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Reunion [Kielo and Swan]
Title: Reunion
Fandom: A Redtail's Dream
Characters: Kielo and the Swan of Tuonela
Rating: 0+
Length: 1.5k
Summary: After many years, Kielo meets the Swan again.
Other: This story is about death - and friendship as well. It isn't sad. Kielo, after all, accepts death for what it is.
Reunion
The sky was bright on the eve of Kielo's ninetieth birthday. She held back the curtains and peered upward, taking in the sight of the moon with its full, round brightness. Though she couldn't see the stars, that was all right. She knew they were there, shining over the fresh snow.
It was a nice night.
Satisfied, she dropped the curtain, and slowly stepped her way to bed, slippered feet shuffling. As she sank into the mattress, drawing the blankets over herself, she let out a long sigh.
She was tired. It had been a long day. Tomorrow would be longer. Relatives. So young, and with too much energy. They'd breeze in, dragging their own children along, and say how nice it was to see her, and that it was amazing that she was still taking care of herself at this age, and she would pretend that it did not take her a moment or two to sort out who they were, to remember which faces belonged to which names. It was just that there were so, so many of them.
As she rested her head on the pillow, letting her eyes shut, she remembered her mother's words, what she would always ask on the morning of her birthday. "Do you feel older?" she'd say. And every year, Kielo replied, "Not at all."
This year was different.
"I feel like I'm a million years old," Kielo muttered, and went to sleep.
Kielo slept. She slept, and she dreamed.
In her dream, she walked.
It came easily. There was a forest, and she walked steadily through it, her back straight, the weight of years falling off with every step she took. The ache and chill that bit deep down into her bones faded, finally disappearing completely, as if it had never been there to begin with.
She felt as if she could walk forever.
There was a path of sorts, little more than footfalls worn into the forest floor. She took it. Though she didn't know where it led, a path was as good for a direction as anything. Passing half-imagined thoughts, slips of brightness and sunlight through trees, she knew she was dreaming. Her feet stirred up the scent of evergreen and loam as she walked through bright summer woods, and that was sign enough that it was a dream, as she knew that in the night, outside her mind, it was winter. She'd left the world covered in a thick blanket of snow.
The trees disappeared, eventually. The forest dwindled to grass, and then to rock, until all that was left was empty plain where nothing grew except small white flowers. Beside her, a river flowed and above, the sunlight had disappeared, giving way to a crisp, cool night with thousands of stars. If she stopped and looked up, she could have counted every one. Her eyesight had come back, good and sharp, as if it had never faded.
There was something familiar about it, that expanse of red-streaked rock, that river and bright night sky. She closed her eyes and breathed in. It smelled sharp and cold, like glacier water, but beneath that ran something else, something metallic, something from childhood - the scent of blood on snow after her mother had killed a chicken for supper. Opening her eyes, she didn't wonder about it. She kept going.
A sign appeared, seeming to pop up out of the landscape as if it had been there the whole time and she simply hadn't seen it. Kielo went to it, and read it, and then she knew.
Tuonela
Kindly keep out!
She'd come this way before.
Kielo looked at the sign. Then she turned, looking behind her at the path she had taken. Her footprints lingered, fresh and visible in the dim light, as if inviting her to turn back.
She turned forward. And she went, crossing the border, the stars bright above her.
The stony ground gave way to water, a clear and crisp expanse that spread out wide in front of her, smooth and silent. In the distance, she thought she could see peaks, sharp mountains of rock and ice reaching upward.
She couldn't cross it on her own; she knew better than to try.
Kielo stood on the bank and looked out. She took in the bright sky, the horizon, the way the stars glittered on the empty water. Even though she'd stepped past the warning, she knew there was still time; it wasn't too late. She could turn back. The stories told of a ferry, but there was no boat waiting for her here; she'd be alone unless she drew attention to herself.
In the stillness, even the smallest sound would carry, wouldn't it. In a place like this, it wouldn't take much to make herself heard. That was it, then. She raised her hands, cupped her mouth, and called out.
