“Trees? Why trees?”
“For their wisdom. You must learn how to understand what they can teach. The Art of the Woodcutter.”
Milo saw that now they were getting somewhere—only he didn’t have any idea where.
“I’m a Woodcutter,” Culebrant said. “Not a woodsman. You see, trees are sentient, although they have a form and existence so different from humans who live such short, quick lives walking around in the trap of their five senses. Trees have an entirely different sort of wisdom and experience. A Woodcutter must learn how to listen to them.”
Milo thought of the oak in Korrigan Forest. “So that’s what you meant about me being your apprentice?”
Culebrant nodded. “You must learn from the heavens, too. In fact, it’s the heavens that are the books you must study to learn what you must know. Then you’ll be able to ask the right questions at the right times and understand the answers. Without knowing the stars, the planets, the sun and moon, you can’t read the Wheel or understand the answer—much less ask the proper question—which Heronsuge could answer for you. If you got that far, which you wouldn’t.”
“How am I to learn all that stuff?”
“By listening and by asking measured questions. By doing what I tell you whether you can see the sense in it or not, because understanding often comes after the fact. Be patient and take however long you need to learn what I have to tell you. There’s no need to hurry. That’s the first rule.”
“But”—
Culebrant stopped him. “What’s the first rule?”
“Be patient. Don’t hurry,” Milo said, feeling his heart slide with the realization that he was trapped into a new situation. He decided to try another tack. “You said I could ask questions?”
“Yes, if they are considered.”
“I’m pressed for time. I have to get to the Great Barrow as soon as possible, and I’m worried about my friends who may be there already. I believe that Kayn is as dangerous to them as he is to me. How can I take the time you tell me I must take if I don’t have the time to take it?”
“That’s more than one question. There was one word among all those others that was meaningful. It was ‘possible.’ You must get to the Great Barrow as soon as possible. Now, you could rush off, climb it, and stand there like a fool until Kayn blasted you off it. That’s an option, but, I think, a completely useless one. What if I were to tell you that the time you think you don’t have is irrelevant to what is possible? Submit to this apprenticeship and I will not only keep you safe from your enemy, but I’ll also assure you that the time you think you don’t have will be profitably offset. It is the only way you can do what is possible—and to help yourself and your friends.”
Milo didn’t answer. Not protesting was all the answer he had the heart for.
So began Milo’s apprenticeship as a Woodcutter. Each day before breakfast, they began with exercises—breathing, stretching, and strengthening—that Culebrant insisted were shaped by the structure of the universe, something he indicated was related to circles of movement. He called these movements ‘The Gyre of the Rule’ or simply ‘The Rule.’
“Train your body with interlocking spirals of motion and your spirit learns to move in a circular way, too. In that way you condition yourself to avoid running headlong into barriers of resistance,” Culebrant insisted. “Supple body, supple mind.”
After the exercises, they ate breakfast and did chores. There were long rambles through the woods, with talks about the things they saw around them. Collecting plants and discussing the types and qualities of trees played a major part of these walks, reminding Milo of the sorts of information Einter had given him before Milo’s adventure in Korrigan Forest—only what Culebrant had to say about them went well beyond what Einter had shown him.
At night they watched the sky. Often Culebrant got Milo out of bed in order to see the sky at a particular—and inconvenient for his slumbers—time. Wrapped in blankets against the increasing chill as autumn faded into winter, Culebrant showed Milo stars and constellations, and how they progressed through the hours of the night. Gradually, as the seasons turned, he explained the constellations of the elliptic. He demonstrated how these were the star patterns that lay along the same path that the sun takes across the sky. He called this chain of constellations by several terms: the Wheel of the Seasons or the Wheel of Time, but mostly, he referred to them simply as the Rule.
One night as they were watching the sky, Culebrant pointed out the stars that made up the constellation Milo recognized as Orion. Recalling his revelation from that night in Rykirk, Milo told Culebrant about it. “Those are the same stars I see at home—the world I come from,” he said. “And if those are the same stars I see at home, how can this be a different world?”
