Lloer

Moon

Before there was the land, there was Dawn the Mother Wolf and the Vampire Toft. Together, they had the pup Syoha. Then Dawn birthed the land and the seas, the plants and the animals. Last of all she birthed the Wolves.

Toft was angry that these pups were not his. He sent Vampires to kill the Wolves, and set about ravaging the land–

My attention wanders. I’m not a pup any more, I don’t need to hear the stories. Anyway, I know all this. Sometimes it seems the Old Ones have no other stories to tell. They speak of nothing else but Dawn of the Sea and the evil Toft of the Hidden Lands. He wouldn’t even be of the Hidden Lands if Dawn hadn’t kept him out with the mountains.

Though, if the Old Ones are to be believed, Dawn’s mountains saved us all from him.

I often wonder what’s beyond them. It can’t be pure destruction and death, like they say. There’s no way Toft could do all that by himself – even given many, many generations.

I also doubt that Toft was actually a vampire. I’ve seen vampires; weird, small, pale things that walk on two legs only. Not the huge wolf with burning golden eyes and frightfully sharp teeth and claws Toft is described as. They don’t even have fur!

There’s one bit of the story I do like, though. Syoha, the Moon, always watching over us. Dawn is too busy creating things – she births the sun every day, which I always think must hurt awfully, and constantly creates new things to replace what Toft destroys. Toft, of course, supposedly hates our guts. But Syoha cares. And they are everything. Male and female, young and old, creation and destruction. They are what a wolf should be.

I raise a paw. The Old One telling the story sighs. “Yes, Sable?”

“Do you think Syoha knows what’s over the mountains?”

“Of course not. Toft is careful never to let them see what he has done to the land, lest they hate him forever.”

“Oh. Ok.”

I don’t believe them. There’s no way Syoha could be so blind. Crafty as Toft is, Syoha’s intelligent. They know why Dawn and Toft are on opposite sides of the land, with great dividing mountains between them.

Later that night, when Mum is in the den putting the pups to bed, I ask Cricket the same question. He scoffs that I still believe Syoha is real. Littermates, everyone. The first to shoot down all your best ideas. He curls up beside our third littermate, Hart, and goes to sleep. I lay a little way away. That day, my dreams are full of silver wolves, dark skies, and burning golden eyes.

Mountain

Firm earth underfoot, bright leaves all around, crisp air in my lungs. The trees blur by. This is the life.

Mum woke us early in the evening, before the light had fully drained from the sky. She thinks we’re ready to try a solo hunt. We’ve been helping the pack more and more recently, but we need to be able to catch something by ourselves in case we ever happen to be alone. She sent Cricket north, Hart south, and me to the west. All we need to get is a rabbit. The boys immediately made it a race between themselves. I wasn’t allowed to join, as usual. I’m determined to beat them both. I’ve been so close to getting one already, but rabbits are hard to catch, speedy and small enough that I can’t pin them down.

I stop and smell the air carefully, then turn northwards, creeping through the undergrowth. The rabbit is fat, a bundle of grey fur not far from my nose. It’s an easy catch, and I turn for home. But something stops me.

To my west, the trees thin, and the mountains rise up, grey and powerful. For a moment I wonder if the Old Ones got their stories wrong, that the mountains are not to keep Toft at bay but are instead his teeth, as he prepares to swallow us. The wind is harsh, cutting through my fur, and the frosted grass is crisp and untouched. I step out under the bare and open sky.

The higher up the mountains I go, the more of the land I can see, unfolding behind me like a bird’s wings before it takes flight. Ahead, a valley between two peaks extends southwest. I’ve not reached the border of our territory yet, so I keep going.
In the valley, the mountains seem to surround me completely, muffling all of the land but the whistling wind. The moon is high above, Syoha keeping a watchful eye on me, and I am not afraid, though I wonder if our territory actually reaches this far, or if the mere presence of the mountains creates a natural border that needs no marking.

There is nothing here but short grass and wind-beaten shrubs, and the hunting bird whose cries echo through the valleys. I feel small, like the rabbit I still carry, nothing but a shivering huddle of grey fur. By the time the sun’s light begins to reach me, I am far from familiar ground. But the valley falls away ahead of me, as if I’m reaching the other side, so I build a small fire with what wood I can find, uprooting one of the scrappy bushes to cook my rabbit. Half of it I save for tomorrow, wrapped carefully with the bones in its pelt. If I had any thread, I could turn it into a bag, but the little bundle will do.

Plains

When I wake, I follow the sun down the valley. It seems to take longer to set now the mountains don’t hide the final part of its journey to Toft’s den. Syoha is already pale in the darkening sky. I round a corner, and the world opens out below me like the forest had before.

