The Magician In The Grove

Matthew Raven The Magician in the Grove The Magician in the Grove Gurja huddled tightly into her furs. She heard the crackle of the logs deep in the fire and scooted closer to the light. Outside was darkness, the darkness beyond the grove, stretching deeper and deeper out into the trees and the night. Hurge coughed and shuddered, and then was still again. Hurge was leaving, now. He would soon stop moving like Yahla and Gag had before him; something had happened to him on the last hunt, and he had begun throwing up his food and shivering. Now he was mostly still, making only little shows of resistance, but soon he would be very still, and then he would not move at all, and Gurja would have to leave him behind. Near her Gurgah shivered in sympathy to Hurge, then scooted over towards Gurja. Gurja smiled sadly without thinking to, and reached out to him. Soon it would be just them two, the last of their band. Yahla had gone when Gurgah had come out of her, and then, though Gag tried hard to raise Gurgah, and keep Hurge and Gurja safe, the fight was gone from him, and in within two summers, while hunting the Beast, his timing was wrong. The tusk had stuck in his gut, and the Beast had carried him for many strides before Hurge could bring it down. It had taken two days for Gag to lie still. And then Hurge had been their only protector. Who would protect them, now that Hurge was going to lie still as well, when what made Hurge Hurge was gone? Then there would be only Gurja and Gurgah, and what could they do? Gurja was skinny and weak like Yahla, and Gurgah had seen only five cycles. Five cycles, each distinct, and yet each different, as they moved across the land. Joining and leaving bands, headed ever towards the setting sun, and when in doubt, to the left. Now here they were in this strange land, gone where the plains, the endless fields of long grass. Now there was the forest and groves and hills and bigger hills of rock that stretched towards the sky. This was world that Yahla had dreamed of, and she had never seen it but in her dreams. Nor had she known why they must head here. But head here, they must, and she had told Gag this, and he had listened when Gurja was the size of Gurgah, and since then she had known only travel and shifting lands, which was all Gurgah had ever known. Gurgah spoke. “We must do something for him.” He looked up at her, nestled against her side. His eyes shone like pools in the firelight. Deep pools, like those she and Hurge had bathed in, deep in the cave they had lived in, two winters past. “He is ours,” he said. “We must not leave him.” She rubbed him on the shoulder. “When…if we leave him,” she said, “there will be nothing worth taking.” They stared at Hurge from across the flames, and dared not go across. He was still. “Perhaps he is asleep,” she said. “Perhaps we should sleep. Things have more sense in the morning than in night.” “I hope we are not eaten tonight,” whispered Gurgah. “Hush,” she said. “Do not say such things.” She drew him closer and hugged him to her chest, then lay them both down beside the fire, and thought of

