2.3
The Water will Lead UsDreamer sat at the edge of the small lake. She watched Saba darting in and out of the waterfall. ‘Silly bird,’ she thought to herself. She knew he’d eventually misjudge the water streaming down Dragonbone and he’d end up in the lake. Then he’d come sputtering back to her blaming the waterfall for his dunking.
She looked around the quiet village once again. Painters and humans went about their business paying her no heed. Her eyes scanned for any sign of the lime green-headed spirit. She had questions that she felt only he could answer. This morning she’d taken the chance that he might be in the village today and had came here to look for him.
A loud squawk brought her attention back to the mimicgryph playing in the water. Just as she’d predicted, he was in the lake. A fond grin touched her lips. The plum colored bird flapped on top of the water and half attempted to dog paddle in an effort to get back to shore. Dreamer took pity on the bird and waded into the lake. Picking up the bird in her mouth, she made her way back to shore and deposited him unceremoniously on the sand.
“I thought you’d learn by now,” she told the soggy bird. “The waterfall always wins.”
The mimicgryph fluffed his feathers and said, “Water bad.”
Dreamer chuckled at the wet bird as he started preening his feathers. She stretched her pale green and lavender wings, then shook them to get rid of the loose water. Saba squawked indignantly when he was showered with water again. Dreamer sat down again to wait. “Oh, enough of this,” she said, exasperated. “Kitxoone is obviously not showing face today and I’m tired of sitting here.” She looked towards the east where the Jungles of Sleep lay. The answers to her questions lay within that jumble of greenery. ‘But where to start,’ she thought. Just walking into the edge of the jungle wouldn’t provide the answers she sought. The secrets, she was sure, were deep inside. Flying overhead and dropping into who knows where might not be such a good idea either. She’d likely not find her way out. A drop of water smacked her nose as Saba, deciding he liked the view better from the top her head, flew up past her face. “The water,” she mused out loud. “The water will lead us.”
“Water bad,” he answered back.
“Hang on, Saba, we’re going on a journey.”
Dreamer spread her wings and leaped to the air. Flying south along Crater Lake for several miles, she found the headwaters of a river leading into the jungle. Angling to the east, she winged upward to gain altitude for a long flight. Riding the thermals up and gliding along over the green carpet of the jungle canopy, Dreamer followed the river east. Saba rode on her head, grabbing the painter’s head fins when the air buffeted them. By mid-afternoon, Dreamer spotted a break in the trees where the river widened. Spiraling down for a closer look, she found a narrow bank to land on.
“We’re here, Saba,” Dreamer said more to herself than to the mimicgryph.
“Pretty green,” he chirped.
Dreamer looked at the moss-covered trees lining the riverbank. “Yes, it is. Much different than the cliffs and beaches we’re used to.” Dreamer found a small stream leading off the river and into the jungle. “This appears to be our new direction, Saba.” She stepped into the heavy growth, keeping her wings tight about her body. The air was moist with the musky smell of composting plant life. Making her way through the misshapen trees covered in moss, Dreamer kept the stream in sight so she’d have a way of finding her way back to the river. Ferns covered the jungle floor and what looked like ground moss sunk up to her ankles when she stepped on it.
Dreamer had thought there would be more sounds despite what she’d heard about the jungle being so quiet. There were birds flying amongst the treetops, but the usual calls and trills didn’t accompany them. Dreamer spotted several large snakes dozing on gnarled limbs along their way and warned Saba to stay close.
“Bad snake,” he hissed.
“Snakes aren’t the only ones that have noticed our passing.” Dreamer peered through the dark trees, sometimes thinking she saw something move, but it was always gone as soon as she tried to look closer. “Do you feel it, Saba? It’s like the jungle has a presence of it’s own. I feel like it’s watching us.” She had felt that they were being watched as soon as they’d entered the jungle. She was sure that it was more than just the trees that were aware of their passing.
Without warning, Saba squawked and darted ahead of her. “Saba, come back here!” Dreamer hurried to follow him. No longer being careful about where she stepped, Dreamer plowed through branches and vines to keep Saba in sight. She had no idea what had caught his interest, but it was sure to lead him into trouble. In trying to keep his plum and green feathers in sight, she didn’t notice the drop off until too late. Realizing there was no ground under her claws, she instinctively spread her wings. Just as quickly she remembered the trees and clamped her wings to her sides resigning herself to the tumble that she was going to take.
