Read Online The Herald of Autumn (Echoes of the Untold Age Book 1) by JM Guillen - Free Book Online
Authors: JM Guillen
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the world.” He smirked.
“But, as yeh can see, it doesn’t lack for comfort.”
My eyes grew wide. “This? This is the
lodge of the dancing folke?”
He shrugged, the image of
nonchalance. “Not exactly. The river doesn’t belong to a man, but he may
understand how it is used. This place, that place, they are the same, in a way.
The dancing folk have endless numbers of doors, and once I understood the knack
of it, I did as well.”
I thought about the way he had opened
the door into his lodge, how the door itself turned somehow sideways to the
world.
Coyote truly was a man of secrets.
“They feasted me for three days and
three nights. We drank a musty beer-brew that was fermented berries and
reindeer piss. It was awful.”
I knew he wasn’t lying. Siberian
shamans drank urine from reindeer as well. The animals ate plants, which gave
visions, and passed the gift to the wonderworkers who were bold enough to taste
it.
On the third night, after I had
spoken with remnants of the world before, the youngest of the dancing folke
came to me. She was as beautiful as any of them, and naked as night, but she
wasn’t here for play.
“Illari.” I could see the wonder in
her, the innocence. “Would you have me show you what you are seeking?”
I didn’t exactly feel ready. I was
full-stomached and half drunk on berries and reindeer water. But there was no
denying what I was there to do. Every crossroads on my journey had pointed me
this way.
“I am.” I looked her in the eye —
“I looked her square in the face,
Tommy.” Coyote visibly paled, just a touch, as if the mere memory were
haunting. “I told I her was as ready as I would ever be.”
“But what do you say?” I could feel
terror capering at the edge of her and knew the answer before she spoke. It was
the first time I ever saw fear in any of the dancing folke.
“No, Illari. No one is ready for what
comes.”
10
“Now, like I said, their lodge—”
Their lodge was doors within doors
within doors. The dancing woman — Ses’kia — led me through many of them, opening
into times and places of wondrous mysteries. I do not have words for all the
strange things I saw. The final door led out of a small building, in the middle
of a tiny town, lost in the vast cold nowhere.
“Quiet.” She held me hand, pulling me
forward.
“What are we looking for?” I was
still a touch drunk, befuddled and confused from the journey.
“Nothing.” Her eyes grew sad. “We are
looking for blighted nothingness, darkness that walks.”
At her words, I couldn’t help but
think of the not-fetch. In the middle of Coyote’s Telling, my thought added to
it, swirling the not-fetch into his tale, for the briefest of moments.
…broken, hollow, and mad.
It screamed. The sound was rage and
fire and rusted blood. Its fingers ended in talons from another age. Its arms,
slender gangles, each had two elbows.
Its empty eyes wept blood and bile.
“Yes.” His ancient, wise eyes locked
onto mine. “You ken it now. You see where it all goes.”
“There are more of them?” Then,
immediately after, “What are they?”
He held up a single finger. “You will
know all that I know, Tommy. Sit on yer dinner and listen.”
We wound our way through the shadows
of the small town, avoiding being seen. I could feel the wrongness, taste it on
the wind. The people wandering about didn’t seem to realize they were dying.
The blight had sunken deep inside them with strong roots, slowly driving them
mad.
“What’s wrong with them?” I should
have whispered but did not. “Can’t they feel ? Don’t they know?”
“The blight takes root behind the
poetry in their hearts.” Her voice despaired. “The very part of them that could
find the wrongness of it all is silenced first. From there, they rot from
within.”
The darkness tainted most of the
townspeople. It manifested in a
“But, as yeh can see, it doesn’t lack for comfort.”
My eyes grew wide. “This? This is the
lodge of the dancing folke?”
He shrugged, the image of
nonchalance. “Not exactly. The river doesn’t belong to a man, but he may
understand how it is used. This place, that place, they are the same, in a way.
The dancing folk have endless numbers of doors, and once I understood the knack
of it, I did as well.”
I thought about the way he had opened
the door into his lodge, how the door itself turned somehow sideways to the
world.
Coyote truly was a man of secrets.
“They feasted me for three days and
three nights. We drank a musty beer-brew that was fermented berries and
reindeer piss. It was awful.”
I knew he wasn’t lying. Siberian
shamans drank urine from reindeer as well. The animals ate plants, which gave
visions, and passed the gift to the wonderworkers who were bold enough to taste
it.
On the third night, after I had
spoken with remnants of the world before, the youngest of the dancing folke
came to me. She was as beautiful as any of them, and naked as night, but she
wasn’t here for play.
“Illari.” I could see the wonder in
her, the innocence. “Would you have me show you what you are seeking?”
I didn’t exactly feel ready. I was
full-stomached and half drunk on berries and reindeer water. But there was no
denying what I was there to do. Every crossroads on my journey had pointed me
this way.
“I am.” I looked her in the eye —
“I looked her square in the face,
Tommy.” Coyote visibly paled, just a touch, as if the mere memory were
haunting. “I told I her was as ready as I would ever be.”
“But what do you say?” I could feel
terror capering at the edge of her and knew the answer before she spoke. It was
the first time I ever saw fear in any of the dancing folke.
“No, Illari. No one is ready for what
comes.”
10
“Now, like I said, their lodge—”
Their lodge was doors within doors
within doors. The dancing woman — Ses’kia — led me through many of them, opening
into times and places of wondrous mysteries. I do not have words for all the
strange things I saw. The final door led out of a small building, in the middle
of a tiny town, lost in the vast cold nowhere.
“Quiet.” She held me hand, pulling me
forward.
“What are we looking for?” I was
still a touch drunk, befuddled and confused from the journey.
“Nothing.” Her eyes grew sad. “We are
looking for blighted nothingness, darkness that walks.”
At her words, I couldn’t help but
think of the not-fetch. In the middle of Coyote’s Telling, my thought added to
it, swirling the not-fetch into his tale, for the briefest of moments.
…broken, hollow, and mad.
It screamed. The sound was rage and
fire and rusted blood. Its fingers ended in talons from another age. Its arms,
slender gangles, each had two elbows.
Its empty eyes wept blood and bile.
“Yes.” His ancient, wise eyes locked
onto mine. “You ken it now. You see where it all goes.”
“There are more of them?” Then,
immediately after, “What are they?”
He held up a single finger. “You will
know all that I know, Tommy. Sit on yer dinner and listen.”
We wound our way through the shadows
of the small town, avoiding being seen. I could feel the wrongness, taste it on
the wind. The people wandering about didn’t seem to realize they were dying.
The blight had sunken deep inside them with strong roots, slowly driving them
mad.
“What’s wrong with them?” I should
have whispered but did not. “Can’t they feel ? Don’t they know?”
“The blight takes root behind the
poetry in their hearts.” Her voice despaired. “The very part of them that could
find the wrongness of it all is silenced first. From there, they rot from
within.”
The darkness tainted most of the
townspeople. It manifested in a
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