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Matthew Raven The Magician in the Grove the warmth coming over them from the fire, and of the warmth coming over her from Gurgah. “I wish there was some way not to leave him,” he whispered. “No one should be left.” “Gurja, move.” “What?” Gurja felt herself rocking. “Gurgah, what are you doing?” she whispered. “I have dreamed something.” “You have…is it still night?” She sat up, or tried. The fire had died down to embers, and cold was everywhere. It was always worse to wake in this time, when the fire was gone and there was nothing to know but cold. It was so hard to sleep again. “Why must you wake me now?” “I must tell you this now, before it goes away, must tell when it is clear as stream water, what I dreamed.” “No. Let me be, I am still tired and may still return to sleep, if I hurry.” “Gurja, in my dream, this is what I did. I woke in this grove, and the fire was still burning, and the sky was dark as it is now, but I could see anyways. And I had purpose, and so I got up and walked to the edge of the grove, into the darkness, where it is as dark as the darkness is out there, but I could see, and I walked on. I know not how far I walked, but I went over many hills in the forest, and stepped over a stream, until I came to a path, a path in the forest. I turned left and walked along it, until I came to a split in it, and at this split there was a large stone along the right side, and on it sat a man. But he was not like most men, he was not tall like Gag, but small like me. And yet he was like a man full grown. Except he was covered all over in fur, like a beast. And horns grew from his head, little ones, like on a young beast. And he turned and looked at me with beast eyes and smiled at me with beast teeth, and both eyes and teeth shined in the light of the moon.” Gurja sat up now. “Now Gurja, this is very important, this is why I needed to wake you, so I could tell you the words he said. These were the words, and I remember them and I remember them true. ‘How goes it?’ says he . ‘How goes what?’ say I. ‘Oh, you know, whatever you want. It’s a vague expression, more of a general pleasantry than necessarily a specific inquiry of some sort. Really I am just curious about the general state of your well-being. However you deign to answer the question is your own free choice. Although if you must know, The topic upon which I am presently most interested in is the topic which, at the moment, most interests you.’ You see?” Now Gurja’s eyes were wide. The words that Gurjah had said were new, and strange. They were not the old words, the known words. They twisted around her head like snakes, entering places she had not known, and yet she knew their meaning, clear as dusk light. “So I say to this small man, ‘I am sad. Hurge will leave us soon.’ ‘Ah, yes,’ says he, ‘I had intuited as much. I knew.’ Then he smiles at me. ‘But tell me,’ says he ‘this grief you feel, is it for brother Hurge’s sake or for your own?’ I pause and think, for this is a big question, then say ‘it is for both of us. I do not want to not 2

Matthew Raven The Magician in the Grove know Hurge ever more, and I fear what becomes of Hurge, after we must leave him. Gurja says when we must leave him, there is nothing worth taking. But before that, he is worth taking! What is not there, then, that makes it so he is not worth taking?’ I now want to cry, Gurja, in my dream I want to. The furry man, he says “Ah, well, that’s the age-old question isn’t it? Well, not that old, not yet, buts it’s sure to bedevil your likes for a very long time. It’s a good question though. Too bad I don’t possess the answer.’ The furry man then, he scratches his back, then he pinches his nose, between his eyes. He looks at me and says ‘But there is something I could do for you, if you like. I can’t answer the question for you, but I can make it better. Not for you perhaps, but I can make it so you don’t have to worry so much about Hurge. Would you like that Gurgah, would you like to not have to worry about Hurge?’ ‘I don’t want to forget Hurge,’ say I. ‘Oh,’ says he, ‘I don’t intend to change your memory, or alter your aspect in any way. I will just show you something, and what you will know then will make it so you will not have to fear for Hurge anymore. And it is a very simple thing to show, too. Would you like me to show you this thing, Gurgah?’” Gurgah paused then. Gurja felt his eyes staring deep into hers, though she could not see them now. All she saw was the outline of his hair and his ears, lit from behind by the last embers. “‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Yes, I want to know.’” “‘Oh, good,’ says he, ‘I was afraid for a moment there you would say “no.” Now, unfortunately, I can’t really show it to you, at least not in this place. So, here is what you must do. Go back way you came to where you where, then wake up your sister. Tell her what I have told you, every word, and tell her this: get up, and walk out from the embers. Tell her not to think about it, but go in whatever direction she feels is the right one. Tell her to move straight forward, no matter what, to not turn or deviate from her path, until she reaches this stone, the one I am sitting on. Tell her to wait there. While she is doing this, I want you to stay here, keep your brother company.’ Then he smiled. ‘Now go,’ says he. So I go. I go back the way I came then back down and went back to sleep. Then I woke up, and I woke up you, and told you this.” Gurgah sighed, and shifted, sitting back down. A wind seemed to pass out of him, and he went limp, the stone in him going outside into the air. “Now, I am done. Please go find the furry little man, Gurja.” And Gurja stood up then. She felt the snake words coiling in her head, and the moon seemed to shine only for her. She turned without a thought, and walked off into the woods, leaving Gurgah there without goodbye. She walked past the line of trees. She walked over soft short grass, then hard dirt, then through the crackle of sticks and leaves, then through a bramble of bush. The vines clung and tore at her furs and pricked and her skin underneath, but she walked on. She walked straight and the land fell down in slopes, then up, then down, and she crossed over a stream that she heard trickling in the dark. She knew not how long she walked, but it was not that far. Not as far as she had imagined it seeming in Gurgah’s dream, when she came to the stone. It rose as high as her knee, and was flat along the top, and as long on one side as her arm. It curved down, like the palm of a hand, and if one side was not lower than all 3

