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The frozen lake cracked beneath his feet, and Durian screamed at the top of his lungs for his brother to save him. He could hear the wolves howling in the distance, but his view was fuzzy from the snow and the coldness of his own breath. “Durian!Durian were are you?”Kaleb screamed. He wanted to answer his brother. To tell him that he wanted rescuing, that he feared the cold embraces of the lake. That he feared death. That he was all too young and unaccomplished to die just yet. But the words could not come to him. He felt the pull of an unknown force and now water was all he could see. Cold and unwelcoming. That was it. He would drown in this acursed lake. Just like his mother did before him. Forgotten by everyone. The spirits would laugh at him for this. He was raised for the Tundra and its claws, and yet here he was, a goner. The water pulled him deeper in and the soles of his feet touched the ground. He had heard of such stories before. Of Norman people forgotten by the Goddess and left alone to rot. So he pleaded in his mind, and begged the Crone to spare him. He begged her to give him a little more time. A small white light arose from the depths within the lake, and the water seized its infinite turn. “I hear and see all.” A voice said. And he quivered, and along with him quivered his long gone mother and her mother too. “Young man, for a life to keep on, a prize must be paid.” the voice told him. “Whatever the price may be, then let it be served.” he answered, all stormy and sure of himself. “Do not gaze back into the lake again. Do not come and seek the power of the worlds. Be content young man, with what it is you have chosen.” “Worry not, I will not ever come seeking anything of you. Just grand me this.”And the water was turning once again, the stream in all its strenght. And a voice was heard. “Durian! Hold out your hand Durian.” It was Kaleb. It was his brother and he was saved. Kaleb grabbed him by the elbows and with swift motion brought him back up the surface all blue and caughing his lungs onto the snow. “Come on now, let’s go.” He stood up, his feet barely holding him. Took one step and fell right back down. He opened his eyes and stared at his reflection on the surface of the lake. His dark hair turned to dust, his teeth withered and fell from the edges of his mouth, which in turn opened on its own, and the reflection said to him: “You looked!You looked back!” The ice trembled underneath his feet and he heard a barely audible scream, before Kaleb was swept away in an unknown currect, reaching for Durian’s hand. “Help me brother!” But he could not. He was old and rusty and his bones were nothing but paper ready to be burned. He cried but his tears dried up. “The Gods are not for us.” his mother had once told him. “They are for themselves. They know how feeble and easy we are. How desperate for time we become. And they take. So don’t reach for them ever Durian. For once you reach they will rest their gaze on you and turn you into dust.”

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The goodness of the Crone

dimitra

Dimitra Krisilia

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The goodness of the Crone

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dimitra krisilia

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