The Old Ones were wrong. Of course Syoha knows what’s over here, they pace their own journey above me even now. They know because Toft doesn’t need to hide it from them, because he has not ravaged the land, not even a tiny bit. Green plains stretch out before me, and on the horizon a smudge of something darker catches the last rays of the setting sun, glinting and gleaming. The world isn’t ruined, it’s full of life! Are there more Dawns, or is ours not what the old stories say, just like Toft is not?

I should go back, tell my family what I’ve learnt. But I need to know more.

It’s not until the new sun’s birth that I step off the mountain, but I keep going, curiosity overcoming the tiredness I should be feeling. The air is warmer on this side of the mountains, grass fresh and sweet-smelling under my paws as I wander through it. It’s kept cropped short by strange woolly creatures that behhh and run away when I try to approach. I stop to rest when the sun is high overhead, and continue on with Syoha’s guidance. Gradually, the wood-crested hills on each side of me lower, until flat land stretches out all around. I reach a river coming from the north, sparkling in the moonlight, far too wide and deep to cross, and turn my path along its bank. Eventually, after another night’s travel, the grass turns sparse, the earth first muddy, then powdery. It’s not powder in the way fresh, light snowfall is powder; this is coarse, gritty, working its way into the gaps between my pads and clinging to the fur of my paws instead of melting. Ahead of me, the river opens out, and the whole world appears covered in water. This must be a sea of the old stories! Its water is salty, the taste even spreading through the river nearby. I retreat from the grainy ground to sleep under a tree as the sun appears over the mountaintops.

Sea // Môr

Before there was the land, there was Dawn the Mother Wolf and the Great Wolf Toft. Together they had the pup Syoha. Then Dawn birthed the land, and the plants and the animals. Last of all she birthed the Wolves.

Fearing Toft’s jealousy, Dawn raised the mountains around where the Wolves lived, banishing him. In his grief, he cried the seas, but try as he might he could not cross the mountains. He created the Vampires to go in his place, so he could still have a part in everything in the world.

When I wake up, two tall figures stand over me, talking to each other in a strange tongue, rippling like the waves on the river when the wind picks up. They look rather like vampires, the same flat, furless faces, but they are taller and broader. I roll to four feet, then, to their astonishment, rise onto two.

“Who are you?”

I don’t know what I expected. If I don’t understand them, there’s no way they understand me.

My speaking seems to scare them, though, because they jump back, one grabbing a long stick strapped to their back, the other a cord with a small pouch hung at their belt. I lower myself back onto four feet, watching them carefully. The one with the cord starts to swing it around with a whistling sound.

This seems dangerous. I turn and run, four paws thudding in quick succession on the ground. Something strikes the dirt just beside me, hard enough to sink in rather than bounce, and one of the creatures behind me shouts. The ground grows softer, and before I know it I’m belly-deep in the river.

I swim for the other shore, hoping I don’t tire before I reach it. I can’t hear the creatures now, but when I turn to see the bank I left they are still standing there. They wave their paws and sticks when they see me looking. I swim on.

It’s when I reach the middle of the river that disaster strikes. I’m not doing too badly, and starting to think I might actually make it, when something tugs at my paws below the water. I don’t realise until it’s too late to turn back, the tugging is more insistent, pulling me towards the wide open sea.
I manage to gasp in one final breath of air before the water pulls me under and away.

Coed

I wake on the same grainy substance that I found lining the sea before, every bone of my body aching, fur soaked completely through. For a moment I hope that I somehow returned to where I left, but the riot of scents says otherwise. I’m on the other side of the sea.

How am I meant to get home now?

The scents are not the only thing that’s different. As I stand, I feel something through my paws, as if the land itself had a heartbeat. The trees, stretching straggly limbs towards the sea as if they too wished to return to a home far away, seem to breathe.

It feels wrong to step between them into the dark embrace of the forest, but there’s no other way to go except back into the cold, unfeeling sea with its deceptive play of light under the mindless sun.

In the forest, I hear things, smell things, but see nothing but the occasional flash of a bird, one which I have never seen before. It’s as if I’ve not just crossed the sea to a different land, but also some border between worlds to one where everything has voice. The trees whisper at my passage, the breeze caresses my fur and leads me on. There are no real paths, only thin, disjointed deer-tracks, no signs of settlement. How can a place with so much life lack those who would sing of it, would tell their own tales of Dawn and Toft – do their eyes even reach here? I do not know.

But above me, as I step out into a clearing after the fresh night has fallen, Syoha watches on.

Tân

At the end of the night, I curl up in a small hollow at the foot of a great, sturdy tree to rest. I miss having the rest of the pack around me, but the tree’s breath provides some comfort. The first rays of the sun dart through the trees like deer, bright and close. Perhaps this land is so full of life and yet so empty because Dawn lives here. Perhaps Syoha stands overhead because this is their home.

