3. What Happened Next
The afternoon sunlight was dancing through the leaves and boughs of the oak tree as Inzil turned to Hanako, and said, “If we are to return to the Nothlir before nightfall, we cannot travel in this way. We need Rokokwen.” This is another word that does not translate well. On first hearing it I would have told you they said horses. But as with any language, the more time you spend with it the deeper its meaning can be understood. Rokokwen truly means Children of the Claw.
Hanako nodded, “I will summon them.” Gracefully turning on one heel he walked toward the trunk of the tree, leaned his face against the bark and began to sing. This was another one of those strange songs. A song that came from him, but that in its very words carried notes of the harp and lyre. It was warm and bright, like an invitation to a party and as he sang, a rosy floral smell filled the breeze. I don’t mind telling you that this music or perhaps I should say magic, which is a key part of Lassakwen life, cut through me and filled me with joy, hope and a growing sense of wonder. I would later get a chance to ask him about his summoning song. The lyrics were very different from my first attempt as you will see later in this story.
Friend with fur and sharpened eyes,
Friend who sees what hidden lies,
If you hear and wish to come,
I am here, the day’s begun.
Not to bind, and not to take,
But to share the path we make—
Tree to tree and stone to stream,
Will you join our traveling?
He finished the song and sat down with his back to the trunk of that grand and mighty oak. Sensing a second chance, I asked Inzil a question that for me was equal parts of hope and fear.
“So, I am Mithren and I don’t understand exactly what that means or how this is even possible. I am mostly convinced that this is either a dream or that I am having a psychological break from reality. Perhaps I am still unconscious. But I am worried about my family and that they will think I am dead or have abandoned them.” More panic threatened to flood in.
Inzil’s brilliantly purple dual-pupiled gaze locked onto mine, and an immediate relief flooded over me before she even spoke. “Ahto,” that is their word for The Maker, “has seen fit to have you not only see us, but to respond to Aerlinn.” She paused, “There is too much to explain, and it is Her task not mine. But trust for now that you are in the hands of The Maker, and he lets nothing slip from his hands once held.” I don’t know what came over me, but in that moment, I stepped forward, threw my arms around Inzil and cried. A feeling of immense joy and deliverance crashing over the panic, pulling it away with the tide. She placed a steady hand on my back, no doubt thinking this was incredibly awkward.
A shudder went through the branch that pulled me back to this newly revealed reality. I almost fell to my death at that very moment, overwhelmed by vertigo and saved only by Inzil’s quick reflexes. What startled me was the creature peering over her shoulder, looking at me with an intelligence I could not account for. It was a raven with a noble bearing. Black feathers shone with silvery sardonyx lines of white and grey. Embarrassed at my poor performance in managing myself at this size, I looked away and hoped this creature wasn’t judging me as unfit or as a piece of food. Pulling my attention away from the unwelcome thought of just how many animals might now consider me a meal was an incredibly loud “Cheap cheap reap reap cheap”. This chittering came darting forward through leaves and branches and heralded the arrival of a squirrel whose fur glowed like amber in candlelight. It arrived and began nuzzling against Hanako’s chest.
Hanako, with acrobatic agility, leapt onto its back, turned to Inzil and said, “Race you home!” and in a flurry of fur was racing from branch to branch toward the neighboring tree.
Inzil was astride the raven’s back, and I faltered, wrestling with seeing a raven and squirrel the size of a car, she extended her hand to me. Only one choice now. I took it and climbed aboard, or perhaps I should say “abird.” I wrapped my arms around her waist and squeezed my hands together. Like her brother, she smelled of a woody, resinous pine-tree aroma. She leaned back and said, “Do not let go.” I had no intention of doing that. Her next words were to the raven, “Khamu Kwendië Nothlir” which means, “Take us home.” A loud Kho Caw Kho Kaw erupted from the raven’s mouth and with a powerful flap of its wings we took flight, leaving the oak tree and my pack with all its now giant sized and useless tools behind.
The wings continue to beat with a pounding thwump thwump thwump as we swooped over and under branches toward the treetops. The flight out of the branches and into the sky overflowed with experiences similar to those had when a parent observes their young child’s firsts. First field full of fireflies, first s’more over a campfire, first snowman etc. We went up at sharp angles and dove down again, my belly floating as if on a roller coaster. Several nearby birds, a goldfinch and cardinal, joined the dance, though distinctly normal compared to the Rokokwen’s elegance and demeanor; they seemed to be answering a call to escort us up to the top branches of the canopy. This all blended into a dream-like experience. A dream from which you would never wish to wake up.
I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into the story I am working on. It is currently around 52,000 words long and details the experiences of a man who goes on a hike and finds the world changed—or rather, to find that he has. Now six inches tall, he’s been drawn into a hidden layer of reality where the Lassakwen, the Children of the Leaf, have lived since the first notes of Ahto’s music were sung.
These tiny forest folk shape the world through song, ride ravens and squirrels, and see what humans have long forgotten: that reality is not dead matter to be mastered, but living music to be joined.
But the Lassakwen are not safe. For three centuries, the Gorgol—twisted by fear and wrath into something monstrous—has hunted them in the shadows. And Raymond, a father and mushroom forager who’s spent his life reducing the world to data and taxonomy, must learn an older way of knowing and living if he’s to help them.
Or if he’s ever to go home.
Thanks for reading this. Remember, I love you, God loves you.
Phillip Mainprize
Nicely done Phillip!