The Fall

I was running at that time. Running from people whose names I have since forgotten like the reason I had to hide in the woods near the Marshes of Plague. It was in Riveria, once a county, now a kingdom cornered by the mountains and the sea. A desolate place at the time, it still is, a land where stories far surpassed the occasional stalker in the dark, a place where superstition must have had its roots in the ancient days. Maybe not the best place to live, if one was looking for company that is, but definitely a place to hide and live for yourself for a while. I liked it - the woods, the air, the absence of people. It was like looking into a mountain lake and seeing nothing but the greenish ground, not even yourself, not even the sky. Nothing reflects on a surface so clear.

I had been there for a few weeks. It was the fall and the leaves had taken on the colors of fire. I have always wondered why they do it. Shine like this just before they die for the winter. The deeper you go, the more colors you see. It is too easy forget that there can be a thousand reds and a thousand yellows, each one carefully chosen and distinct.

I moved on every morning, usually, even if only a few miles. When you have to run, you get nervous. Other times, when I found a place that had the sort of aura around it, I chose to stay for a day or two. Other than myself, there was not much to fear. The Marshes of Plague I stayed well away from. There are, after all, true stories among the fairytales. And that one sounded a bit too true. I avoided people as much as I could and only went to the remote farms when I had to.

I like to describe the way that everything was, a harmony in itself. I tried not to intrude - I was a guest and being allowed to live in the middle of it was enough.

I had been moving for four days in a row, but today I had hurt my leg descending a small hill and decided to settle down until it had time to heal. It was not easy finding a place to camp, because everywhere I looked, it seemed to be just perfect, so it had to be more than that. It had to call out to you the moment you saw it. And I found a place just like that, a clearing on the side of a hill, a dent that offered some shelter from the few gusts of chilly wind, overlooking a lake where numerous beasts came to drink as the sun was going down. An ash tree was growing just on the side of the small shallow with berries fiery orange and bitter. I stood looking at the water below, wind pulling the weatherworn cloak around my body and I was happy. Couldn't say it was often this happened, but sometimes, just sometimes, I felt the world moving through me and I was light, cold and happy.

It slowly grew dark, sun sliding away behind the treetops, fading into the woods. I had built a small fire and sat near it on a tree stump, chewing the berries from the ash tree, one by one. The bitterness kept me awake, although it was late already. But there was no reason to fall asleep and there were a thousand not to, so I chewed the berries and listened to the darkness around me. When you listen really hard, things start to happen. You hear voices from times past, calling for you, you smell the scent of your loved ones in the wind that has found its way to you across the plains that stretch as far as the mountains. And then you can see little creatures flying out of the fire like dragons, circling around you and weaving a pattern of fire that takes the shape of your thoughts. The mist that has risen from the lake, coils up around you like a giant monster of the silent waters and embraces you with its snake-like body, both warm and comforting. It is when you listen like this that you hear your dreams around you, barely audible whispers in the moist grass. And the moon, almost full in the cloudless sky is looking at you alone.

It always goes away after a while, the dragonets die, the mist rolls on through the woods and the moon turns its eyes somewhere else, a thousand miles away. But this time something happened that makes me remember it. Every battle I have fought, every home I have stayed in, I carried this night with me like it was a part of myself. In some ways it became a part of me just as I became a part of that night.

First there was a moment of silence, there always is before something happens. Things, in a way, give you a chance to hear them coming and leave. I chose to stay, I probably didn't even notice the silence then. But a second later I was standing, the dreamy air suddenly cold around me, the mist falling into a million pieces and disappearing. I moved slowly away from the fire, hand grasping the hilt of the sword, eyes turned to the darkness that was full of tension and anticipation. Now I had definitely heard something but I didn't know what it was, I was waiting and my waiting filled the air with the smell of cold steel.

Not much time went by and then I heard it again - footsteps, light and fast, moments later also the heavy breathing of someone coming straight towards my fire. And finally I saw her stagger into the circle of light. She, for it was a girl, stopped and looked warily around. I was in the shadows and had a few moments to observe.

She was dark-haired, dressed in the simple clothes of the local peasants. Her hair, dark and long, was unkempt and the red ribbons that held it had become loose. Other than that, she could have been very handsome. But that didn't matter. There was something to her that made all this irrelevant. The way she looked, the sudden movements of her head, the fear she radiated. This was what I first saw. As I decided that she could have been of no threat to me and this was my camp after all, I stepped out of the dark. For a moment her eyes were like darkness, black pits of panic and despair.

Then she let go. A shadow crossed her and she silently fell. I might know the looks, but I can't imagine the feeling - to let go of everything. After you have run for days and one by one had to leave the things, people and places you love and still after all this, have to let go of the last thing you have - yourself.

I caught her and laid down carefully. She was in a coma-like sleep, only eyelids twitching nervously. The night was cold so I wrapped her in my cloak and put her head in my lap. I have always loved the sight of a sleeping girl and this was no different. In so many ways, she was all of them in one. In her dreams she had herself again to be, and everything else was cast away, whether it was bad or good. She was warm through her thin linen dress and my cloak, and smelt vaguely of flowers. To my surprise, I didn't feel sorry for her. I knew she was in some trouble, probably worse than mine, she was alone, weak and afraid. But right now she was here, head in my arms, and slept like all of them do, breathing ever more softly. All I could feel was ... not even happiness, but more like content for the way the world is - both cold, heartless and dark, yet soft, loving and warm the same time. For a few hours I saw both worlds with the same eyes.

What also was strange was that the night came back and embraced me with its visions of magic. Maybe there is something magical about darkness after all, a wizard would know it, but they are always hard to find, let alone talk of dreams in the night. The giant serpent of the mists coiled around us and slowly I too gave in to its hypnotic dance. I believe I saw fairies riding with the wind before I finally fell asleep, but it could have been my imagination. Never seen them in Riveria again. And I can't remember if I dreamed in my sleep.

We woke up early in the morning, entwined like lovers next to the last embers of my fire. She looked at me from a few inches away and smiled silently. It was the only thing to do and it was also the one that made me understand what this was really about. She had come to me like a wounded animal and I had given her comfort for a few hours. She was not hurt physically or it would have taken longer, but the panic had faded from her eyes and what I saw there was a lake, so clear I couldn't see my reflection. Only the depth less green of her irises. Everything else was gone.

As we made breakfast, she also told me her story. It was simple but sad at the same time. To make it short, she was accused of witchcraft. Not wanting to die by the Fire of Light that sprang up so often around here, she ran from her family, from her lover , from her life. Probably she was later chased down and did not live to tell her grandchildren about it. But then again, I really don't know. After we had eaten, she soon left.

In a way there was nothing more that I could have done for her. Of course saving innocent girls is heroic, but only in the stories. In the real world, it is mostly blood and dirt up to your neck. And nothing good ever comes from it. She couldn't have led a normal life in her village even if I took her back by hand and promised to kill everyone who objected to that. What about reason, some might ask. What about belief, I would ask back. The Brotherhood of Light lives off of belief and they have a strong influence in those parts. So what I did for her was nothing more than I could have done without getting involved myself. And as I said, at that time, I was a guest in that place, and guests do not interfere. Something there had allowed me to step into its world, where there is magic even in the air itself, and by that I had taken the responsibility to keep things that way. I even like to think that I was not there that night, and yet I was in everything she touched. I was the grass under her when she slept and I was the air she breathed. And when she left, I was the haven whose invisible doors closed behind her.