“Because you’ve shifted. This place is not the same place as Rykirk, and Rykirk isn’t the same place you came from. But that doesn’t mean that they’re different worlds. They’re just different phases of the same world. You call those stars Orion, and they no doubt have their own stories. Here they’re known as Candaon. I would hazard to guess that the stories about Candaon have similarities to the stories about Orion but they also are different in a way that fits the place where you come from. What do you know about Orion?”
“Well, Orion was a hunter.”
“So was Candaon. In the earliest versions of his myth he was called the Protector of Beasts, but in a later version he became a great hunter. Myths may shift and take on new details but the core of the story—it’s deep structure and purpose—remains true to its original inspiration. If it doesn’t, it usually vanishes and the story is lost forever. You see, myths are the oldest things that people have. They’re always told about a distant past and are relayed by storytellers, one person to the next, and each generation retells the story in a way that makes sense in that generation. The retelling must suit a purpose and make sense to those who are hearing it, without forsaking its antiquity.”
“Sooo...” Milo puzzled, “a myth sort of wanders around. It’s a fiction with a meaning that’s true?”
“You could say that. A fiction because it’s told for a dramatic purpose instead of being told to preserve factual detail. It must possess an insight that goes much deeper than simple facts can, which in the end are unimportant and pass away. Myths can be nearly forgotten, but then if the need arises, they can be revived and rebuilt. But for now,” Culebrant said, turning Milo’s attention back to the stars, “let’s look for other star patterns that have their own stories, but are still linked into the same web of tales as Candaon’s.” He pointed out a rather faint star off to the north of the blazing group that made up Candaon. “Do you know what star that is?”
“Ahh...is that the North Star?” Milo ventured.
“Very good! Yes. It’s called a fixed star because the whole sky appears to wheel around it. It’s at the hub of the Wheel.”
Culebrant showed Milo the constellation he called the Great Bear next, which Milo recognized as the Big Dipper. That led to the Little Bear, which was fainter, with the North Star at the tip of its long, un-bearlike tail. Then Culebrant pointed out an even more difficult set of stars that snaked between the two bears. They twisted along an arc of sky around the North Star.
“That one’s called The Dragon. I want you to memorize it and look for it every chance you get,” Culebrant instructed.
Culebrant led Milo into the woods where they couldn’t see the sky at all. “It’s cold,” he commented, wrapping himself tightly into his blanket. Milo, who was shivering and hoped that they might return to his nice, warm bed, followed along with some disappointment. “Let’s walk and wait for the dawn.”
Milo realized that they were moving close to the Great Barrow. Often on their walks they came near it, but they had always skirted around it. This time Culebrant took him right up its treeless, heather-choked slope.
“Tonight is Yule,” Culebrant told Milo. “The longest night of the year. Tomorrow the sun will ris
e a little bit to the north of where it rises today, and begin its journey back into the summer sky. The day will be just a tad bit longer. This morning we’ll watch the place where it rises.”
They sat on top of the barrow, which Milo could see was shaped like a wandering ridge instead of a single hill. Its meandering shape undulated away toward the west. They were standing on the easternmost part. “Look there,” Culebrant directed, pointing to the east. “Dawn is almost here and we need to watch the exact spot where the sun will rise.” The darker mass of the earth was backlit by the waxing of sunrise, brightest at the point where the sun would clear the horizon. “Pay careful attention for the first flash of the sun’s disk. Mark the exact spot. You can’t watch for long, but I want you to be able to recognize that spot once the sun has lifted away from the horizon.”
The whole rim of the eastern horizon was glowing now, and pink streamers of light trickled across the sky as it turned from black to a deep, luminous blue. The spot where the light was centered became dazzling just before the leading edge of the sun spilled across. Milo marked the spot, several finger widths from a wedge of rock jutting from the horizon line before he had to look away, blinking at the bright spots in his vision.
