
“I offer rebirth, not restoration,” the Firebird sang, with an edge of sadness. “True rebirth comes through cleansing destruction. It is a joyous process, but much would be lost. You would be reborn in the Present, free of sorrow and loss. You could start anew, and find a happier path.”
“But I would not have my family with me,” said the Human.
“If you can bring them to me, I can offer them the same, but they would be washed as clean as you. You would all return to life, but at its beginning. Perhaps you would find one another again, but not as you once were.”
The Human was silent for a long moment, as life flowed through the crater, new buds blooming, leaves turning towards the Firebird for light and life. There was so much beauty in rebirth. Since the Witch had not given any way to find the Future, perhaps this was a better way. Even if the Humans family was not together, surely it was better than Oblivion?
The Human spoke slowly. “I thank you for your offer, brilliant one. It is a far kinder one than I could have hoped for. If I am unable to find a way to restore my family, then rebirth will be the path I choose. Thank you again.” The Human bowed once more, and, raising the crystal, started to move off down the path.
“Wait!,” cried the Firebird. “Bring that stone to me. Let me see it more closely.” The Human turned and lifted the crystal, the glow of which was barely visible in the radiance of the Firebird. The great talons of one foot took it gently and raised it to a sparking blue eye. The Firebird trilled quietly as it turned the stone about.
“This come from the Rock King, does it not?” asked the Firebird. The Human nodded. “You have used its light to face the Dark, as well.” The Human nodded again, but the Firebird did not appear to notice. “I believe I have another way to help you,” it sang. Returning the crystal to the Human, the Firebird reached back with its beak and pulled loose a feather from its splendid tail.
“Take this. Use it along with the other gifts you have gathered. It may be enough.”
“Enough for what?” asked the Human.
“Enough for you to face what you must,” replied the Firebird. “I cannot foresee what shape it may take, but your most difficult task is still before you. It will be dark and difficult, but I see you have the strength to face it.”
The Firebird bowed low before the Human, who returned the gesture.
“May the blessings of light and life guide you,” sang the great bird, “and may you find the love you seek.” Straightening, it spread its wings, which were feathered in the same fiery tones as its tail. It leapt into the air and soared in a spiral over the crater. Its song rang out, tones of rapture, hope, and joy. It circled higher and higher, until it appeared to become a distant yellow star.

 

The Human looked at the feather, which gave off a brilliant light far brighter than that of the crystal. It was too bright to look at for long, so the Human placed it into the turtle-shell container. It was now apparent that the shell was translucent, and the container shown a warm yellow, with streaks of brown. Again raising the crystal to light the path ahead, the Human began to climb out of the crater.

The Faded Kingdom – Chapter 12

The Human held up the crystal once more and trudged back down the path to the clearing of the great tree. The tree was now quiet and did not attempt to speak to the Human. Nor did the Human wish to talk to the tree. It now seemed that only determination would serve to find the Human’s family. Despite the promises of the Tinker and the great tree, the Witch had granted nothing but wasted time and frustration.

