Mythic

Chapter 1 - The Woods

      He always stops at the creek and looks for minnows. At that very same spot. And he never catches them. Not ever. Silly boy.
        What is he carrying now? That looks heavy... Heavy....what does that feel like again?
        He must be deaf. I cannot imagine how anyone could allow a bird to follow them and screech over and over like that without even looking up.

        The sun had begun its slow descent toward the horizon over an hour ago but the boy was still slowly making his way back to the little cottage he shared with his grandfather. The moon was just a faint sliver in the sky - nearly a new moon. In the waning light, she watched him. He neared the wide trail that led into Alta and hesitated as he placed one foot on the loose dirt. It was not well-worn but overgrown with plants and covered in dead leaves from the canopy of trees overhead. He stared for a long while toward the west, then he sighed and continued across the road. He slipped into the hedge on the other side and all that was left was the swaying of the branches and the whisper of the the leaves.
        These brief encounters had been occurring for years and yet she had never seen him for more than an hour in any one evening. For a moment she lost sight of the boy. A brief readjustment of her position and he came back into view. She could feel the damp wind whistle past while she glanced at the fading rose tinge on the horizon. He was moving slower than she had ever seen him move before. She gathered he was interested in avoiding whatever waited for him at home because he always hesitated and took his time at the close of the day.
        Oh, I wish I knew your name.
        The branches swayed further in the distance and she knew he was gone. She looked up at the sky at the moon. One or two more nights and she could pretend to be herself again. She surveyed the trees that were bathed in faint blue light. Rustling and snapping twigs indicated the night creatures were just beginning to stir. The crisp, misty air continued to caress her face and she leapt into the night.

        Finn crouched by the stream. He watched scores of tiny minnows dart away from his fingers as they trailed in the water. The fading light made them barely visible. He didn't know why he stopped here every evening. Sometimes the little silver fish hovered in their places as if they were asleep and other times they were frantic. Occasionally, there were only one or two but tonight, it appeared there had been a new hatching because the small pool where they congregated was teeming with them. He was fascinated by their confinement. He felt a strange connection to them in a way. They could wander to the far end of the tiny pool, but they could never leave - a condition he knew all too well.
        He heard a branch above shake and looked up. A large hawk had lighted and was eyeing him intently. He studied the bird for a moment, then turned his attention back to the pool of fish. He reached inside his pocket and pulled out the crusty heel of the loaf of bread he had taken from the kitchen. He tore off a handful of crust and crumbled it on top of the water. As the fish scrambled to the surface, he stood and brushed the loose dirt from his pants. He looked up again. The bird was still there.
        He turned and leaped over the narrow channel. softly landing on the other side. He climbed the gentle bank and stepped through the hedge onto the road. He looked up the wide, dark passage to Alta and let his  eyes linger. The pull was becoming harder and harder to resist. He stood for a long while, just imagining how it would feel to walk into the darkness and never return. His heart fluttered at the thought and he sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. While he waited for the sensation to pass, he felt an eerie prickling on the back of his neck. He turned and locked eyes with the hawk. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity while the breeze sifted through the trees. Finn broke the spell and turned around. As if in a daze, he slowly slid through the opposite hedge and continued home. He didn't notice, but high above the canopy of green, the hawk silently glided, keeping its eyes fixed on the boy until he disappeared into a small cottage on the far side of the glen. The bird circled for a while, then beat its wings and climbed into the night sky, going back the direction it came.

        "Finn?"
        Finn grimaced and sighed. He looked up from unlacing his boots.
        "Yes, grandfather?"
        "Come here, boy," the raspy voice called.
        Finn slowly made his way to the hearth. His grandfather, an ancient man, sat slumped in the wide thatched chair - a tattered quilt tucked around his legs. He looked up at Finn. The old man's watery grey eyes narrowed.
        "What is keeping you out till the moonrise, boy?"
        Finn dropped his gaze to the floor. He could not tell the man it was because he loathed being in the cottage with him. He couldn't tell him it was because he wanted to run and never return. He knew his grandfather had taken him on at a young age and for the care and shelter the old man provided, Finn was grateful. But his skin had begun to crawl lately whenever he was in the room with him. It was a very real sensation - not just an emotion - but a real feeling he had difficulty understanding or tolerating. Out in the forest, he had a deep sense of peace and clarity, like cool water. He had begun to linger for longer periods of time for that reason, unable to leave the serenity of the the deep, dark green.
        "I've been fishing, grandfather," he offered lamely.
        "Hmm.." the old man grumbled. He placed a withered hand on his grandson's arm. Finn winced. If the prickly sensation from being in the same room with the man bothered him, his touch was nearly scalding. Finn backed away.
        "I need to clean my catch and hang it to smoke before it ruins," he whispered, then turned and rushed out of the room.
        The old man stared at at the door as it closed. The boy was nearly ready and he knew that it was just a matter of time before he would have to leave. He only hoped the ancestral elemental magic hadn't soured. Finn was resistant to the calling and his grandfather could feel it every time the boy came in the room. The magic had grown as the boy had aged.
        "Ah, well," he mumbled, "what will be will be."
        He closed his cloudy eyes and drifted off to rest.

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