“Did you get it?” Culebrant queried.
“Yes. Just to the side of that bump.”
“That was once a temple,” Culebrant commented. “It was placed there to mark the winter solstice as viewed from this place on the Barrow. A dolmen was set to split the solar disk in half as it rose.”
“Why? What happened? Did they put it in the wrong place?”
“No, they built it precisely, but that was a very long time ago. The hub of the sky has shifted. The earth has a wobble, making a slow circle that takes many thousands of years to complete. The sun rises in a different place now than it did back then. Besides, the dolmen has toppled since then and the temple is only rubble. You came through it when you arrived, though all you saw was a jumble of weathered stones. Woodcutters watch the slow cycle of the turning sky, marking it by the rising of the sun, the moon, and certain stars, and they pass these observations on to the next generation of Woodcutters so that they’ll understand and track the cycle until the sun once more rises at the original spot at the old temple, though it will be completely gone by then.”
“How long will that take?”
“A full cycle of the Wheel. Thousands of solar years.”
“Why? That must be almost impossible. Is it that important?”
“It’s the measure of Time. It’s the calendar of each year and marks the seasons. It calculates the ages and it’s the Book of Wisdom, because if you know what you must know in order to keep up with the precession of the Wheel, you know the cause and effect that the metaphysical world has on the manifest world. And for you, Milo, it will tell you what you’ve come here to learn.”
“Are the stories about Candaon and the other constellations part of that?”
“Of course. They are the archive of the metaphysical world. For instance, did you know that Candaon played slinger? I believe you’ve mentioned your slinger-playing friends and the tournament at the End of the Earth.” Culebrant stood up from where they had been sitting and started off down the slope. Milo had to hurry to catch up.
“You see, Candaon had been on a long journey far to the east. On the way back he met a giant who was terrorizing the land and blocked Candaon’s way. This giant forced anyone who came by to play him in a slinger match. Candaon learned that the giant had a magic bat that killed at one end and resurrected at the other end. Candaon managed to steal the bat, replacing it with a normal one. Then he used the magic bat to overwhelm the giant. That bat became so much a part of Candaon that you can see it to this day in the stars of his constellation.”
“So...that’s why slinger is important to the End of the Earth pilgrimage?”
“Exactly. You see, Candaon was traveling back to be reunited with his wife. But when he got there, he discovered that her uncle, whose name was Severanus, wanted her to leave Candaon and marry an important ally, by telling her that Candaon was actually her nephew. The uncle’s plot backfired, however, when her shame was so great that she threw herself into the pit of fire where she served as an oracle. When Candaon learned what had happened, he flew into an insane rage, howling with fury and grief, swearing to kill Severanus. Severanus fled, seeking the protection of Tholis, the Lady of Underground Places. Candaon raged on, killing anyone who came in his way until he came to the sacred isle of Elx, known for its labyrinth of caves. Tholis pledged to punish Candaon for these murders and called up from the labyrinth an Elemental. This was the great monster Heronsuge.”
The name hit Milo like an electric shock. Not that he hadn’t been listening to Culebrant’s rambling story, but this name, heard so suddenly, made it very personal.
“What! What did you say?” Milo cried.
Culebrant chuckled. “So. You have been listening. I told you that these are things you must know. Now keep listening. The story’s not done yet.
“You want to know who this Heronsuge is. It’s time to make his acquaintance. You see, Heronsuge is often thought of as a huge dragon or serpent. Actually, he is an Elemental, one of the First Children of Anzu, the Creatrix, who divided herself into the heavens and the earth to create order—the Rule—from Chaos. Before that there was nothing but the unordered singularity that was Anzu. By dividing herself, things and beings came into existence, and as soon as there were individual things and beings, they had names. Thus, in the beginning there was Anzu. Elementals, only one step apart from the power of Chaos, were her first children. Her second were the Avatars. Later came the Elder Race of skilled magicians. Some of them wished to claim Creation for themselves, and they conspired with some of the Elementals and Avatars, who, after the rebellion was lost, came to be known as the Fallen. Not all of the Elder Race rebelled and they pledged to maintain the Rule of Anzu in opposition to their brethren and their bretheren’s allies. This discord resulted in the War of the Elementals. Humans, for the most part, were pawns in this power struggle, battered this way and that.