The Human found the original path again and set off, hoping that this side trip had not cost too much time. There was no real way to tell time here, and the Witch’s house had been so strange that the Human could not trust the memory of time passing, either. The path wound through the forest, switching directions frequently, and the Human became more and more frustrated with the slow linear progress.
After a time, the silence was broken by a deep rumbling sound, more felt through the ground than heard. It was answered by another, sharper noise. Both came from up ahead, and the Human picked up speed to see what was causing the sounds. More sounds came, growing louder as the Human approached. The leaves on the trees visibly shook, now, as insubstantial as they were, and the Human could feel the ground trembling.
Finally, rounding a last curve in the path, the forest gave way to a broad plain. The plain was strewn with broken and burnt trees, water-filled divots, churned earth, and parched patches of dried mud. The cause of this desolation was clear. In the center towered a giant of a man. His head was wreathed by the crackling glow of lightning, and he wore shimmering armor of a style the Human had never before seen. He stood so tall his face was lost to distance; only visible as a paler area wreathed by silver-streaked hair, above a great beard, and below the flickering lightning crown. He was locked in combat with a beast that the Human had only ever heard of as fiction. A many-headed dragon faced the giant. It had more heads than the Human could count, each one different from the others. It had as many tails lashing behind it. As the two fought, their footsteps caused the booming sounds the Human had been hearing. Their attacks blasted the land, and the dragons steps, especially, altered the ground as it paced.
The Human could just make out the path winding across the plain, appearing to head straight across. The giant and the dragon, however, fought astride it. The path was so damaged by the battle, the Human worried that skirting around the two would mean risking losing the path altogether. Somehow, the Human had to find a way past the two combatants.
As the Human watched the battle, hoping that the fight would move away from the path, something about this contest seemed familiar. The giant fought with a huge mace, trying to crush the dragon’s heads as they darted in to snap at him. The dragon had taken some wounds, and where they bled, the ichor smoked and burnt the ground. Other wounds leaked vermin and snakes, insects, and scorpions fell from the dragon’s flanks. The giant managed a strong blow on one head, a sinuous one with drooping mustaches, and it fell limp. As the giant turned to attack another, this one a scaly monstrosity resembling a huge black snake, the first head healed before the Human’s eyes and reared up to rejoin the battle.
The giant was not unscathed, either. As the battle raged, he turned more towards the Human, and it was apparent that he was blind in one eye, and his armor had several great rents in it. His left arm hung limp, as if the sinews had been cut. One of the dragon’s heads, this one metallic green with a horned nose, darted in towards that weakened side. The giant started back, and tripped over a fallen tree. When he hit the ground, the force was great enough to trigger a massive earthquake. The Human fell, clutching the ground, glad to be out from under the trees at this moment. Before the dragon could press the attack, however, the giant made a wild swing with his mace, clearing enough space to stand.
One of the dragon’s rearmost heads had a nearly human look. It had jet black eyes and hair and seemed reluctant to join in with its brethren. As it looked about its gaze fell on the Human standing where the path entered the plain. It stared, surprised. This, in turn, caught the attention of a fish-like head nearby, who turned to see what had caught the first head’s attention. A third and then a fourth head did the same, until all of the heads not actively fighting were staring at the tiny anomaly. At this point the giant noticed something was unusual in his opponent’s behavior, and took a step back, circling to his right to get a view at whatever was so fascinating to the dragon. This, then, caused the dragon’s other heads to look. Soon, the three of them the giant, the dragon, and the Human stood staring at one another in silence.
“Excuse me, great ones,” said the Human, bowing low. “Would it be possible for me to get past you on the path? I have far to go and not much time.”
“And where are you going?” asked the dragon head that looked nearly human.
“I am seeking the spirits of my family. They would have come this way, moving towards Oblivion. I am trying to catch up with them before they are lost to me forever.” The human dragon head nodded sympathetically.
“I understand the draw of family. I miss my wives. Back in the Present, we were so happy. Here, however, I am tied to these other aspects of myself, and unable to be with my loves.”
“Is that why you do not join the fight?” asked the Human, curiosity overcoming caution.
The black snake head whipped around to face the human head.
“You are not fighting? No wonder we have been unable to make progress.”
“I am not the only one! Leviathan was not fighting, either!” retorted the human head.
“Do not drag me into this, Kaliva! I have my own reasons for not engaging in violence with our honored opponent,” said the fish head.
“Both of you! All of you there in the back! You leave the fighting to Yamata, Jormungandr, Illuyanka, Typhon, Xianliu, Yam, Apep, myself, and a few others. Why do you not join us! We could win if we were united!” cried the black snake head.
“Zahhak, you know why I do not fight,” answered Leviathan. “I am fated to die at the end of time. As you are, Jormungandr,” Leviathan nodded at a snake-like head near the front. “Are you so eager to bring about the end of days?”
“Bah! Superstition! We are the Dragon! We cannot be slain!” answered Yamata, the head with great mustaches.
“You can, as you well know!” cried Kaliva. “Or do you forget that time you got so drunk you fell asleep and all but one of your heads was slain so fully only one of you now remains!”
“That wasn’t just me! Illuyanka drank too!,” roared Yamata.
The argument was cut short by the bellowing laughter from the giant. He was bent nearly in two, his good hand on his great thigh, shaking with mirth. His laughter was like thunder, and small bolts of lightning were shaken loose from around his head, falling to strike nearby.
“What is so funny, son of Odin?” asked Jormungandr. A green and gold snake-like head near the front sighed loudly.