Matthew Raven The Magician in the Grove the rest, it would have caught rain water. It was a stone like any other, and yet it felt like it had been set there just for her. Beyond the stone was another grove, empty and dark. As dark as closed eyes in sleep, like all the shadows in the world laid atop one another. She saw nothing. She stood there and waited, staring into the darkness. Then the darkness seemed to move, forms in the distance, more felt than seen. And then suddenly the little furry man was there, scampering towards her in the moonlight. He looked exactly as Gurgah had described him, exactly as she had imagined him. He hopped up onto the stone. “Nice night,” he said. “Who are you?” said Gurja. “Who am I? Why, what an indistinct question! Does anyone, anything, know who they truly are? Can any mind grasp the infinite coils and distortions of their own self? And how could I, being what I am, begin to explain to you, being what you are, the nature of my acts of being?” He smiled at her with beast teeth, and his beast eyes twinkled like stars in the moonlight. “What are you called?” said Gurja. “Ah, now we are being more precise. There is a question most can answer. You can answer it, yes? You are called Gurja?” Gurja nodded. “And you have just left the side of Gurgah?” “I will return to him,” she said. She felt the words twisting in her head. “Indeed you shall. And you are both about to leave Hurge, who is ‘about to be still,’ as you would put it. Because he is dying.” The word shook her. It moved quickly, uncoiling from her head and wrapping tightly down the bone of her back. She ignored it. “What are you called?” she said. The little furry man smiled. “I apologize,” he said. “I do not mean to be rude. It is just very hard to answer such a question. In truth, I have not ever been called any phrase in particular. For I am very old Gurja. When this land was covered in ice, I was here, waiting. I am older than the habit of calling things by names.” This word made something uncoil, something blossom inside her. The dark beyond him was moving a again, something shifted, and she heard distant the crack of sticks, and the kick of a stone. “Just accept this little tidbit, my dear. That whatever I am, I am indeed a good fellow, one who will do you and your brother those little bits of kindness as I can, when my nature moves me so. And know that I am also a fool, and a scamp, and a miscreant, but only because I am, first and foremost, a herald.” And with this, he swung his hand wide, out into the darkness. Gurja stared out, and then so slow that she could know which part came first, something emerged from the dark. It seemed almost to fill up the whole darkness as it came. It walked upright, like a man, but leaning forward, as if carrying a weight. Its arms were those of a man’s, with fingers and powerful muscles, but it walked upon the legs of a beast of 4