“But let’s return to Heronsuge,” Culebrant said, noticing Milo’s impatience. “The Great Dragon Heronsuge, tricked by Tholis into believing that Candaon was attacking the Gate that Heronsuge was set to guard, pursued Candaon as he stepped out of the sea onto the Isle of Elx. Candaon quickly learned that his arrows and even his slinger bat had no effect on the powerful Elemental, who was immortal. The abilities of the club—one end for killing and the other to resurrect, that is, an instrument of destruction and of healing—had no power over an Elemental who had come into existence before Death. All Candaon could do was to flee the monster by diving back into the sea and swimming away.
“He sought out Dawn, with whom he had consorted during an earlier adventure. She gave him a talisman shaped into the four corners of the Wheel, that the Dragon would recognize and respect. Its power was its ability to lock Heronsuge back into his underground lair.”
Milo, hearing about the shape of the talisman, thought of the stone cross he wore in its sack beneath his shirt. He felt a hot blush rise into his cheeks and unconsciously covered it with his hand as if to hide it from his old teacher. If Culebrant noticed the gesture, he ignored it.
“Now, Elx was a sacred island. Tholis held reign over its labyrinth, but Therona, her sister, who was the Lady of the Moon and Patroness of the Hunt and of beasts, held sway of the island’s surface. Therona was a great archer, and Candaon had learned archery from her long before. Tholis, who had gotten word that Candaon was returning to Elx, armed with the talisman to render the Great Dragon harmless, devised a new plot to stop him. She paid her sister a visit, and as they gossiped Tholis spotted Candaon swimming to the island. Only his head was visible, bobbing on the waves. Tholis pointed out the tiny target and taunted Therona that, great archer that she may be, she surely couldn’t hit such a difficult target with one of her arrows. Therona, not realizing that the tiny dot
was actually Candaon, accepted the challenge. She chose her best arrow and fitted it to the string of her crescent-shaped bow. She drew and let fly, the arrow arching up into the heavens. It reached its zenith and turned downward, falling with terrible force. It’s said that it looked like a meteor as it fell, piercing Candaon through the forehead.
“When Therona learned what she had done, that she had killed Candaon with her own hand, she was devastated. She called on her father, Strellanus, the Star Herder, to set stars into the sky for Candaon as a memorial to him. Then she pledged that the moon—remember, she was the Moon Lady—would wane for half her cycle as a penance before waxing again to bring light back into the blackness of night. Candaon’s stars would ride on the winter Star River—I believe you’ve called it the Milky Way.”
Milo was puzzled. “How does all this relate to me and my need to speak to Heronsuge?”
“I agree. You have a problem,” Culebrant confirmed, his expression so guileless that Milo knew he was up to something.
“Okay,” Milo surrendered. “What is it I have to do?”
“Unravel the puzzle.”
Milo groaned. “This is going to be a long winter.”
17
The Widdershins Shuffle
The kittens were born just before the day Culebrant called Ostara, at the spring equinox. There were two black sisters and a little grey male. Molly purred as they nursed and Bori swelled with pride. The only time he would leave the side of his new family was to hunt for them.
“Fatherhood gives you a different perspective on things,” he told Milo when Milo invited him to go on a ramble. “You’ll see, one day,” Bori assured him.
Milo missed the cat’s company, but respected—admired even—the cat’s devotion to his family. Besides, he looked forward to playing with the kittens as soon as their eyes opened and they began to explore their new world. After all, he was their godfather.
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