Declan had expected to get swept up into the tale, his emotions following the journey of the characters. But instead, he only got to enjoy the elder’s rich voice. He wanted to ask what was different this time, but he didn’t want to miss any of the story.
“A fierce gust of wind blew aside the bear skin over his lodge door, and a beautiful maiden stepped inside. Her hair was as black as a crow’s wing and her cheeks were red like wild roses. On her head was a crown of flowers, and her clothing was woven with sweet herbs and ferns. When she breathed, the lodge became warm, and the cold fell back in fear.
“The old man was awed, but he was also proud. ‘When I, the Manito, breathe on the waters, the rivers stand still, the lakes sleep, and the burbling of the streams is silent.’
“‘Ah, great is the Manito,’ the maiden agreed. ‘Though when I smile, flowers spring up, the leaves unfurl, and the plains are covered in blankets of green.’”
Declan chuckled. He liked the maiden.
“‘I shake my hair,’ bragged the Manito, ‘and the Earth is wrapped in a death-shroud of snow.’
“The maiden only smiled. ‘Strong and powerful is the Manito. But when I breathe into the air, the warm rains fall, and the death shroud melts into the darkness as the great fire awakens.’
“‘The Manito said, ‘When I walk, the leaves die and fall to the ground, the birds fly away from their nests, animals bury themselves under the earth, and the winds sing a death chant as they pass.’
“‘Great and cruel is the Manito, and known throughout the land,’ said the Maiden. ‘But when I sing, the birds build their nests, and the animals seek their mates, and the wind sings songs to the People who take their children and play in the warm sun.’
“And as the maiden spoke, the lodge grew warmer and brighter and birds swooped down and sang, but the Manito paid no heed. Then she passed her hands over his head and rivers poured from the Manito’s mouth, bubbling in their freedom. His garments turned into bright and glistening leaves.
“She stepped out of the lodge, and touched the Earth, hiding arbutus flowers under the leaves. ‘I give you the treasure of my sweetest breath,’ she said, ‘which men shall pluck with bowed head and bended knee.’
“The birds and winds sang together, the flowers greeted her, and the animals leapt through the forest. And wherever she stepped, and nowhere else, grows the trailing arbutus.”
They both rested quietly for a moment, absorbing the story. Declan turned the little pouch over in his hand. On the back, more small star-shaped flowers were worked into the leather.
He loved the imagery of flowers growing wherever the maiden walked. But why had the storyteller been surprised when he picked up that pouch? Was it supposed to mean anything to him or was it just entertainment?
It made him think about how he’d imagined Geir earlier, with some magical powers that made the plants grow and the animals frolic. He hadn’t seen Geir do anything like that, though. And it had nothing to do with the first story where the brothers followed the sun and were made immortal.
He wanted to ask questions, but he got the sense that the storyteller wouldn’t answer.
“Thank you, Grandfather.” He said instead. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
The elder nodded his head and rose from the bench, waving goodbye to Declan and then through the window to John.
Declan rose as well, his mind still swimming, but without the immediate spike of fear and worry. He had no resources and no job. But he’d been poor before. He could make it work.
He trudged back down the driveway and out onto the highway, his mind lost in thought. He realized as he was halfway back that he hadn’t even tried to look for work once he’d seen the bank account.
Maybe tomorrow. He realized suddenly that tomorrow was Tuesday. His car would be fixed, and then what would happen?
He wanted with all of his being to just curl up into Geir’s arms and let everything float away. That’s what a Daddy was for. But Geir hadn’t agreed to it, and it wasn’t anything he could count on. Not in the long run, anyway. That wasn’t how this worked.
Maybe not in the short run, either. Geir still hadn’t really committed to anything beyond getting his car repaired.
At least when he got his car back he’d have his books.
He would stay positive. He just needed a moment to wallow in all of his anger and fear before he pulled himself back together.
He heard a car coming down the highway in front of him and stepped off the highway. The car slowed. It was a different vehicle from the one the overly friendly spikey-haired woman had driven earlier. The window started to roll down.
Seriously? What was it with these people? Were they that eager to do their good deed for the day?
He turned into the woods. He figured he’d stay parallel to the highway and walk just far enough past the trees that he could see the road, but drivers couldn’t see him.
That was pretty spy-like, right?
The car kept driving. Thank God.
The jolt of annoyance was enough to shake him out of his own thoughts. He’d done enough wallowing, he decided, and it wasn’t getting him anywhere. He should start making plans. Or maybe just see what happened. He knew he could make things work. He always did.
What he really wanted was Geir.
He stayed just inside the line of trees, even though the brambles scratched his bare legs. Something red fluttered in front of his vision, so close to his nose that he couldn’t even make it out. It resolved into a bird as it perched on a low branch in front of him. It was all red, except for a patch of black around its beak. And it had a serious punk rocker hairdo, the little tufts of feathers sticking up in a straight line at the back of his head.
Alright, he didn’t want to talk to any humans. Cute little punk-rocker birds he could maybe handle. This was kind of what he needed right now.
“Hey, nice to meet you,” he greeted it, not feeling even slightly silly. Either it was a shifter who could understand him, or it was a bird who he could pretend with. It wasn’t like there was anyone else around. “I like your hair. Or… feathers? Crest? Crown? At any rate, it’s pretty awesome.”
The bird inclined its head, then gave a series of rising whistles. Too-eet, too-eet, too-eet, too-eet.
“Are you supposed to make sure that I get back home safely? Or maybe stay out of trouble?”
The bird gave some cooing trills. Tee-doo-doo, tee-doo-doo, tee-doo-doo.
“So, um, does that mean you can take me back to the cabin? Or to Geir?”
The bird circled around his head, and then darted off to another tree limb a few feet away.
“Alright,” Declan said to himself. “Either you’re here to help me out, or I’m talking to a deranged bird with an unnatural affinity for humans. Ooh… or maybe you’re a sign from the gods or something. That would be exciting.”
The bird looked up at the sky. Either there was someone up there looking out for him, or the bird was rolling its eyes.
He looked at the road. He was pretty sure that, even if he just wandered into the woods he couldn’t get too lost. The road was on his left. The lake was on his right. As long as he didn’t pass either one of those and kept going forward, he’d eventually hit Geir’s driveway. If he got turned around, he’d be back where he started from.