Awake and About...(an excerpt from Jag Svärma För Leverne)

The top of the cliff looked so different than it had. Green grass covered like a soft, loving blanket the ground that had been so marred before. Where dark fire had scoured the dirt and stone. I could still see those scars, feel those scars.1

"You're dreaming..." a whisper on the wind...2

I closed my eyes as the gentle breeze swept up the rise behind me and over the heights falling far below to the sea.3

"What is life, but a dream? A waking dream..."4

"Hope," she said, I could feel the force of her whisper in my ear," hope is a waking dream...not life."5

That old philosopher's words made me smile. They sounded so much sweeter coming from her.6

"What would you know of life?"7

She laughed at me...around me, with me, through me. A cool mountain stream trickling into a clear pool amongst the rocks.8

"I know...you..."9

This time it was I that laughed, a hearty laugh meant to acknowledge all that had come and gone. Life. Hope. Both a measure of dreaming and waking.10

"You brought me such a dream once," at her silence I continued, my ears watching the sound of her bare feet padding softly, slowly around behind me, circling...I closed my eyes," I remember that place. I remember the smell of the earth, the scent of rain...the trees...the lake...it was real."11

"It was."12

I took a deep breath.13

"Was? But not anymore..."14

"Not anymore..." her voice was still real...strange, how bare feet upon a grassy hill could sound so beautiful, so real.15

"Why did you do it? Keep me here in this place?"16

"Do you regret it?" always a question...though I suppose she knew that I already had my answers.17

"Which is the waking dream? Hope? Or life?"18

The silence of her voice and the sound of her bare feet moving around in front of me made me smile. She did not like questions.19

"I already told you it is..."20

"Then you have your answer," I said abruptly, opening my eyes to see her frowning face...she liked be interrupted less than she liked questions...21

She stood so still, staring at me with that frown, as if lost in a dream. If only.22

"Why do you insist upon doing this? What do you want?"23

"To wake..." I smiled and bowed, arms slowly flung wide, palms up," to see hope in a true dream, one of my choosing."24

A darkness passed across her eyes, turning one from gentle green to black and then the other. A tear.25

I knew that it would eventually come to this. But I was ready. The setting sun seemed to halt, waiting for something to happen. Gentle breeze turned into a strong wind. Such a blue sky painted with orange, yellow and red was the picture of beauty, the impossibility of a dream.26

"Would you see the world as it is? Or as I make it?" her voice was not soft as it had been, gentle satin draped over whispers of wind.27

I heard the same satin being pulled tightly over hard steel. It was time to test the steel.28

"I would see the world," I paused, knowing it would never be enough," What you've made is just a dream."29

The wind died as did dream upon my lips...my silence sounding the same for the wind and the waves, the echo of her feet across the hale grasses atop the rise.30

"You will regret this..."31

"I already do."32

I felt weak in the stomach...this weakness crawled into the spine. Would that my legs could move...33

"Oisin..." her voice speaking my name brought my head up to meet her eyes only inches from mine," Oisin, do not leave me..."34

"Niamh."35

Would that the world would be a wonderful place to replace this dream.36

"I was never here..." she took my face in her slender, delicate hands and searched my eyes, confusion upon her face as I spoke my last...37

"It was just a dream..."38

I wrapped her light frame up in my arms and kissed her as if the dream were real...39

the winds around the grassy cliffs bellowing fit to tear apart the ground from under us.40

With this kiss I paused for but a moment, looking at her eyes...so beautiful...my fingertips traced where tear should fall across her cheek...41

My hands dropped away as I let her go and threw myself from the cliffs...42

...43

Falling was never what I imagined it to be. It was so peaceful...the vividness of this place faded as the waters below rushed up to greet me, a whisper echoing in my ear with the force of a whisper upon my skin...44

"Oisin..."45

___________________________________________________________46

Other than the waterfall that came down from the small ridge above, the forest was especially quiet. He had no reason to like it, but it was more like as not that a big cat or two was out hunting. Still, the land around the river had an odd feel about it, something amiss. He glanced across the gently rolling waters of the fair sized river down below. The falling water didn't quite have the roar of the bigger falls he'd passed a few day ago.47

Pulling the blanket tighter around himself he longed for a fire. No sense in doing such a stupid thing in this downcountry. A warm fire for a slit throat. No sense in making it easy for the bandits and robbers. Never quite knew anymore who was out tramping thr...48

A thunderous crash of something hitting the water echoed from the bottom of the falls, catching his ear and pulling his eyes out over the river. Water was still rising in the air to fall a moment later. Something big then. Had to be. His eyes took in the fading light of the few stars out and the small slice of moon...a shape drifting into the middle of the river, taken a bit by the calm waters.49

"Jörgen intagar mig..." he mumbled to himself, rising to his feet.50

For twenty hard seasons he had hunted the highlands and the downcountry...he trusted his eyes. The dim shape floated closer to his side of the shoreline down below the hillside upon which he'd made camp amongst the hjortron bushes. Moving silently down the hill he kept an eye out, just in case those cats were indeed about. Coming cautiously to the edge of the waters, he watched as the dim shape nudged slowly up a good twenty paces down the rough and pebbled riverbank. It was a man...not wearing a stitch of clothes to boot. He shook his head. The size of the splash was bigger than any man could have made falling no more than the time it took to take a deep breath. The heights from which the falling water fell was just not high enough.51

He frowned. His back teeth always hurt when he felt trouble sneaking about. The feeling he got from this strange fellow made him want to check his mouth from blood. Something wasn't right. Sounding out strong and clear, crickets and the night birds made up the familiar chorus of the night.52

A bad thing to find such a man in such a way with all the unrest in the downcountry. With those fey creatures starting t'fuss with the king's knights out of Thummin. Was like as not there'd be bloodlettin.53

