The Shining Wyrm

7.6

Jewel and her family walked along the village road on their way to the Temple. Ahead and behind them the voices of youths rose up.

In woolen shrouds, furs and toothsome masks they danced and sang to the houses. Voices were raised for those that had passed. A torch of bundled, sweet-smelling herbs was held aloft by the leader of each group.

Somewhere among them was Alexander, Smithson and one of the Headman’s grandchildren.

Jewel could probably find them if there was any cause for concern. She would recognize her brother’s scent even with the perfumed smoke surrounding him.

Jewel and the rest of the family however had a different role. At the center, before the temple itself, a pyre had been built, burning hot and fierce. Where the men, women and elders slowly gathered after dispensing their thanks to the speakers for the dead.

Standing before the fire, naked but for a wrap of red-dyed deer hide, stood the head man. Jewel knew he was the head man, she could smell him even under the red powder and charcoal that he had been covered in.

It was the headman of the village and yet for today and tonight it was not.

For this day and night the head man sank away into himself somehow, Jewel could smell him and yet he was not there.

No, for this day and the coming darkness of the longest night he was not here, but something else was.

He was The Old Man.

For the last three winters he had been The Old Man come the Last Night that broke one year from the next. Before him, another had been where he now stood in front of the fire for as long back as Jewel could remember.

He played a rough fiddle as people came. It was slow and mournful; it reminded Jewel of the cries of mothers when their children did not make it through winter.

High and sharp and then growling rumbles.

His fiddle quieted to a gentle hum when someone walked up to him but he never stopped playing even as he spoke.

Words that were not the Headman’s flowed from him with his song.

The words of the Veles.

The Old Man of Winter.

People came to him slowly with their worries, with their hopes, with pleas and with thanks he answered in his own time to each of them.

Jewel turned her attention away from the words of course, focusing on the crackling of the fire.

She had been scolded firmly for the time she had listened in and then asked Mother about it.

The words one spoke with The Old Man were not for others.

In the air around him, Jewel could taste a twisting whorl of somehow gentled wind. Moving with the rhythm of his fiddle and the pattern of his words. He swayed with the winter and though the wind was not any warmer for his interference, it stood as a wall against the greater chill and let the fire fill the space before the temple in the heat of its flame.

Only after each household had taken their turn to speak to The Old Man and his fiddle did Jewel and her Family approach.

First was Mother.

And as before Jewel did not listen.

And there was a gentle curl of wind and a tumult over the fire that made its tongues of flame dance wildly.

Mother stepped back with her answer and whatever it was left her looking grim.

Father walked up to The Old Man next, but instead of asking his question he gestured for Jewel to come forth as well.

She momentarily froze in shock. That was not proper, Jewel was not even past her tenth winter! Speaking to The Old Man was for those already past youth and Jewel was hardly entered into it!

Furthermore the council of the Veles was a confidence. What you asked and what was answered was for you!

But Father commanded and Jewel was a good daughter and she obeyed.

There was a stirring in the crowd around them as she joined Father but The Old Man did not seem at all bothered by it. Which reassured Jewel some. After all, if he had no complaint then it had to be okay.

The Veles swayed and played on the strings. The wind gently greeted Jewel and she gave a nod for both the player and the wind as her foremost legs took their place in the packed dirt beside Father.

As always her neck curled just enough to keep her head lower than Father’s.

He turned to the being that was wearing the Headman like Father wore his finery.

“Veles, in the summer there will be war. And I and my kin will meet it. What advice can you give me and my daughter? What can you see for us ill or well?”

The music rose with a swelling note and then The Old Man bowed his head first to Father and then Jewel.

“Boy who guards the Wyrm and takes her into his house, you will find joy and bring terrible sorrow for your choices. Go to war and bring misery, bring suffering. But will you find defeat? How could I see such a thing? Summer is for war, not Winter.”

Jewel could feel something in the air to his voice, it was running along her coils and in it she felt an echo of his words brushing her scales before he spoke them.

As he turned to her, he gazed into her eyes and there was a sharp sting to the sound from the strings under his hand. The wind kicked up around him and her.

“Young Wyrm who claims mortal men as her own. There is no voice that can set your path, there is no vision in stars or deep earth that holds you but your own. Heed no divination for you are Wyrm and are not in the sight of the stars, and are kin and ally to earth. You will find victory if you choose it.”

And then with that he turned from them, eyes taking in all those around before he turned back to the fire and continued to play and sway.

The Old Man would remain there at the fire for the rest of the night.

A willing ear and gentle voice for any that needed it until the breaking of dawn.

And then he would leave the Headman a discarded garment, out of sorts and drained. Just as he had every year.

But as the youth of the village joined them at the fire, in the waning light of the last day of the year Jewel and her family turned to the Temple.

Alexander, Smithson and the Villager boy drifting into the crowd.

Her brother seemed bright eyed and happy from his adventure and his breath smelled of honeyed jerky.

He was alright and now he would join the family in their obligations.

There was one last thing all of them needed to do for the Longest Night.