Shadow Mountain i had walked my entire life as a dead man

There came a gently firm correction— our mountain— joined by a touch of equal command and softness to raise the man’s bowed chin and collar his eyes in loving ownership.

Their first touch passed in an instant eternity.

Come with me, Wake directed, words infinitely deep and microscopically shallow. Said now and years ago and millennia ahead. Spoken on every plane of their shared existence. To Lestan in every lifetime.

Gliding alongside his companion, Wake would lead them in brisk ascension, covering the snow-paved paths before them with graceful strides. A moonlit cloud of snowdust billowed behind like smoke from a steam engine. He traded the frosted air for a pinch in his lungs to continue a conversation with the bluesummer.

I am a missionary, he said over the sound of snow underfoot, speaking on things that had been said before, many nights ago. Heirophant of the Rhythm, and fourthborn to both parents, which makes me a herald of great favor by the old laws. Wry, charming, boastful; there was a ruefulness there also, somewhat dismissive to the concept. After all, he had siblings who were far more devout and more fortunate in the way that their lives were already settled while his remained in limbo. I took first breath on the south rise of the Four Pointed Mountains, and there I did live until this summer most recent.

He fell quiet, then seemed to recall the last thing he meant to tell. Oh, and my mother was named Autumn’s Mirror. Only I never met her. He offered this as casually as if it belonged in someone else’s life, someone Wake was not familiar with. She was banished the moment she gave birth to me and my littermates. Denied a chance to suckle us even once, I was told.