"Mighty yet
humble Aelle, we are each of us no more than a drop of the ocean that made
us—yet in each drop turn vast oceans. Question your worthiness no more."
Cissa points across the field to where thunder moves like a ghost through the
big woods and the clan sits hunched under barberry canopies waiting for the
rain. "The Thunderers do not know why I asked to walk with you through
this field. Let us return among them and say we came to taste the lightning and
found it good."
Aelle gently shakes
his head. "No. The strength in your words has already opened the way for
me. We have walked the paths of Middle Earth fearlessly though many have set
their swords against us. Always, we prevailed. So, if the gods summon, why
should we not walk the paths of the Storm Tree as well?"
Cissa smiles proudly
and places his large, tattooed hands on his father's scarred shoulders.
"Sit, strong Aelle, and we will rise together into the World Tree. The
gods await us."
Their knees bend, the
tall grass rises above their heads, and a bolt of lightning explodes atop them
in a glare of white fire. The blast shivers the marrows in their bones and
blinds them.
When they can see
again, they blink at a rainbow land of which the summer of their earthly memory
is but a dim echo. Zany green meadows tilt in all directions, crested with
prismatic groves of immense trees above onyx boulders that spill tassels of
waterfalls into iridescent pools. Breezes full of ripe apricot waft dragonflies
and emerald birds through a sky-ocean of indolent clouds.
Startled, breaths
quickening, they stand, the light between them velvet with soft energies.
Before they can speak, they see him striding toward them across the fiery green
meadow. An opalescent wind in his stormy beard, his one eye fierce as a
diamond, he stares at them from under a falcon's hat cocked over his empty
socket.
"All-Father!"
Aelle cries, and he and his son throw themselves to the ground.
"Stand,
children." His vibrant voice shivers the small bones in their ears.
"I have called you to me to give you honor. And there is no honor with
your faces in the dirt."
Yet, what dirt! The
land of the Storm Tree smells like the bosom of a young woman. Lifted by the
good-hearted laughter of the All-Father, they rise. He stands before them, no
larger than a very large man but with unknowable wisdom pleating the air around
him.
"Come, walk with
me, my children." He embraces them in his cavernous voice. "Let me
show you this lovely branch of the World Tree." He motions toward a
horizon slippery as gold, and they are pacing with the towering god above the
sunset curtains of the earth.
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