"Hello?! Swan! Are you there?!"
She realized belatedly, as she lowered her hands, that she had no way of knowing if the answer she would get would be the one she wanted. It was true that in the dream so many years ago, which she remembered so clearly now, only one spirit had answered her when she stood on the bank.
What if someone else answered now?
A shape appeared on the horizon, bright and white, the large V of its wings stark against the night sky. It lit on the water delicately, and began to swim toward her, taking its time. Kielo watched, and after a time she saw the long neck, the bright eyes. As the bird swam closer, she smiled. It was exactly who she had expected.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, she looked up at the Swan's sharp face.
"It's good to see you," she said.
The Swan tilted her head, ruffling her feathers a bit. "That isn't what I usually hear," she said, which wasn't surprising at all. It was a sentiment Kielo understood perfectly. After a pause, the Swan added, "You're early."
"Am I?"
"Yes. Again." The Swan dipped her head, nodding. "By twenty days."
"I see." Kielo lifted her hands, and after a moment's hesitation, the Swan moved to nuzzle against them. As she cupped the spirit's head, she could feel the bird's warmth through her gloves, strange and welcoming and at odds with the sharp, cold landscape. "I haven't caused you any unnecessary paperwork again, have I?" she asked, stroking slowly along the soft white feathers.
There was a long pause. "It wasn't you who caused the trouble last time," the Swan muttered. "It was that fox, and that brat who walked in here as if it was his right. Hmph." The Swan's eyes closed as she tilted her head into Kielo's touch, her voice losing its edge. "Your place has been set aside already. Predicting the deadline is imprecise with humans your age. I wanted to have everything ready for you."
"Thank you. That's very thoughtful of you."
"At least someone appreciates the trouble I go to." The Swan lifted her head, blinking at Kielo with dark eyes. "Do you have your affairs in order?"
It was the kind of question Kielo hadn't expected. Did it matter, in a place like this, whether you were prepared to be here or not? But coming from the Swan, it felt right. "Yes. I've had everything in order for a long time. It's like you said, isn't it. Deadlines come quickly at my age." Kielo couldn't help but smile as she gave the Swan a reassuring pat. It was true enough; while there were things left unsaid, and while tomorrow's visit would certainly not go according to plan, everything else that could possibly be arranged had already been seen to. Her family could cope with it. "I'm here to stay, if that's all right."
"I see." The Swan nuzzled against her once more, then withdrew. She ruffled her feathers, the expression on her beaked face impossible to read. Then she edged closer to the bank, and nodded. "Get on my back, then. If you're staying."
If you're staying. As if there was still room for disbelief. As if the Swan thought Kielo might still change her mind, even having come here on her own, even having crossed the border. It was clear, then; there was a choice. You can turn around now, if you want to. Twenty days. You still have time. Time?
Kielo looked up at the stars, then at the feathery whiteness in front of her. Then, without a word, she climbed onto the Swan's back.
As they drew away from shore and began their slow journey toward the horizon, Kielo asked what she had been wondering since the moment the Swan had appeared.
"Is this standard protocol?" she murmured as she stroked the Swan's neck, her eyes drooping with sudden drowsiness. "A personal escort, that is. For the... early arrivals. You know."
There was a long moment of silence, interrupted by nothing but the soft hush of the bird gliding on the water. "No," the Swan finally replied, her voice suddenly quiet and soft. "It isn't."
They set out together under the clear, endless night, and the waters of Tuonela were smooth as glass before them.
End.
---
Dedication: Written in memory of some who have crossed over. May your rest be forever peaceful. I miss you.
Other notes: For envisioning Tuonela, aside from taking a close look at how it was illustrated in A Redtail's Dream (and Akseli Gallen-Kallela's artwork), I took a bit of atmospheric inspiration from the tone poem by Jean Sibelius, "The Swan of Tuonela", in the Lemminkäinen Suite. You can listen to it here.