“How many times do I have to tell you? That is not Thor, it is Zeus, my mortal and eternal enemy!”
“No!” interrupted a head that was hooded like a cobra. “That is Ra!”
“No! That is Yu the Great!” cried a head that resembled Yamata, but larger and with different coloring.
Soon all the heads near the front were snapping at one another, shouting the name of which enemy they thought they fought. Many the Human had heard of, but many others were novel. The heads near the back looked at one another helplessly. They seemed resigned to the squabbling, but not surprised. The giant was now seated on a nearby pile of fallen trees, drinking from a wineskin. He turned towards the Human, grinning.
“I would not try to cross when my foe is like this, little one,” came the great booming voice. “They may fight for days, and the stomping of feet and lashing of tails will be quite hazardous for such as you.”
“They seem to be arguing over who you are,” answered the Human. “How can they fight with such ferocity if they do not know you?”
“Ah, but they do. Each one sees a different aspect of me, the one it fought it life and legend. I am the Storm God, the embodiment of order and light. I have as many names as my friend here,” he gestured towards the Dragon, “has heads. He is the embodiment of chaos, in opposition to me. Although I have been known to wreak my share of destruction over the ages. We shall fight until the end of time, and then I shall finally defeat him.”
“You must have been fighting for a very long time,” said the Human, eying the destruction that stretched around the two. “Do you never tire?”
“There have been respites. As Kaliva mentioned, I have had victories, although they did not last. And I have had my setbacks as well. The sinews from my arm and my eye have been lost, and my wounds run deep. I always regain what I have lost, however. Sometimes I manage to lock my foe away under the earth for a time. Then I can find time to rest. I suspect the Dragon uses that time to recover strength as well. We always fight the more fiercely when he escapes.”
“What about those heads that do not fight?” asked the Human, walking over to sit near the Storm God.
“Ah, those. Our relationship in life and legend is not always adversarial. Kaliva reformed when defeated by Krishna, and Leviathan is not aggressive by nature. Even Zahhak has times when he becomes more like a man and steps back from the fight. He is always swayed to return to the fray, however. Jormungandr fights knowing it will be slain, but it knows it shall slay me in turn, and its hatred is so strong it is willing to pay the price to see that result.”
“You shall both die?” the Human was surprised to hear the giant speak of death so carelessly.
“In a way. When the end of time comes, both order and chaos will pass away, to be reborn in the world to come. We will end as we are and become something new. It is not so terrible a fate.”
“I beg your pardon for changing the subject, but I need to pass through here if I am to catch up to my family. I fear that if I go around, I will never find the right path in all this destruction, but the path forward travels very near the feet of the Dragon. Is there another way?”
“Perhaps. Kaliva seemed moved by your plight, as it is quite near to his own. Let me see if he is willing to help.” The Storm God cupped his hands to his mouth and blew a gust of wind towards the Dragon. When it reached its destination, the squabbling heads took no notice, but Kaliva, Leviathan, and the other peaceful heads looked up, curious. The Storm God gestured from the Human to the path, raising a great eyebrow questioningly. Kaliva nodded, and bent to confer with the rest of the rearmost heads.
After a brief conversation, the rearmost heads rose up as one, and turned towards their tails, pulling the body backwards. They were not used to exerting their will over the body they shared with their combative brethren, but with the aggressive heads distracted, they were able to get the legs to step backwards bit by bit. At the giant’s urging, the Human hurried back to the path and started along it at a fast walk, not wanting to be caught in the Dragon’s path, but not wanting to draw attention, either.
As the Human drew even with the Dragon, on of the fighting heads, a dull metal-scaled beast, caught sight of the Human passing and looked down to see that its body was moving away from its most hated foe.
“Beware my brothers!” it cried. “We are betrayed!” The other heads whipped around in response.
“Smeu! You are right!” answered Typhon. “A trick! We should have known!”
“Get it!” Called Yamata. “I hunger, and have not tasted flesh in so long!”
The forward heads surged towards the Human, and the Dragon’s feet churned as opposing instructions reached them. The ground alternately flooded and dried to desert, and poisonous ichor sprayed as wounds were stressed by the pulling. Eventually, however, the aggressive nature of the Dragon of Chaos won out and the body sped towards the Human, who was now running as fast as possible.
Fire belched from the mouth of Smeu, and other heads snapped forward, each bite coming closer to the Human with each stride. Just as the Human was covered by the Dragon’s shadow, and felt sure the end was near, the Dragon pulled short, Yamata’s teeth snapping shut a mere handsbreadth from the Human. The Dragon’s body lurched and fell heavily, as a great bellow came from behind it.
“Oho!” cried the Storm God, stepping on several of the Dragon’s tails. “You will not escape me so easily! Turn and fight! Or do you so fear me you prefer tiny prey to a true foe?”
The front heads rose as one and roared defiance. The Dragon rose to its feet and whirled around, yanking its tails from under the foot of the giant, who hopped back to avoid falling. The Human resumed running, ducking as the tails spun past just overhead, as the Dragon turned and charged its ancient foe. The Human risked a look back, and saw Kaliva looking back in return. He nodded gravely at the Human and then turned back to watch the battle. The Human, now safe from immediate devouring or trampling, still hurried across the plain, carefully staying on the path. As the distance from the battle increased, the path became clearer and wider, eventually resuming the straight and even appearance it had earlier.
As the Human walked, the sound of the struggle behind grew fainter, until all was again silent. The land grew more and more lifeless, however, and the ground took on a blackened, cracked look, like a great fire had raged here. Wary for the case of this devastation, the Human continued on.