When I wake, one of the scents that before spread through the forest is heavy around me. I remain motionless, listening to the quiet, musical murmurs and shuffling of feet, trying to count how many are in the group watching me. Their language is soft and lilting, like the wind through the leaves, and their footsteps are light and easy.

When I open my eyes, those nearest my head leap back. They are taller than vampires, but share the same narrowness and lack of fur, and their ears are pointed like a wolf’s. They wear the life of the forest as easily as they wear their clothes.

One turns and calls something to another, further away, who brings me meat on a flat piece of bark. They hold a hand over it and say a few words, before pushing it towards my nose and shuffling back on their knees. It’s strange to eat with such an attentive audience, but the last of the rabbit was a long time ago, and I quickly sink my teeth into the food.

It tastes like nothing I’ve ever tasted. Well, of course, I’m in a different land, there’s no reason the meal would taste like home. The creatures around me seem delighted by how quickly I finish it. They prepared the food well, it was warm and sweet, and the warmth spreads through my whole body, ridding me of the last few shivers and aches that lingered from my journey through the sea. The life of the forest now seems a little sharper, as if a full belly let me finally pull it into focus.

Then the creature that brought my food speaks.

“You may call me Ardherian. Welcome to the Island.” Er chuckles at my expression. “Yes, you can understand us now, and speak our tongue yourself. That was the purpose of the magic I put on your meal.”

“Magic? Like Seeing? I thought that was a myth.”

“I do not know the Seeing of which you speak. But this magic, our magic, is very real, Blaiddu. You also now have the power to learn it.”

“Can it help me get home?” The question tumbles from my mouth before I can stop it. “I mean, not that you’re not very nice, I just…”

“You miss it. That is understandable. You’ve travelled so far for one so young. You are far from your home, and your family. But you cannot return.”

“What?”

Ardherian shrugs. “That is how the magic works. Whether coming here or going elsewhere, once you cross the Island’s border, you may never return to your home. But come.” Er stands up and gestures to a large fire, which is now crackling merrily, ringed by more of these people. “Tell us the tales of your people.”

Lloer

Before there was the land, there was Dawn the Mother Wolf and the Great Wolf Toft. Together they had the pup Syoha. Then Dawn birthed the land, the plants and the animals. Last of all she birthed the Wolves.

The land was such a great expanse that she and Toft could not hope to watch over it all. They invited others to create their people, and assigned portions of the land to them. Dawn, wanting to protect her Wolves from others who may wish to harm them, enclosed her portion in a ring of mighty mountains. Toft, wanting to be with Dawn even though the mountains kept him out, created the Vampires and sent them into the hidden land.

Syoha they made a messenger, a protector, a guide. They roam the skies freely, keeping watch over the whole of the land, reporting back to their parents all the good and bad that happens. They guide any wolf and vampire that steps out of Dawn and Toft’s protection, to find a new people who will take them in, a new creator who will protect them, but even once found they will never desert their siblings, who like them wander far and see new lands that their parents and their people have turned their back on.

It’s not the story the Old Ones told, but it’s the one that feels right, the one that flows out of me like a river from its mountain spring.

“We call the moon Lloer,” Ardherian tells me as we walk through the forest after fire time. “It is special in our own stories, too. The silver shadow sibling of the sun god Haul.”

“Our sun isn’t a god, at all, it’s a gift from Dawn to Toft. It matches his eyes.”

Er chuckles. “It’s interesting how people’s tales can differ so greatly.”

“I don’t think I did mine justice.” 

“Nonsense. You’re a fine storyteller. Your experience shapes you well.”

“I don’t have any storytelling experience. That’s the Old Ones’ job.”

“Your life experience, I mean. You’ve seen a lot more than either of our people usually see. And you’ve got more qualities than just a weaver of words. Most people who wash ashore are dead. Surviving the whims of the waterfolk is impressive.”

I thank er and we walk on. The people – faekind, they call themselves – are impressed that I can walk on both four legs and two with equal ease. Apparently the other people on the Island, though animalistic like myself, can only walk upright like faekind. I wonder if wolves are the only ones who don’t. Dawn certainly blessed us.

“You will need a use-name,” Ardherian says a little later. We are near the crest of a hill, and a little patch bare of trees allows a great view across the forest to the sea shining in the moonlight.

“A use-name?”

“Yes. There’s a reason I haven’t asked yours. It’s always uncertain, when one named by others arrives, whether their true name will be one given by their kin, or if the Island will name them. True names are never to be shared, except with those you trust most closely. A use-name is used by everyone else.”

“How do I know my true name?”

“You feel it. In here.” Er taps my chest. “The Island tells it to you. Go on, try now. Listen. Feel.”

I look out over the forest, the moon’s reflections on the leaves mirroring the stars above. It is a place of such beauty, such peace.

And I know. I hear it in the breeze, I feel it in the light dancing around us. Lloer.