As she flys from the mountain, it feels as though she has left something behind.

All day and all night she rides to the north. The plains horse beneath her steams with sweat, and foam froths at the bridle, but still she kicks it harder.

But no matter her haste, or how she urges her mount on, she can not shake the pull in her chest to go back. Like a physical thing it tugs her, as though she is anchored to the mountain.

She cannot explain it. Her instinct has never led her astray before. It has always guided her in the past, to find what she seeks, be it prey or a course of action or victory. And there can be no victory if she stays on the mountain.

So why does her heart sing for her to return?

The confusing thoughts mar her reason as night falls. She does not know whether it would be better to press on, and risk the horse collapsing, or stop for rest, and lose time?

She decides that time is the more precious, and continues on.

The road winds through wooded valleys green with new growth. At night all the vibrant green is in shadow, and the signs of spring are the smells and the hoots of birds and other beasts busily going about their business.

Jalintu slows her horse to a walk through the woods. She knows the roads are more treacherous near trees, and a stray root is enough to kill a horse and rider. Her horse, grateful for the respite, slows to a plod, kept steady by his rider's continuing nudges.

Suddenly the forest stills.

Jalintu stills as well, pulling her horse to a stop. The only sound is the horse's breathing, and a faint clank of metal as he chomps the bit.

She looks up.

Above, in the canopy a bird sits, so big and large Jalintu at first cannot believe it is a bird.

But it is. Huge, white, as big as a man. It spreads its wings and silently sails to the ground. It lands in the road before her and her horse steps back sharply, startled by the flapping wings. The wings fold and the bird raises its head, and Jalintu at last sees it for what it is.

An eagle. With its white plumage and night time appearance, she had instinctively guessed an owl. But now she can see, in the moonlight that filters through the trees, that it is an eagle, from its thick hooked beak to its sturdy wing joints. Its head cocks, regal, golden eye seeming to glow in the darkness.

And then she realizes it is glowing, as are its feathers. Veins of light, white and bright blue, tendril beneath its wings, shining out through its feathers. Jalintu thinks suddenly of the woman she saw beneath the mountain, the woman Fyar called his mother, and she realizes who stands before her in the road.

I was born from the earth and sky.

Unable to greet him with words, she slides from her saddle and kneels in the dirt before the lord of the sky.

"You are going the wrong way."

Jalintu looks up, then swiftly looks down again. The eagle's eyes are piercing. She hears the drag as it moves one scaled claw toward her, then another.

But when the talons enter her vision, they shift to feet, bare in the dirt of the road.

"My son lies behind you."

Fearfully, Jalintu looks up into the god's face.

Just as with the golden and green woman beneath the mountain, Jalintu is struck by the indescribable beauty of the man before her. His features are perfect, a jawline sharp and angular like a bird's beak, brows high and arching and haughty as a hawk's. Just as the woman Fyar called his mother glowed has lights of blue and rainbow white beneath his skin. It makes Jalintu think of gemstones fragmenting into rainbows and the clear blue sky.

But it is his eyes, still golden like the eagle's, that hold her. She realizes, with a shock, that they resemble Fyar's own warm brown eyes, as do other features besides.

He truly is the son of a god, she thought in awe.

"Did you doubt him?" The man's mouth never moves, confirming what she already suspects. His words appear directly in her head.

She shakes her head, then bows it once more, unsure what to do next. The horse fidgets uneasily beside her despite its exhaustion, and she reaches out to grab the reins.

"Turn around and return to the mountain."

The words fall like a death sentence, and she looks up once more, surprised.

"I did not bring you to him to have you abandon him."

Her mouth opens in surprise, and the god's glowing lips twist in a cruel smile. "Did you think it coincidencethat you found your way to his mountain? That he saved you?"

The god crouches down and takes her chin in his hand. A tingle of electricity runs through her skin where they touch, and in response the glow from beneath his skin seems to brighten.

"Did you think it skill, that has carried you this far? Or strength? Instinct?" The god tilts his head mockingly. "Everything you have has come from me, in preparation for this moment."

Suddenly before her eyes is another scene entirely, a scene of rolling hills covered with grape vines and golden fields, and in the distance a turquoise sea sparkles beneath the sun. Hamlets and villages and towns of white washed buildings are scattered across the landscape, and they pass below as Jalintu soars, as if on wings.

A city approaches, topped by a high citadel. Even from afar Jalintu can hear the roar of a crowd, and then she sees them, swarming the streets up to the acropolis, crowding around the white columns of a temple to witness what happens in the square before it.