Fandom: A Redtail's Dream
Characters: Kielo and the Swan of Tuonela
Rating: 0+
Length: 1.5k
Summary: After many years, Kielo meets the Swan again.
Other: This story is about death - and friendship as well. It isn't sad. Kielo, after all, accepts death for what it is.
Reunion
The sky was bright on the eve of Kielo's ninetieth birthday. She held back the curtains and peered upward, taking in the sight of the moon with its full, round brightness. Though she couldn't see the stars, that was all right. She knew they were there, shining over the fresh snow.
It was a nice night.
Satisfied, she dropped the curtain, and slowly stepped her way to bed, slippered feet shuffling. As she sank into the mattress, drawing the blankets over herself, she let out a long sigh.
She was tired. It had been a long day. Tomorrow would be longer. Relatives. So young, and with too much energy. They'd breeze in, dragging their own children along, and say how nice it was to see her, and that it was amazing that she was still taking care of herself at this age, and she would pretend that it did not take her a moment or two to sort out who they were, to remember which faces belonged to which names. It was just that there were so, so many of them.
As she rested her head on the pillow, letting her eyes shut, she remembered her mother's words, what she would always ask on the morning of her birthday. "Do you feel older?" she'd say. And every year, Kielo replied, "Not at all."
This year was different.
"I feel like I'm a million years old," Kielo muttered, and went to sleep.
Kielo slept. She slept, and she dreamed.
In her dream, she walked.
It came easily. There was a forest, and she walked steadily through it, her back straight, the weight of years falling off with every step she took. The ache and chill that bit deep down into her bones faded, finally disappearing completely, as if it had never been there to begin with.
She felt as if she could walk forever.
There was a path of sorts, little more than footfalls worn into the forest floor. She took it. Though she didn't know where it led, a path was as good for a direction as anything. Passing half-imagined thoughts, slips of brightness and sunlight through trees, she knew she was dreaming. Her feet stirred up the scent of evergreen and loam as she walked through bright summer woods, and that was sign enough that it was a dream, as she knew that in the night, outside her mind, it was winter. She'd left the world covered in a thick blanket of snow.
The trees disappeared, eventually. The forest dwindled to grass, and then to rock, until all that was left was empty plain where nothing grew except small white flowers. Beside her, a river flowed and above, the sunlight had disappeared, giving way to a crisp, cool night with thousands of stars. If she stopped and looked up, she could have counted every one. Her eyesight had come back, good and sharp, as if it had never faded.
There was something familiar about it, that expanse of red-streaked rock, that river and bright night sky. She closed her eyes and breathed in. It smelled sharp and cold, like glacier water, but beneath that ran something else, something metallic, something from childhood - the scent of blood on snow after her mother had killed a chicken for supper. Opening her eyes, she didn't wonder about it. She kept going.
A sign appeared, seeming to pop up out of the landscape as if it had been there the whole time and she simply hadn't seen it. Kielo went to it, and read it, and then she knew.
Tuonela
Kindly keep out!
She'd come this way before.
Kielo looked at the sign. Then she turned, looking behind her at the path she had taken. Her footprints lingered, fresh and visible in the dim light, as if inviting her to turn back.
She turned forward. And she went, crossing the border, the stars bright above her.
The stony ground gave way to water, a clear and crisp expanse that spread out wide in front of her, smooth and silent. In the distance, she thought she could see peaks, sharp mountains of rock and ice reaching upward.
She couldn't cross it on her own; she knew better than to try.
Kielo stood on the bank and looked out. She took in the bright sky, the horizon, the way the stars glittered on the empty water. Even though she'd stepped past the warning, she knew there was still time; it wasn't too late. She could turn back. The stories told of a ferry, but there was no boat waiting for her here; she'd be alone unless she drew attention to herself.
In the stillness, even the smallest sound would carry, wouldn't it. In a place like this, it wouldn't take much to make herself heard. That was it, then. She raised her hands, cupped her mouth, and called out.
