Of the Witch of Zenith

Within, their faces aglow with excitement, three small figures were casting their playful shadows hither and thither, busily shuffling their woolen slippers from the fireplace to the door, then to any of the small windows carved out of the carefully stacked logs, and then quickly back to the jumping flames and sparks of the fireplace.

There were hurried whispers.

"It's been so long! He will be back any minute now!", said the smaller shadow.

"Now, dear, don't fret, the door will swing open when you'll least expect it, and you'll be as surprised as ever to see him come in", said the taller shadow. The third was quiet as the peaks held by winter in its snowy embrace.

Minutes, seconds, hours, moments, along with a hungry gaze now and then, all blended into the darkness that seemed to engulf entire worlds beyond the little steaming square windows. The joyful flickers in everyone's eyes were miraculously holding up the walls of the small cottage against the besieging blackness of the year's longest night.

Then came the sweet sound of wood slowly turning, and the snow became all aflutter, as the three figures had been until just that very instant.

"The snow greets us merrily again", said the tall shadow.

Pacing wearily towards the gaping hole which had suddenly started weaving curly strands of miniature crystals around every little thing inside, the small shadow grinned.

"Our friend, the silver-eyed wolf, is taunting us again. I will be out for a stroll along the climbing path."

"You'll miss him coming back yet again", said the first.

"He'll keep me warm in his arms and I'll be all better. Our friend has grown impatient again, and I am the only one who can tend to him."

The last shadow looked towards the restless black and white swirl that was rushing through the door, but said naught.

"He is as quiet as ever, the old man."

"Is he sad or happy? Thrilled or bored?"

"I've known him for long, so long, and yet I know so little of him."

"I depart. Wish me luck!"

"Safe travels and a swift return, my dear."

The emptiness was once again sealed. The fireplace filled the room with its usual warmth and the shadows were playful again. Outside, along a moonlit path, small feet paced gracefully, working their way up the slopes, catching a glimpse of the white light now and then.

The path lead on, to thicker trees and thicker darkness, and the quietness of winter night became, little by little, filled with hushes, with awkward noises and the rustle of twisted branches.

"Playful as ever, wolf, playful as you are young", the shadow walked on and sang, sang in a foreign tongue.

As the path lead out of the thickness of trees, it revealed a scintillating plateau, a shivering silvery lake in its middle, beset on all sides by tall, majestic statues of ice.

"How kind of you to visit," murmured the air upon the lake.

"How kind of you to invite", the shadow murmured back. "Indeed, how kind."

"Curious deed, for one blind to our light, to stride our moonlit slopes, to pierce through the night."

"I gracefully accept your jest". With a quick gesture the shadow cast aside her garment and bolted above and past the statue guarding the path.

"My eyes care not for your deceit, jailers, as you care not for my lover."

As she sped across the frozen lake, the sparkling statues turned lightless, and unseen lashes shot out towards her. None dared touch her pristine skin, yet the seething darkness around her was so heavy and ominous she could scarcely sense her own breath.

She sang again, in the unknown tongue, and touched the ice with her forehead. The lashes coiled tightly around her body, sliding violently up and down her body, until she became unseen, covered in a perfect shroud.

In a blink of an eye, the lashes became undone, and whatever had been in their furious grasp, had become nothingness. Then, something unexpected happened. The statues wailed furiously. Their prisoner had somehow escaped and, to their utmost discontent, she was beyond their reach, beneath the unbreakable ice. This disquieting realization thrust the age-old guardians into a rush of murmurs. The plateau trembled at their whispers. At once, they all stopped and turned their faces to the center of the lake. A column of light had appeared, rising boldly towards the moon.

The plateau became flooded with pristine waves of cool, bluish-white wind. Trees and earth alike, all came to resemble a celestial ice garden, a repository of divine thought waiting to manifest upon the mortal world. The guardians paused at the sight, as though humbled, yet not in the least as revelers, but as the victims of the cruelest of ironies. It was not awe they were experiencing, but that unique emotion which dwells the border between deep-seated hatred and respect toward an overwhelming force they could but acknowledge.

Beneath the ice, afloat and in the company of swirling splinters of light, was descending Aldys, the ever-youthful witch of Zenith.

"Welcome, friend, and our thanks" spoke a choir of voices, "we are glad to once again be in your delightful presence".

The long descent was otherwise as quiet as a breeze-bereft ocean. As her bare feet touched the bottom of the enormous well, the ground suddenly sprouted tiny patches of soft moss to support her every step.

Minute sweet scented flowers were hiding in the rich bed of grass along her path. The undulating emerald blades spread a marvelous fragrance.

"Approach, gentle daughter of Zenith", reverberated a booming voice. There was a cave emerging from the ground, and Aldys swiftly followed inside the echoes which had poured out a moment before. The voice was retracting through labyrinthine hallways carved in the white marble of the underground mountain. The swerving syllables, wrapped around pillars and folded onto corners, the exquisite dance of echoes, painted the path to the heart of the Silver Palace.

As the echoes faded, she followed their last breath into the Atrium of Infinity. As a mortal, to bear witness to the purest of lights weaving into the Infinite Pillar, the grace being bestowed upon her was unthinkable. The Pillar's origin, known as Aarod's Fountain, was a hallowed relic from times which even immortals deemed immemorial.

A myriad strings of light were constantly flowing up from the Fountain in such a maddening flurry that, even if a creature should exist to bear an eye for every string, it would succumb before the thinnest sliver of time came loose from the spine of the universe, should the foolish creature attempt to follow the paths shaping into the oneness of the Pillar.