The bird that Jalintu has become alights on the temple roof, with a perfect view of the two figures standing in the square surrounded by the crowd.

One is a man, corded with muscle, a sword in his hand. Before him, kneeling and bound, is a giant, his armor that of a general, the golden wreath upon his brow that of a king.

Fyar.

With a pang Jalintu realizes who the kneeling figure is. Blood runs down his forehead from beneath his crown, and arrows protrude from his back as well as...

wings.

Brown, magnificent, the feathers long as her forearm, the span wide enough to stretch from pillar to pillar. And they are stretched, bound with ropes tied to the two nearest columns, forcing them open.

"Cut them! Cut them!" the crowd yells, cheering the man with the sword on.

No.

The muscled man steps forward, and raises his sword.

No. I do not want to watch this. No-!

The sword comes down.

It is not a clean cut. Not even close. Again and again the sword rises, and falls, the metal shining redder and redder in the sunlight.

Stop! Do not make me see anymore! Stop!

Again and again, till even the crowd falls silent, and the only sound is the hacking of sinew and bone. When the torture began, Fyar was silent, and Jalintu though he was enduring in silence. But she realizes he must have been unconscious, for soon after the sword begins to swing the bowed head twitches, and Fyar's familiar voice begins to groan, then bellow in pain.

Stop! Please stop-!

The bowed head snaps up.

His face is the same. Same thick brows, same warm eyes, except now they are dark with agony. The thick lips she has kissed are twisted in pain, and opened in screams that grow louder and then fainted as the torture goes on.

No more. Please, no more.

As suddenly as the scene appeared it vanishes, and all she sees before her is the glowing face of the god.

"He has endured much, and yet you abandon him to more pain." The god's fingers tighten on her chin, and she shudders.

He releases her chin and stands, his glowing light fading, leaving her blinking and still shaking.

"Return to the mountain and save my son, or I will take all I have given you, and ensure what you suffered before is nothing compared to the fate that awaits you."

He turns and walks away, one step, two, and in a flash of light is gone.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The road back to the mountain takes longer than the road from it.

It is in part because the horse is near exhaustion. Many times it stumbles, near unseating her, for she too is exhausted.

The other reason is the weather. A thick fog has taken over the land, rolling from the mountain peaks to settle in the valleys. It makes the way even more treacherous, and she wonders if she will even be able to return to the mountain and fulfill the god's will.

"Did you think it skill, that has carried you this far? Or strength? Instinct?"

Jalintu's lip curls bitterly at the thought that all she has accomplished before now and all she has suffered was orchestrated at the divine hands of someone else.

He was lying, she thinks to herself. If all were truly in his control, then I would have never left the mountain in the first place. There would have been no need for me-

Her thought is broken off as her horse's front legs abruptly collapse before it, sending her flying over its neck and skidding across the ground.

Over and over she rolls till she stops at the edge of the road. Miraculously she is unhurt save for bruising, and she pushes herself up and looks to her horse.

It is not so lucky, it's right front leg twisted, it hobbles about on three after pulling itself out of the ditch that has been dug across the middle of the road.

The ditch?

As soon as she thinks this the sound of a bow string being drawn taunt by her ear causes her to freeze.

"Raise both hands and turn slowly," a deep, familiar voice commands.

Jalintu turns.

An elderly man, in his fifties, stands there, grey eyes narrowed. His hair is light with age and long, drawn into a tight braid. On his chin is a sharp, short beard, carefully trimmed, the same tawny grey as his hair. In his hands the man holds a yew bow drawn tight and aimed for her forehead. It is carved with twisting vines, the symbols of his tribe.

The man's eyes widen in recognition, and he quickly lowers his bow. "Eun beag?"

Jalintu's smile broadens at the familiar nickname. The next moment the man's thick arms crush her to his chest in a desperate hug.

"We thought you were dead," he says, voice deep by her ear. "We searched and searched... the men you went hunting with were found skinned, and we feared..." the man's voice broke.

He draws her back and looks down at her face. "It's been near a year. Where were you?"

Jalintu opens her mouth, then closes it again, shaking her head.

"Eun beag?" The man questions, confused. "My Banrih?"

Jalintu opens her mouth and points to it. No sound comes out.

The man's hands find the side of her face. They shake, and Jalintu raises her own hands to cover them. "What happened to you?" he asks, eyes searching her face. "And where were you going at such a furious pace?"

In response Jalintu leads him back to the road and points along it, the direction she had been heading.

The direction of the mountain.

*~*~*~*~*~*

ONC word count: 20096