Matthew Raven The Magician in the Grove the plain, with long hair along the shanks, and shorter hair everywhere else, and hoofs instead of toes. It’s neck was long and powerful, and it’s face was like that of the beasts that Gurja had seen last winter, standing quiet and still in the forest, that ate from tall leaves, and would run like the wind when you made a sound. And like the male’s creatures, it bore a massive pair of horns, which branched up and outwards from it's head like the frame of a great bowl. She felt, in that moment, no fear. “This is the Magician of the Forest,” said the furry little man. “In truth, he is as lacking of names as me, but that title serves him well enough, obscure as it may be.” The Magician bent down and smiled at her. Closer, she could see that his face was not wholly like the beasts of the forest. There was also something in it that was of men. The Magician turned to the furry little man, and looked at him with human eyes, deep pools that were deeper even than Gurgah’s. The furry little man returned the gaze with a glint, and then he turned towards Gurja again. “So,” he said. “You brother Hurge is dying?” She nodded. “And you wish there was something we could do for him?” She nodded again. The little furry man returned the gesture. “Then, if you want our help, lead us to him.” Without a word, she turned. She walked back over the stream, and the hills, and past the trees and bushes, and the branches that caught on her furs. This time, there was a path, and it was easier going. No thorns caught her furs or dug into her skin. And behind her, she heard the quiet, pitter-patter scamper of the furry little man, running along on all fours, and the slow, calm movements of the Magician, his longs strides unmatched by his fellows. At no point did she feel the need to look behind her. At last she came out into the grove, where the embers gave less light than the moon. Gurgah sat upright, across the pit from Hurge, and rose when he saw them coming. At the moment that she stepped out into the grove, the furry little man ran past her, towards Gurgah. He ran by galloping upon his back legs, like the beasts of the plain, while placing his front limbs between his legs. It looked both funny and feral, and made Gurja pick up her pace behind him. “Hello, Gurgah,” said the furry little man as he came up to her brother. “It is wonderful to finally meet you, in the flesh.” He grabbed Gurgah’s hand and shook it wildly, and somehow, Gurgah returned the gesture. “No fire?” asked the furry little man. “No,” said Gurgah, and he picked up an ash lying near the edge of the ring. “Only this now. Soon it will go out.” He held the ash up to the furry little man. Gurja walked up beside them. The little furry man picked the piece of ash out of Gurgah’s hand. He looked up at Gurgah, for crouched down on his hind legs, he was shorter even than Gurgah, and narrowed his eyes to slits. He reached up, and with the piece of ash, drew a line across Gurgah’s forehead, a simple curve. 5

Matthew Raven The Magician in the Grove Gurgah closed his eyes. The little furry man placed the ash within Gurgah’s hand, and Gurgah’s fingers closed around it. The little furry man placed his long fingers upon Gurgah’s forehead, and smudged the ash with his thumb, making it stream upwards. When he removed his hand, Gurgah opened his eyes. “Now?” he said. “Yes,” said Gurgah. The little furry man smiled. “Don’t worry Gurgah, I will make more fire!” And with that, the furry little man ran off into the night. Then the Magician came. He circled slowly around the fire pit, looking at the three people around it. Then he came before Hurge, and kneeled over him. Gurgah watched it all, and Gurja saw no sign of surprise on his face. The Magician placed his hand upon Hurge’s brow, and Hurge shivered beneath him. The little furry man returned carrying a huge pile of sticks and logs. He dumped them down upon the fire embers, then began reaching in, and arranging them furiously in some strange, yet natural, order. When he was done, he raised his hands above the pit, one over the other, and drew them apart in an arch like the sky’s. As they passed over, the sticks burst into flames. Suddenly there was a crackling great fire again. Gurja felt the warmth flood back into her, so suddenly it almost hurt. She had not known how far away the warmth had gone. She hurried down beside the fire, beside Gurgah, who still stood, and wrapped her furs around herself tightly. “Thank you,” she said to the furry little man. The man bowed. “My pleasure,” he said. “It is what I do.” Then he scampered over to the other side of the fire. He looked first at Hurge, than at the Magician. “Well?” he said. The Magician looked up from Hurge and shook his head. “Too late, huh?” said the furry little man. “Well, that’s to be expected.” The Magician reached from somewhere and pulled out a handful of small, green leaves. He handed them silently to the little furry man, and the little furry man scampered back across the fire pit. “Here,” he said, handing one each to Gurja and Gurgah. “Eat these. But chew on them slowly first, so that you can feel the taste in your mouth. They will ward off the sickness that Hurge has.” They did so. The taste was sharp like a knife, and yet pleasing also. It seemed to spread outwards, and something like early morning in winter filled Gurja's mouth and nose. The little furry man pressed the rest of the leaves into her hand. He turned towards the Magician. “Now?” he said. The Magician looked up, across the light of the fire, and his eyes seemed deeper than caves. He nodded. And with that, he picked up Hurge, in his two great powerful arms, stood up, and began carrying him away from the fire, moving in a direction that was not the way they had come from. Gurja stood up. “You must stay here,” said the furry little man. “Where are you going? Where are you taking Hurge?”