"Any sorta ruckus atwixt man and folk in the downcountry will bring the big uns from under..." he muttered to himself, his thoughts bygone remnants of days spent as an archer and scout amongst the king's gameskeepers...54

His wife had always said he was too curious for his own good. Time to see what there was to see of this right odd man...55

The man was hardly a man at all. He was nothing more than a boy. He smiled to himself as he chewed on a bit of hjorton root he’d dug up after pulling the boy from the river.56

“Jag heter Ingolf…vad heter du?”57

Ingolf watched his words roll right over the boy. Figured. The boy was like as not from Thummin.58

“Vad talar du för sprak? Talar du engelska?”59

Ingolf paused as the boy opened his mouth to speak, his pale grey eyes full of hesitation, and something else that set the elder huntsman on edge.60

“Do mo mhórghr&#;agus tá tú liom cibé áit a dtéim.”61

The root Ingolf had been chewing on turned to ash in his mouth. The boy’s words hung in the air with a heaviness Ingolf had only ever felt once before in his life.62

“Du talar Älva!” Ingolf exclaimed, looking at the boy as if for the first time, if this was indeed a boy, those pale grey eyes.63

The words the boy had spoken were High Folk. Not even the fey creatures of the downcountry spoke in High Folk anymore. The very words themselves were magical. There was one woman he knew who would know what do to with this boy. Ingolf kept his wise old eyes on the boy’s face. Those eyes seemed a bit strange, but with the boy’s weather tanned skin he didn’t have the look of the kind to be speaking High Folk. With his thick black hair and scattered stubble the boy looked just short of manhood, but there was something to the eyes. It was more than the color. Those eyes were…old, Ingolf thought to himself.64

The good Mother would be interested in this one. That fine woman, Mother Goose, a silly name, was one of the kindest hearts he’d ever known. His wife adored the old lady and had him bring small cakes and pies over to her odd house any time he could spare the two day trip through the bush of the downcountry.65

“Mo ghrá th&#; the boy whispered, looking out over the river to the waterfall.66

This was an odd boy indeed.67

“Ät yngling,” Ingolf said gruffly as he reached into the sack thrown across his back to hand the boy a few pieces of heavily salted meat.68

He had no time for this.69

“Stoppa kläder.”70

...the next morning...71

“Where am I?”72

Ingolf awoke with a start, his sharp old eyes lined with sleep. Heavy dew clung to the forest floor, dripping off of the thick underbrush. Curse this downcountry. The dew and constant rain made his joints ache.73

“Fiolris…” Ingolf muttered to himself as he ignored the boy and began to lie back down.74

He stopped as he was about to lower himself back into slumber. The boy’d spoken the King’s tongue.75

“Euphora,” Ingolf grumbled, getting slowly to his feet,” you’re in Euphora. How is it that you know High Folk speech boy?”76

Standing with Ingolf’s spare cloak draped around his shoulders, the boy wore a pair of leather trousers tied at the waist with cord. The old huntsman grinned and slapped his belly. His extra pair of trousers were indeed a little wide.77

“I…I’m not sure I know what you mean,” the boy said, thick black hair hanging down just above his shoulders and over his eyes, a bird’s nest if ever there was one upon a man’s head.78

Ingolf looked about, slowly packing up camp into a tight bundle, thankful that he’d not started a fire the night before. They would surely both be dead if he had. Heat attracted the wrong company.79

“The tongue you spoke last night boy,” Ingolf said gruffly, as was his fashion,” that was High Folk, and every bit as magical as the fey folk themselves. Now how do you know it?”80

The boy whispered something to himself that made Ingolf’s beard want to stand on end.81

“Stop that sort of speech boy. Any more of that and you’ll be pulling all manner of creatures down on us.”82

The boy nodded, looking somewhat more than a boy now that the sun had risen just above the horizon. Maybe it was that tired, weary look about him. Ingolf knew that look from his time serving the king as a younger man. That same look had been on the faces of men who’d seen to men patrols, too many battles, too much death. There was no chance this boy was old enough to carry a look of that sort. But he did. And his eyes, his eyes were old. He did not glance about as a young man his age from Thummin or even the highlands would have. He simply stared of into space, sometimes muttering to himself. Ingolf snorted. As long as he didn’t talk any more of that fey tongue. It scared him to think of what lay in this forest that might awaken to such words. Stories told of frightful monsters out here in the thick forested downcountry. Worse, some of the older legends mentioned ancient ones back from the time of Order and Chaos. Or at least that’s what his wife said. That Old Mother Goose’s tales coming about again. Still, he had no intention of discovering whether or not the old fey creatures were still around.83

“Do you know of a place called Polperro?” the boy asked as Ingolf as they began trekking through the brush, drops of dew shaking from the low lying shrubs around them.84

“Nej yngling. Never heard of it.”85

The boy nodded, saying something to himself under his breath. Ingolf turned quickly and grabbed the boy over the mouth and slammed him into the broad trunk of a Fogl tree.86

“Do. Not. Speak. That. Again,” Ingolf kept his hand over the boy’s mouth as he stared violently into those odd grey eyes,” you will get us killed if you keep speaking Folk. And I won’t die for you being dumdristig.”87

An odd look crept into the boy’s eyes as Ingolf paused for a moment longer before releasing him.88

“I am Oisin,” the boy said to Ingolf’s back.89

“Ingolf,” the now grumpy huntsman grumbled over his shoulder,” just keep your silence till we get to Mother Goose’s.”90

If Ingolf would have seen the look that passed over Oisin face at the mention of the name he would have regretted treating him so roughly before. The boy’s face was murderous for a moment before returning to his usual calm.