She hit the ground shoulder first and rolled tail over head before coming to stop buried in ferns. Dreamer lifted her head, mentally checking to make sure she hadn’t broken anything. It’d be a long walk home if she’d snapped a wing spar. Saba’s chirping reminded her of why she was chest deep in the undergrowth. She turned her head to find him dodging in and out of a small waterfall. At the base of the falling water, a small pool formed before it trailed away in the direction that they had once been following. On the other side of the pool sat a painter. A painter, like Dreamer had never seen before. Her honey colored skin seemed as translucent as the sweet concoction, but she appeared to be as solid as any other painter. Her voice was as lovely to hear as she was to look at.
“That was a grand entrance,” she said.
“Yes, things like that happen when I’m trying to keep Saba out of trouble,” Dreamer replied, feeling a little embarrassed by being seen in such a clumsy way. She righted herself and tried to shed the foliage clinging to her in a more dignified manner then her arrival had been.
The honey painter looked at the mimicgryph playing in the water. “He seems to be a delightful companion.”
“Thanks, he does keep my life... interesting.” Looking back the painter, Dreamer said, “I hadn’t expected to find anyone else here in the jungle.”
“What did you expect to find?” The painter showed a casual interest in Dreamer.
“It seems rather silly now,” replied Dreamer, “but I came to discover the secret of the Sleeping Jungle.” Dreamer noticed that the unusual painter didn’t appear surprised by the question.
“The jungle has many secrets. Which one did you hope to uncover?”
Dreamer thought for a moment. “Those that have come here before tell strange tales, but most don’t remember anything. I hope to discover what hiding in the jungle.”
“I wouldn’t calling it hiding exactly. The jungle is simply protecting those that live within it.” The painter spoke as someone with great patience answering questions asked many times before.
“And who lives here that needs protecting?” asked Dreamer.
“There are many who live in the jungle. Many you can easily see. Panthers, snakes, birds of all colors.” The painter looked more intently at Dreamer. “And then there are those that are not so easily seen. The Ancients.”
“The gliding dragons,” whispered Dreamer, remembering one of the old tales she’d heard.
The painter chuckled, “I’ve heard that we’ve been called that.”
“We?” Dreamer’s eyes widened. She wasn’t sure if she should be afraid since the other part of that story said the dragons were very poisonous.
“Yes, we. I am an Ancient. You needn’t be afraid though. No, I’m not reading your mind," the painter added at Dreamer's shocked expression. "I’ve heard the story about the poison too.” The painter held up a paw to forestall Dreamer’s next question. “As I said, the jungle protects itself and those in it.” The painter watched Dreamer as she tried to sort all the information. “An Ancient is a painter who’s lived long and has transitioned to another life.”
“I thought when painters died,” said Dreamer, “that the Phoenix Sprit used magic to… remove the bodies.”
“That assumption satisfies the question as to why there are no painter burial grounds. The disappearance of an aged painter involves magic, but it’s the painter’s inner magic that brings it to the Jungles of Sleep. The jungle got it’s name, not because of it quietness, but because it is the eternal resting place of painter spirits. We don’t actually sleep, we just live a different life of pure magic. But again, the assumption helps to keep too many from venturing here before their time.”
“So all painters come here, when they… appear to pass on?”
“Sadly, no. Some painters do die. Whether by accident or illness, some do not live long enough to learn of the magic. Some are lost in the transition if their magic is not strong enough.”
Puzzled, Dreamer asked, “If all of this is a secret and you wish to keep it hidden, why do you share it with me?”
The painter looked at Dreamer fondly. “Because, daughter of my line, I wished to be the one to give you the memory that would bring you back to us when it is time for you to end the life you live now.“
You’re my ancestor?” Dreamer asked with awe.
The painter nodded. “As much as I wish you would remember our visit, by morning this will be like a dream that slips from your memory when you awaken.” Seeing the disappointment on Dreamer’s face, she added, “When you are much older, the memory will return.”
Dreamer’s mind spun with the new knowledge and insight to a world she never even imagined.
“It grows late.” The painter gazed around them at the darkening trees. “Soon it will be too dark to see. This is a good place to rest, nothing will harm you here. In the morning, you will awake outside the jungle with no recollection of our visit.”
“But I want very much to remember you,” Dreamer said sadly.
“You will. In time. First, you have much to learn in this life.” The honey hued painter stood. With a smile and a nod, she turned and walked back through the trees.
“Wait!” Dreamer called. ‘Your name. You never told me your name.”
The painter disappeared as if into a fog. Dreamer looked around her. Saba sat at the edge of the pool, contentedly preening his feathers. She wondered if she’d hit her head when she tumbled and imagined the whole thing. Saba flew up to land on her head, still dripping from playing in the water. He chirped, “Pretty gone.”
***