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Matthew Raven The Magician in the Grove “Do not fret for Hurge,” said the furry little man. “The Magician has another place, another world, like this one, but different. There it is always summer, and there is always food to eat. We are taking Hurge there, for there he will be well. There, no sickness can harm him.” “Will we never see him again?” “Oh, you will see him often, if he should come to visit you. The world is not far from here, it is just along a path that you can not quite travel.” The furry little man raised a finger, and with the other hand, gently pulled Gurja down to kneel beside him. “And know this. This is very important. If you should want, when someone comes to die, to have them go to the land where Hurge will live, do this. Bury their body in the ground, or place it under stones, so that the animals cannot eat it. And then, the path to the Summerlands will show itself, and they will be able to find their way. Bury their body, and they will find their way to the land beyond death.” Then he leaned forwards and kissed her softly, between and above the eyes, and Gurja felt a shiver pass through her body, and a sudden flooding of warmth, a warmth that was not from the fire, and that was both gentler and greater than it. And with that, the furry little man turned and scampered off. He came up beside the Magician, who now stood at the edge of the grove. Gurja stood again, beside Gurgah, and they both stared silently across the fire. The Magician stopped walking, and turned to look behind them. Then, bending over, he set Hurge down. Not upon his back, but upon his feet. Hurge breathed in deep the night, and looked up at the Magician. Gurja could see across the fire that his eyes where wide. The Magician bent down and placing both hands upon Hurge’s shoulders, whispered something in Hurge's ear that Gurja could not hear. Hot tears burst from her eyes, and ran down her cheeks. Hurge turned then towards them, not with the feebleness of a sick one, but with the grace of the young hunter that he was. And he waved to them, with the excitement of a young boy. “Good bye, my dear ones! My treasures! Do not cry for me! I will see you again, when you join me across the sea!” And with that, Hurge turned, and he took the Magician’s hand, and they walked together out of the grove into the shifting endless dark of the trees, with the little good fellow following after them. The shadows quieted, and calmed, and then there was only Gurja and Gurgah, standing beside the fire. In the morning they woke, and found that Hurge was still gone. They packed up their camp, and walked on, the way that Yahla and Gag had taken them. The next morning Gurgah said to Gurja “I have had another dream.” “You have?” said Gurja. “What was it about?” “In three days time, we will come upon a camp, of people like us, wandering towards the sun, and North.” Gurja felt the coiling in her head, and nodded. Gurgah still wore the mark upon his head. Over the next three days, they continued on their way North. They passed over a stream, and stopped to bath in it, though the water was cold. When they were dry, Gurgah redrew the mark upon his head with the piece of ash. They 7

Matthew Raven The Magician in the Grove continued eating the little green leaves, and just when they were running out, on the second day, they came upon a second bush, and renewed their number. Gurja passed other plants along the way, and some she kept, knowing they would have their uses. And on the third day, they passed out of the forest, and stood upon the edge of a hill looking out over a vast plain. At the bottom of the hill were many people, as many as when Yahla and Gag and Hurge had been with them, and that again, and again, and again. They were clustered around tents made of beast skin, with several fires set before them, and the men had spears like Hurge’s, which Gurja now carried. Many were sitting around the fires, cooking meat, and some of the women played with ones that had not yet seen every season. As they walked down the hill, one of the men rose, and grabbed a nearby spear. “Who are you?” demanded the man. Gurja smiled. “Ah, good, you speak a tongue like ours. I am Gurja.” “And I am Gurgah.” “And there are many things we must tell you.”

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