Aisling Blackwood's Arc

Chapter 2 of 10

The dreams had not stopped. Each night the black tail crossed Aisling's sleep, and each morning she woke tired and afraid. Now Melora sat across from her, breathing easy again, the snow lotus long spent. But her mentor watched her too closely, the way she watched a wound that had not closed. "Tonight is the soul festival," Melora said. She slipped off her mukluks by the fire and stretched her feet. "The veil is thin. The dead come near. So does whatever you carry in your dreams." She tapped Aisling's chest with one wrinkled finger. "You brought something down the mountain, girl. It's time you faced it." Aisling looked away. "I don't know how to face a god." "Then stop running from him." Melora's dark eyes softened. "A shaman doesn't flee spirits. She meets them and asks what they want. You met him once and refused to kneel. That was strength. Hiding now is not." They walked to the village square at dusk. Lanterns hung from every post. People had set out bowls of food for the dead. Aisling smelled fresh rain rising off her own skin, sharp in the cold. Melora pressed a bundle of dried herbs into her hands and lit them. "Sing the calling song," Melora said. "Open yourself. Let him come here, where I can stand beside you." Aisling closed her eyes. Her voice rose, low and clear, the enchanted note carrying past the lanterns. She sang until the square went quiet and the air turned warm and still. She knew that feeling. He was near. The fox-eared deity stood at the edge of the light. His raven hair fell past his waist. His violet eyes found her, and she felt the old pull to kneel. This time she did not fight it away. She held it, and she looked back at him. "You called me back," she said. "Why?" "You are the first in centuries to hear me," he said quietly. "I did not haunt you to keep you. I haunted you because you are meant to walk between worlds. A shaman. I saw it in you." Melora's hand landed firm on Aisling's shoulder. "Then say it plain, mountain god. What do you ask of her?" He bowed his head. "Return to my shrine. Learn what I can teach. No people tend me now. Let her be the bridge." Aisling's fear loosened in her chest. The dreams had not been a curse. They had been an invitation. She looked at Melora, who nodded once. "I will come," Aisling said. "But as a student, not a servant. And I will still serve my people first." The deity smiled. He faded with the thinning veil. The square filled with noise again. Melora squeezed her arm. "Good. You faced it." Then she coughed, hard and wet, and steadied herself against a lantern post. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow you climb."