Valley of the Shadow of Death, silverling626 [top rated books of all time txt] 📗

Murus sat down on the leaf-littered ground and crossed his legs at the feet of his elder.
The old weasel, near blind with age, seemed to not notice his presence; so Murus spoke softly in the old tough as not to frighten him. “Elder Ross.” The old weasel did not stir. He sat perfectly still blending into the trunk of the stump he perched on.
If not for the constant wrinkle, wiggle, and twitch of the elders whiskery nose Murus might have thought him dead. Then his journey here would have been in vain, in fact his entire mission would be nullified for only Elder Ross was qualified to help him in his quest at this point.
“Elder Ross!” called Murus a little louder than before. “Forgive my intrusion into your territory! I am a pilgrim from the Easter Paths! I have journeyed to the West in search of your wisdom!”
There came a groan from the stump and Murus knew he’d been heard at last. “Ah . . . So formal a greeting for one as common as I?” Elder Ross seemed to speak without moving his mouth. His voice – though gruff and rusty with age- rang out clear through the crisp autumn air.
“Well, Grandsire I only wanted to be certain you’d hear me before throwing me out.” Murus explained relaxing his posture a little. The elder hawked up a crackly chuckle from the back of back of a dry aged throat.
“It’s a wonder I could hear anything with you yelling at that old corpse. “
Murus sat confused for a moment wondering what the Elder meant. All at once he recognized the bones were visible in the hands and feet of the being to whom he’d been speaking. He also realized that what he’d mistaken before for shadows over his grandfathers eyes were, in fact, empty sockets blocked by rays of tree filtered sunlight.
“Do not fear it, youngster.” His grandfather’s voice said from behind him. Murus gave a yep hoping instinctively away from the specter’s voice and towards the corpse instead.
The old weasel stepped into sight from where he’d really been hiding – behind the rock his youngling had been sitting beside. Murus backed away until his tail brushed the boney legs of the body behind him. The nose wriggled still; Murus felt suddenly quite queasy at the thought of what might been causing it.
The living elder had dull red-brown eyes shadowed by the trees above but still glistening from the reflected light of the sun. His bottom jaw jutted forth revealing worn but present teeth still capable of feeding the old, broken body they were attached to; his whiskers formed an impressive white circle around his silver muzzle. Unlike the body behind Murus, which wore only decaying leaves and moss, Elder Ross wore a deep purple cloak attacked at the neck by a broach baring the symbol of Life Goddess.
“So,” said Elder Ross stepping forward again, “You fear my soul more than my body. Understandable. Only . . . I am clearly not dead . . . so you can stop retreating now.” Murus recovered his since as the elder spoke and felt suddenly very foolish.
“I apologize Grandsire it is only-“Murus pointed back at the body. Now that he knew the speaker was alive fear seized him once more at the sight of it and he hurried to his elder instead.
“Foolish youth, that there is my brother. You needn’t fear him either. He won’t hurt you. “ The elder’s voice was full of amusement. He waved his tail over the stone he’d been hiding behind then sat on it. His knees groaned as they bent; his ankles popped; his breath caught as he lowered himself down. When at last he’d managed to settle he sighed with relief “Ah, praise be to the Light and the Shadows.”
Murus, who was now captivated by his surroundings, noticed that the Elder’s brother was not the only body on display. A crow was hung limp from a nearby tree, three frogs lay flat beside a creek nearby, and a lady mouse was also on display, just out of rage of a solitary beam of light she stood barely recognizable in her state of decay.
“Elder Ross?” Murus turned to find his grandsire staring at him with great interest. “Why? Why haven’t any of these bodies been laid to rest?”
The Elder’s eyes narrowed shrewdly, “Why haven’t I buried my brother, you mean? Or why have none of my friends been fed to a higher predator? Such euphemisms are pointless here, youngling.”
“Then . . . why have they not?” Murus looked sick. This was not only unnatural, but blasphemy as well! The bodies of all dead beings are to be returned to the Earth, so their spirits can rejoin the life energy and their flesh become a contribution to the living. Not kept up for the world to see! His mother had warned him of her father’s dark practices . . . but this was beyond what he was prepared for.
“If you really must know youngling, I will tell you only this: I am waiting.” The Elder rolled his eyes up as if to gaze at his own forehead; as though some thought had given him great pleasure.