"Hello?! Swan! Are you there?!"
She realized belatedly, as she lowered her hands, that she had no way of knowing if the answer she would get would be the one she wanted. It was true that in the dream so many years ago, which she remembered so clearly now, only one spirit had answered her when she stood on the bank.
What if someone else answered now?
A shape appeared on the horizon, bright and white, the large V of its wings stark against the night sky. It lit on the water delicately, and began to swim toward her, taking its time. Kielo watched, and after a time she saw the long neck, the bright eyes. As the bird swam closer, she smiled. It was exactly who she had expected.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, she looked up at the Swan's sharp face.
"It's good to see you," she said.
The Swan tilted her head, ruffling her feathers a bit. "That isn't what I usually hear," she said, which wasn't surprising at all. It was a sentiment Kielo understood perfectly. After a pause, the Swan added, "You're early."
"Am I?"
"Yes. Again." The Swan dipped her head, nodding. "By twenty days."
"I see." Kielo lifted her hands, and after a moment's hesitation, the Swan moved to nuzzle against them. As she cupped the spirit's head, she could feel the bird's warmth through her gloves, strange and welcoming and at odds with the sharp, cold landscape. "I haven't caused you any unnecessary paperwork again, have I?" she asked, stroking slowly along the soft white feathers.
There was a long pause. "It wasn't you who caused the trouble last time," the Swan muttered. "It was that fox, and that brat who walked in here as if it was his right. Hmph." The Swan's eyes closed as she tilted her head into Kielo's touch, her voice losing its edge. "Your place has been set aside already. Predicting the deadline is imprecise with humans your age. I wanted to have everything ready for you."
"Thank you. That's very thoughtful of you."
"At least someone appreciates the trouble I go to." The Swan lifted her head, blinking at Kielo with dark eyes. "Do you have your affairs in order?"
It was the kind of question Kielo hadn't expected. Did it matter, in a place like this, whether you were prepared to be here or not? But coming from the Swan, it felt right. "Yes. I've had everything in order for a long time. It's like you said, isn't it. Deadlines come quickly at my age." Kielo couldn't help but smile as she gave the Swan a reassuring pat. It was true enough; while there were things left unsaid, and while tomorrow's visit would certainly not go according to plan, everything else that could possibly be arranged had already been seen to. Her family could cope with it. "I'm here to stay, if that's all right."
"I see." The Swan nuzzled against her once more, then withdrew. She ruffled her feathers, the expression on her beaked face impossible to read. Then she edged closer to the bank, and nodded. "Get on my back, then. If you're staying."
If you're staying. As if there was still room for disbelief. As if the Swan thought Kielo might still change her mind, even having come here on her own, even having crossed the border. It was clear, then; there was a choice. You can turn around now, if you want to. Twenty days. You still have time. Time?
Kielo looked up at the stars, then at the feathery whiteness in front of her. Then, without a word, she climbed onto the Swan's back.
As they drew away from shore and began their slow journey toward the horizon, Kielo asked what she had been wondering since the moment the Swan had appeared.
"Is this standard protocol?" she murmured as she stroked the Swan's neck, her eyes drooping with sudden drowsiness. "A personal escort, that is. For the... early arrivals. You know."
There was a long moment of silence, interrupted by nothing but the soft hush of the bird gliding on the water. "No," the Swan finally replied, her voice suddenly quiet and soft. "It isn't."
They set out together under the clear, endless night, and the waters of Tuonela were smooth as glass before them.
End.
---
Dedication: Written in memory of some who have crossed over. May your rest be forever peaceful. I miss you.
Other notes: For envisioning Tuonela, aside from taking a close look at how it was illustrated in A Redtail's Dream (and Akseli Gallen-Kallela's artwork), I took a bit of atmospheric inspiration from the tone poem by Jean Sibelius, "The Swan of Tuonela", in the Lemminkäinen Suite. You can listen to it here.