A Story of Forever

Part 4

Mamon knew that they themselves had magic now. Magic beyond what they could dream. Mira had taken them deep into the woods and she had taught them all the magical arts she knew. And this, Mamon mixed with their own magical arts. And together the two built and crafted new magic the likes of which could weave and craft its way through anything.

Wolver meanwhile missed and mourned his parents deeply. But still, he gullibly thought that the Uzras were on his side. For the Uzras treated him with the hierarchical benevolence with which a master treats his pet. Wolver did not understand quite how sad he was, and this made him even sadder.

But Wolver continued growing and growing. And in two cosmic years, when he was six, the Uzras became worried that he was growing too fast. The Uzras went to their craftsmen and blacksmiths and asked for chains that could bind the wolf-boy forever. The Uzra blacksmiths and craftsmen said that they could craft a chain that could bind him forever.

But this was not the truth. They could not. They did not know that they could not.

They gathered the sound of an owl's wings, the sight of the blind men, the trust of a traitor, the end of the sky, the weight of the air, and the softness of a stone. And with them they made impossible chains that could hold anything. And they presented these chains to Karkion.

Now Karkion told Wolver's best Uzra companion Rayr to deceive the young boy. And so he told the child that they would play a game. All the Uzras would gather round and bind young Wolver with chains. If Wolver could break through the chains he could have a treat.

Wolver was a gullible and trusting child and he did not let himself be aware of the Uzras' treachery. He agreed to the game. He thought that he was very strong and powerful, and could tear his way through any chains the Uzras put on him. He was still a child, and did not know to properly fear the Uzras the way that they should be feared.

And so the Uzras put the first chains on Wolver. And he broke through them. Then the Uzras got out a set of chains that was stronger than the first. And again, Wolver tore his way out of them with ease. And the same was true with the next six chains the Uzras put over him.

But the ninth chain, the Uzras brought out, seemed especially metallic-hard and potent. Wolver was suspicious of this. And so he made the Uzras promise they would not leave him trapped if he could not break these chains. The Uzras promised. Rayr even promised to put his hand in Wolver's mouth, and if they broke their promise he could bite it. But their promise was false.

As Wolver struggled to break free from his chains, the Uzras started laughing. It was at this moment that the boy-wolf-child realized that they would not free him. And he bit Rayr hand off.

The Uzras jammed a sword in Wolver's mouth and they left him there in the wind and the cold. Trapped and in pain. But the chain could not hold Wolver forever. The chain would not hold Wolver forever. Wolver would grow strong and powerful, as the days went by.

Now we will tell you the story of Oella.

Oella was a lost and scared four-year-old afraid and alone in a poison world. There was poison mist all throughout the air. The mist was so thick she could not see three feet in front of her. She could not see the sky. Around her feet there was stagnant, stale, liquid poison. Each step she took she sank into the poison covering the ground all around her. Each breath she breathed was poison.

In the midst of all this poison there was no life. No grasses or herbs grew on the ground. No shrubs sat in the understory. No trees towered above the lands. There was no sunlight, only the strange, eerie light the poison clouds let through.

And there were no people.

For all the dead were in a deep and dreamless sleep. A sleep from which they did not stir or rouse. A sleep from which no amount of noise or shaking could wake them. Young Oella was all alone. She was a lost child, alive and trapped in the world of the dead.

None who is alive belong in the world of the dead. For those who are alive, being in the world of the dead sends rivers of sorrow flowing over their hearts.

But Oella walked on and walked on. She continued walking through the poison, the young child, softly singing to herself. She walked on and she walked on until she was sure she was dead herself. Until she was sure she was but a ghost, a shadow roaming the wastelands.

She missed her family very deeply. She missed her mother and her parent and her brother and her sibling. She missed the wilderness of the forest that she lived in and the homeliness of the little cave. She was overwhelmed with sorrow. And she was sure she would rather be dead. She would rather be dead than deal with this grief.

But she kept walking on, and she didn't know why.

There was a voice coming out from amidst the poison. The voice was high and haughty and sharp and twisted. It told her that she did not belong, she would never belong, she would always be a lost wanderer in the midst of her sorrow. It told her she would never have any power and all she would ever have was her aloneness.

Oella was inclined to believe this voice.

But she kept walking on.

Her foot suddenly sank into something that was not poison. It sank into something that was cool, clear water. She gasped quietly. And she knelt down in the poison and reached out her hand to touch the water. It was clean. It was pure. It was flowing. It extended down deeper than she could reach with her arms.

The voice amidst the desolation told her not to go down into the water. She knew that she must disobey it. She knew that she must find her rebellion and she must find whatever truths the water concealed. Even if the price was her own life, her life didn't mean much anyways.