“Waiting? For what?” Murus could not hide the disgust on his face. The Elder’s eyes returned to the youth. He shifted into a more comfortable position and grumbled,
“That is all I will say. Now, weren’t you on a mission or some such non-since like that?”
Murus was discouraged. With the hollow sockets of so many inanimate bodies around him he wanted nothing more than to leave and never speak to this cursed individual again. Elder Ross coughed up another laugh causing his grizzled face to pull back into a mirthless sneer. “Don’t bother with them. They won’t bite!”
“Elder Ross,” Murus turned to the old weasel upon the rock he focused on him and nothing more. “The colonies of the East have heard grave news. They say a great change is coming. They say the Lady of the Light is dying, and with her so shall we!”
* * *
Elder Ross cackled softly, his face hidden behind a veil of long, ill kept fur, petting his leg which rested crossed over his knee.
“Elder Ross, I fail to see the humor in-“ He cackled louder, pointed at his youngling, one red-brown eye staring out him from beyond the veil of silver.
“Is that what the monks of mountain tell you? Are they still preaching that old tired song?”
“Sir?” Murus looked confused. What the Mountain Monks had preached for years was known to be the scribed truths that all Earth Dwellers believed to be true. Every bird, reptile, and mammal knew no matter what other differences of their faith understood the stories of the end of all. It was the undisputed truth. Elder Ross read the looping confusion in the youngling eyes, his extended bottom jaw seemed to smile.
“Tell me then, what is it they tell you. And I shall tell where you are wrong.” He cast his eyes down to his leg for a moment, then seemed to take a deep breath. He muttered something inaudible to himself, and sucked in a deep breath. “Will you be staying for dinner?” He cut Murus off the instant he’d opened his mouth. Murus looked at the sun unsure. It was setting fast. He’d planned to stay with his Gransire but in the light of current evens was no longer sure if this was wise. He nodded, though the Elder was not looking at him, and continued to tell his story.
“The Monks of the Mountain preach to us what is already written in the ancient scribes of the Book of Life, Libras Viarum.” The old weasel nodded. “They say on the days of the coming centuries, that the Earth shall be engulfed in the most hated shadow. It’s heart blacked at the core, it shall seize to spin and drift out of favor with the Sun. But rather than burning or freezing the darkness shall consume the lands and the earth shall shrivel into a cold blanket of-“
“NO! NO NO NO NO NO!!!” The Elder bore down furiously on Murus, his teeth bared and the hair on the back of his neck rose. “LIESSSSS” He hissed. “Sheer drivel and I am to believe these words came so zealously from the lips of my own flesh!!!” He was breathing hard, attempting to calm himself without standing up, though clearly he wanted to, he found it difficult to be moved from his position. “This is why I left . . . and it’s only grown worse.” He fell quite for a while stroking his leg. Murus was about to speak again when the Elder finally sparked up “Yes. You shall stay for dinner.”
Confused by this sudden involuntary confirmation Murus once again just stood in shocked silence of everything he’d heard. His grandsire had cursed the monks, ridiculed their preaching and had called him a fool. He looked once more at the setting sun. If he started now he could be out of the thicket by nightfall . . . he had no desire to be here when the sun finally went down.
“She came to me.” Elder Ross’s voice was suddenly very gentile, almost young. He was stroking his own cheek like an affectionate friend might have done. His eyes were closed; he seemed to be in a slight daze. “She came to all of us one night . . . in a dream deep in winter sleep. She was so beautiful. She told me that we only knew half the story, only half the Legends of Time. She told me, to journey off the mountain, in the Valley, to a cave were the shadows never vanish . . . and there I’d find enlightenment. I met my brother at the bottom of the mountain. He’d had the same dream as I, our long quarrel ended then and we traveled together. Along the way we met others from different tribes, those we might have eaten had they not been on the same pilgrimage. They became our friends, and we needed them on the quest. “ Elder Ross grew silent, for a moment Murus thought he might have fallen asleep but in truth his eyes were open gazing at his leg, glistening with a strange moistness.
“Life is only half of living.” He whispered.
“Sir?” Murus looked around, the trees seemed to sway without wind as the elder said this.
“Life . . . is only half . . . of living.” The Elder repeated. When he did not go on Murus confessed
“I do not understand sir.”
“The Monks only have half the tombs from the ancient scribers. They only know half the truth of