< The Wandering Winds >
You are heading home. Perhaps it was curiosity that led you to take the rumoured shortcut through the forest, or perhaps it was urgency, seeing the last rays of the watery autumn sun disappear under the treeline, painting the sky a crisp, muted gold behind the greying clouds. You know how fast the night sweeps in during the colder seasons, so you steel yourself and step off the familiar road.
The light is fading, so you pick up the pace. Your surroundings look the same, and for a brief moment, you wonder if you are lost. You can't be. You have been travelling in a straight line, and you had looked at a map before you took off. Soon, you will emerge into the small clearing that holds your house.
But there is no clearing, no house. Instead, you are elsewhere. The woods around you are threaded with shadow. The trees are different, spearing up into the sky with branches of bushy bristles. Looking back, you see nothing but the same dark trees and ghostly mist curling between them.
The urge to panic and run is there, but you take a shaky breath and keep yourself calm. In an unknown environment, you should conserve your energy. What worries you is that there might be danger, but the woods are still. Even the fog barely moves.
Something whines and your heart leaps to your throat. It is only the wind, you realise, when a cold current whirls past you from behind, mussing up your hair. Chilled, you hug your shoulders. Another breeze toys with the hem of your jacket before flowing forward. You pause. A gust buffets you, pushing you on.
It's like the wind is alive and has a mind of its own, trying to move you.
The thought is disconcerting, but you don't have time to dwell on it as your surroundings brighten just a little and the trees thin. The end of the woods! Relief gives you an energy boost, and you jog forth.
It's not your clearing with your cosy little house.
It's something. You stand on a lakefront. A glassy expanse of water, dense with fog, spreads out before you.
Not knowing what to do, you step forward, feet sinking into inky sand, and make your way to the edge of the water.
When you get closer, you see movement within the haze. You begin to see shapes, shadows of figures and beasts dancing back and forth. The images come and go, rising and collapsing like snippets of performances projected on a misty screen.
The wind is visible, twists of shimmering white skimming across the lake, flinging waves and droplets in their wake. There are many of these wisps flying, whirling, whizzing around. Gusts howl past, rustling leaves and flapping your clothes.
"The winds sense a story to be told," an airy voice reaches you, somehow, through the eerie cacophony.
You startle, clenching your hands together as you jerk around in the direction of the words. You see a being that isn't quite there, a contour of a ghostly form against the dark backdrop of the woods. Pale robes swirl, shedding cloudy glimmers. They move toward you slowly, as if not to scare you, one hand resting behind their back, the other bearing a lantern with no flame.
"Who are you?" You demand, backing away, fighting to keep your cool. First the forest, then the wind, and now, whoever this was. "What do you want?"
They hesitate. "I have once been called Ahndrach," they say. Their speech is more wind than words, as if they are the air itself, and you have to strain to make out what they are saying. "I welcome you, traveler, to the realm of the wandering winds, between worlds, between time." You blink, and they are gone. You look around wildly, trying to locate them.
Next thing you know, they are standing beside you, casting their gaze over the lake, watching the wisps dance and play. "Tell us a tale."
"Okay, whoa," you say, and hold up your hands. "I don't know what's going on." You hastily take a few steps back. "I'm not a traveller. I'm lost. I'd love to tell you a tale, but it's really late." Looking around, you try to find any sign of exit, but all you see are tall dark trees.
"People do not find this place by accident," they say, turning to you. "You must have stories - the winds know."
It's true you know plenty of stories but what did that have to do with the wind? How did the winds even know in the first place? "I just want to go home. My pets are probably worried." You don't even know how long you'd spent wandering. "Next time?"
"Yet you found us now," they say. "Coincidence plays no part in our meeting. Tell us a story, and you will be returned to your home - it will be as if no time has passed, and you will be greatly compensated for your gift."
You run through the options in your head. It's not like you have anywhere to go from here if you ran off on your own. Best get this over with, if they are telling the truth about returning you to your home. But first, your audience. "'Us'," you say. "Who is 'us'?"
"The winds, of course," they say, and the fog on the lake bursts, smoky wisps shooting into the sky before speeding toward you. You raise your hands and squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact. There is no impact. You open your eyes and find that you are surrounded by the winds, swirling around you eagerly like a pack of eager puppies.
"We yearn for stories," the strange being says, standing unaffected while you try not to get blown over. "The winds can only listen and retain, echo and mimic. They replay and savour the taste of stories - you have seen it for yourself, above the waters - but repetition can only sate boredom for so long. Eternity must beg the productions of time. Have pity, traveller, and grant us something new."
"I-" you stop. Carefully, you pick your next words. "Maybe tell me what kind of story you want to hear, so I can work off of that."
"Anything," they whisper, and their voice is frailer than the last dying leaf hung from a bare branch in winter. "A tale of adversity, overcome by the most mundane methods. A tale of heroes and villains, in a world where nothing is as it seems. A tale of seemingly nothing, where significance is found only in the details." They close their eyes and exhale. Their form seems to fade. The empty lantern hanging from their hand glints under the dull light of the featureless sky. "We trust in you."
"I need time to think," you say.
"We are in no rush," comes the response. "Now that you are here."
The wisps and fog dissipate after that, and the being is gone again. You feel disoriented, as if this is all a dream and you had imagined the wind and the conversation. Maybe you really are just lost, and because you were so tired your mind started hallucinating. The forest and lake are still here, though, so that must mean something.
Slowly, you begin to stroll along the water. There's nothing to distract you here, other than the occasional brush of a breeze going by, or the flash of wisps you think you see above the lake that disappear when you look at them. In your head, you are brainstorming, throwing ideas together, testing various scenarios.
Time flows by, or stands still, because nothing changes here in this unfamiliar land. Story, story, story, you think. Being under pressure is not good for your process.
Eventually, somehow, you come upon Ahndrach. They are perched on a stone peeking out from the water not far from the shore, staring off into the lake. The unlit lantern is laid in their lap.
When you wade out to them, shivering against the icy waters, they barely acknowledge your arrival.
"What else?" You ask. Your ideas are still swirling around, no story. "Genre? Plot? Anything?"
"Anything," comes the same answer as before, just as faint.
So much for trying to find inspiration. You begin slogging back to the shore through the water.
"You could-" you think you hear them begin, but their words turn into still air.
You stop and turn back, questioning. They are facing away from you. You can't tell if they'd even spoken. With a sigh, you go back to the rock, water seeping into your shoes. "What is it?"
"Tell us- tell me about me," they say. Their eyes are vacant - or filled with emotion? "Who am I? Who was I?" You squint at them, trying to make out their shape and details against the background. Did you hear that correctly? You can barely hear them to begin with.
"What?" You say.
Before you can ask more, they disappear on your next blink. You shake your head. That was weird. You return to the lakeside, try to wring out the water from your garments, and continue to walk.
You will come up with a story, you will go home, and you will forget about this whole fiasco. |