The Faded Kingdom – Chapter 11

As the Human spoke, a strange thing happened. As the story was told, pictures arose in the air, becoming larger and more solid until it seemed that the Human and the Witch stood as invisible observers, seeing the events unfold before them.

There was a small hut, alone in the woods. It was barely a proper dwelling, and looked to have been patched together out of odds and ends from other homes. The flap of hide that covered the door pulled aside and a younger version of the Human stepped out, blinking against the light. This hut was outside the village proper, and the Human had built it as a refuge. It was a way to avoid having to face the prejudices held by those in the village and the questions as to why the Human was not yet married. The Human’s suitor had been rebuffed a month or so before, and the rumors were still sharp and cruel. The Human’s parents were not so, but they did not understand why such a favored match should be rejected. Gathering bits of scrap from the construction of other buildings, the Human had set up a small home to gain some independence and to think over recent events. A small garden stood to one side, and the Human earned coin by doing odd jobs around the village. It was an austere existence, but it was uncomplicated.
The Human might have lived as a hermit for years if not for a farmer who came from a neighboring town seeking laborers for building project. The Human volunteered and spent a week helping raise a barn. That week was to shape all that followed.
From the first, the Human was taken with the farmer and tried to find excuses for conversation, or even eye contact. This was a new feeling. Excitement, attraction, and a slight touch of nervousness were a sharp contrast to how things had felt with the suitor. The farmer, much to the Human’s delight, seemed to reciprocate the interest. By the end of the week, the farmer asked the Human to share a meal. This became a regular habit, with the two of them taking turns hosting. At first the Human was embarrassed to have a guest in such a small and simple home, but the farmer seemed wholly at ease. It seemed that there could be a real future for them.
And then that future appeared to crumble. While walking in town, the Human met one of the town elders, a woman who was much respected for her love of tradition. The woman marched up to the Human and demanded,
“What are you doing with that farmer?! You know very well that sort of thing is forbidden. I don’t know how they do things in that other town, but we won’t have that here.” She glared into the Human’s face for a long moment. “I should have known something was wrong with you when you turned down such a fine suitor. If you wish to remain in this village, you need to live as we do. I’ll see to it the council evicts you, see if I don’t.” She turned away sharply and marched back down the street. The Human stood, shocked immobile, for a long moment before carefully turning around and walking back home, refusing to give into the desire to flee.
That evening, when the farmer arrived for the usual meal, the hut was dark and the usual smell of food was absent. Opening the door, the farmer found the Human sitting at the small table, staring blankly at the embers of the dying fire.
“What has happened?” cried the farmer, hurrying to the Human’s side.
“I…,” began the Human, but only silence followed.
“Is it your parents? Are they alright?” asked the farmer, guessing at what could cause such distress. At a near whisper, the Human replied.
“I have been informed that I cannot continue to spend time with you if I wish to live in this village.”
The farmer sat down in the other chair, sagging into it.
“While it wasn’t in such clear terms, some in my town have suggested the same. I didn’t want to worry you about it. Maybe we should just leave.”
“But your farm!” protested the Human. “You have put years into building up a wonderful home! Your crops support the town!”
“Something those who whisper should have thought about before they challenged me,” said the farmer, chuckling. “My town has similar rules to yours as to who may marry whom, and it seems that my status will not buy me an exemption.”
“Marry?” said the Human in a small voice. The farmer paused a moment, reviewing that last sentence. Then, straitening, the farmer stood and walked around the table to the Human. The farmer took the Human’s hands and pulled, leading the Human to stand.
“Yes. Marry. Will you marry me?” the farmer asked, looking into the Human’s eyes with a broad smile.
“But, your farm! My parents!” began the Human.
“I didn’t ask about property law or your parents, although you know I like them well enough. I asked about you. Will you marry me?” The Human stood in stunned silence. That same question had come from the suitor, but in that case it had not been a question, but rather an offer. One that the Human was expected to accept, as the terms were so favorable. This felt very different. The Human drew up tall.
“Yes. I will!” The two stood there embracing for a long time until the farmer spoke.
“So,” came a voiced muffled by the Human’s shoulder, “are we going to eat?” The Human’s stomach growled in response and both broke out laughing, holding on to one another for support.