So she dove down into that beautiful, cool, flowing embrace. She dove down and down and down, swimming further and further and further. She did not lose her breath for the water nourished her and filled her. She did not lose her energy for the water electrified her and soothed her.

Eventually, she reached the bottom of the lake. And at the lake bottom there was clean, fresh, mineral-rich mud that her toes sank into. And she walked on the mud, almost as if she was walking on dry land. She walked and she walked and she walked until she found something.

It was a pool of clear water that reflected the light. A pool of water within the water. A pool at the bottom of the lake. She did not know how it was possible, to have water within water. She did not know how it was possible, to have two different types of water both so good and both so clear.

The pool was just the right size around for her to dive into. And dive into it she did. And she swam down and down and down. Down into the very core of this world. And there she learned many things.

She learned her magic, and her element. She learned who she was and who her people were and what she was meant to do in this world. She learned how to rebel and how to care for life and death and how to transform everything until it was born anew.

And there, after she was done, she swam up and up and up to the surface of the surface. Up into the poisonous world she had left behind. She looked around. And in all directions she saw only poison and death.

But underneath that she felt all the dead. Sleeping as if the were seeds Sleeping as if they were promises. Sleeping as if they were awaiting to be awoken. And the little girl of only five years old, who mourned for her family and her home, she knew what she had to do. And so she set about to her work.

She walked among the lands and she summoned clouds. Not clouds made of poison but rather clouds of fresh, dewy water that could cleanse and wash away any filth. She want throughout the lands summoning clouds, steps filled with purpose.

And when the sky was filled with cool, clean water, she made it rain. It rained long and hard, the torrential downpour washing over all the lands and all the skies. It rained and it rained. It kept raining until the poison clouds were all washed away. It kept raining until the poison fog was washed away. It kept raining until all the poison that had seeped in and pooled over the ground was washed away. And then it rained some more.

When the rain was finished, there was brilliant blue sky and a wet new land filled with rich, diverse earth. Ripe and ready for life.

Oella used her magic again. And this time she summoned seeds. She scattered the seeds all throughout the land. And they sprang forth and grew and grew at a magical pace. Soon the lands were filled with forests and plains and grasslands and deserts and tundra of all types.

Oella went to the souls of all the dead animals. And she roused them from their sleep with her magic. They awoke. And they saw the living, breathing land all around them. And they spread out to all corners of it.

Finally it was time for Oella to awaken the sleeping Yemars. She roused them from their slumber and they looked around, with tired, confused eyes.

They had been asleep for so very long that they had had a deep and aching sadness settle deep into their hearts. They had no hope left. All they had was a deep, aching sorrow.

And Oella understood that sorrow. She understood it very well. But she also had hope. And the six-year-old child, who was lost and alone, who was missing her family unendurably, who was a living being trapped in the land of the dead, she knew she had to give them hope.

So she talked to them. About all the things that her parents had taught her. About all the things that she had learned on her journey. About all the power she had found. About all the life she had brought about and all the life they could create together if they tried. Oella told them about her dreams for the future and about all the change they could create. She told them that she loved them, and that love was a power unlike any other. She told them that they should love each other. That they should help each other live a good life after death.

And they listened. And they were awed. Such a young child who was so wise and so learned. The seeds of hope were planted in their hearts. And those seeds grew. And they grew and they grew and they grew. Until there was no more surrender left in their hearts, and they were ready to fight.

A young Yemar woman named Molia was a servant all her life. She did not think that she could be free. She went up to Oella and pledged her service to the child. But Oella said that there were to be no servants here. All would be free and all would be equal.

All the dead and Oella went to the edge of the land of the dead. There on the edge there was a river. And across the river there was a bridge that separated Oellon from the land of the living. There, they decided, they needed sentries. And Molia decided she wanted to take her turn guarding the gate.

The dead all also decided to form a council. In that council would gather together all the dead. And they would all discuss matters regarding the land and regarding their plans. They would discuss everything and come to consensus together.

Oella was the mediator of this council. She ensured that everyone worked together and listened to each other to come to agreements. She was seven years old at the time.

They talked and talked. And one day they decided that they must go to war against the Uzra and regain freedom for their people. The realized that their numbers were not sufficient enough for such a war. Also they were not trained enough for such a war. And so therefore they needed to wait. They needed to wait and they needed to train each other to build up their army.

They welcomed each new dead Yemar into their land, into their council, and into their army of the newly-dead so wished it. And wish it they did. Rage against the Uzra burned in the heart of every Yemar.

Oella's mother Mira was reunited with her. She took care of her daughter and taught her her magic and all that she knew. Mira had a great deal of practical knowledge she could pass on. But she could not stop her daughter from eternally missing the rest of her family. She could not stop her from feeling deep, aching sorrow.

For Oella was a living being in the land of the dead. But she was one with the rain. She was one with new life.



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