“I suppose we need to survive until our wedding, so starvation is unwise,” said the Human eventually. They worked together to make a meal out of what was on hand and spent the rest of the evening in happy company. For the first time, the farmer stayed the night, as it was far too late to walk home by the time the two of them had run out of conversation.
The next morning, the Human woke and found the farmer was sitting at the table, deep in thought.
“Good morning,” the Human said, rising and joining the farmer at the table. “You seem distracted.”
“I am. I am considering our options. My farm is doing well, but finding someone to buy it who can pay its worth will be a problem. Also, there are few places we will be allowed to live. Well, I am assuming there are _some_ places. None that I know of.”
“Same,” answered the Human. “What will we do?”
The two talked for a time and eventually came to a decision. The farmer would sell their farm for the best price that could be had in a reasonable time. It would not be enough to buy another farm elsewhere, though. There were places not claimed by any town or king where people could live in their own way. It would be dangerous, as that freedom came without protection. The money from selling the farm would be enough for a wagon, a mule, and supplies they would need for a homestead. They would start their own home on their own terms.
—————
On a beautiful evening, as the moon rose through the trees, the Human and the farmer stood in the clearing near their home on the edge of the forest. They held one another’s hands and made their vows before whatever gods cared to listen. They were wed.
————
A few years passed and a nearby homestead was struck by tragedy. Both parents of that household were gravely injured when their cattle stampeded, leaving them near death. That couple had become dear friends with the Human and the farmer, and they asked that the two of them take in the couple’s baby should they not recover. They agreed. When the ranchers died a day later, the Human and the farmer became parents for the first time. The sorrow of the loss of such friends was balanced by the joy of raising such a child.
————
Time passed again, and the child was now old enough to follow the Human and the farmer into the garden to pull weeds and pick insects from plants. One morning, the Human awoke and, going outside for the outhouse, found a bundle of rags outside the front door. Upon inspection, it appeared to be a pair of infants! A note explained that the mother was unable to care for one child, much less two, and that word of the couple’s adoption of the rancher’s child had reached her ears. She asked that the Human and the farmer take in these children as well. When the farmer woke a few minutes later, it was to find the Human standing in the center of the cottage, an infant in each arm, rocking quietly with a bemused grin.
“What…,” began the farmer.
“It seems that our blessing,” the Human nodded towards the sleeping child on the other side of the room, “has attracted two more!”
————
The scene blurred and faded, and the Human was again in the Witch’s house. Although it felt as if hours had passed, the tea still steamed and the fire had not burned down. But then again, time could be a warped as anything else in this strange place.
“Oh, that was a good story,” sighed the Witch. “I shall treasure it.” They held a small, glowing pearl in one hand, which they tucked into a pocket where it joined several others. The Witch patted the pocket happily.
“You have met your side of the bargain, and I shall meet mine. In order for you to save your family, you must get them to the Future. It will not return them to life, as I have said, but they will regain what they have forgotten. They will know you and themselves.”
“I know of this city,” answered the Human. “What I do not know is how to find it and how to bring my family to it.”
The Witch peered at the Human and then laughed.
“I see you have been speaking to Rabbit and the Rock King and the Crow! You already know how to find the city…”
“I do not…” interrupted the Human before the Witch’s glare forced a return to silence.
“You do know, and that is that. What I can tell you to fulfill our bargain is this: Your family will follow you wherever your light may lead.” As the Witch finished speaking, the room began to shrink, rapidly. The Human jumped from the chair in anger.
“But that does not tell me anything! Riddles do not aid me!”
“And yet riddles are what you have!” replied the Witch. The room continued to shrink, and the Human crouched, afraid of being crushed by the walls. Instead, the room faded as it shrank, and the Human was again standing in the clearing in the forest, watching an image of the Witch’s room shrink into a point of light and vanish. The Human could just see the Witch standing in the room waving cheerfully.

The Witch’s house was gone. The only sign it had ever been there was a flattened area on the grass where it had sat, and a line of over-sized avian footprints leading into the dark of the woods. The Human was alone once more.