Chapter 8: Continuing

Yelling angrily at each other Tonic and Atcher lash out in a slurry of words: “What do we do now?! How do we get Prism back?! Where do we go?! How can this happen?! That’s our FRIEND! Bad things can’t happen to us! Why couldn’t I DO anything?! Why didn’t you help?!”

The two friends yell grief stricken accusations to eternity. They holler desolation and loneliness at each other, crying for the unfairness (the Wind Rabbits hide from the out-pouring of pain). The burning, gritty, unceasing wind whips at them and slowly wears their anger and shock away, carrying the tiny particles of emotion far away on the air currents, leaving gnome and brownie worn out and defeated.

Once all is quiet again, the friends having exhausted their fighting, and only the ceaseless, stirring susurrous of the wind remains, Atcher and Tonic slump down on the sandy ground. The mountain has leveled out from the air currents carrying away, and sifting smooth, the sandy soil. Pre-dawn light glows on the horizon. Then, as gentle as the breath before a storm, Atcher hears the delicate trickle of sand shifting. Tonic points at the depression where Prism had been, and Atcher and Tonic watch the grit shift and swirl in it’s own eddies of air. The faintest whisper of breeze, like the soughing of a single, irritated leaf, says “Oh, pond scum! This sand is miserable and greedy.” in exactly Prism’s stormy bluster.

Prism, an invisible rush of air, pulls free from the grasp of the abandoned Summer’s sand. “I’m a water sprite, but I am made of tides and storms. I am of the weather, and no nasty, grumpy, pouting grains of dehydrating dirt will stop me!” Nothing more than a darkly breezing whisper, Prism’s vehemence is still blatant.

Tonic and Atcher cheer to know their friend is there, although they cannot see the sprite. The sun is up, and glaring harshly at the dry mountain. Rising high in transparent spirals of air, Prism floats in cirrus clouds, pulling in their vapors, and calling a warchant that sounds like bated stillness and screaming torrents. All three Wind Rabbits race toward the sea, snapping and harrying black clouds before them. 

Once drenched with the high altitude precipitations, the water sprite climbs down a cumulus rope and lands again on the parched, cracked, barren swath of land. Prism’s new skin shines like riverstones and angry tidal pools. The sprite’s chant of vengence continues, more screaming torrent now than bated stillness, and the Storm Herds thunder toward the flattened mountain. Rain pours down all around.

Atcher and Tonic are still stuck in the sand, and they soon become mired as the rains fall. The Wind Rabbits are all driving clouds toward Prism, leading the Storm Herds in. The water sprite continues to call, crackling with power, as the Storm Herds rush, roiling nearer. The sky is black with boiling clouds, rain is lashing down, and the cracking thud of the heavy hooves of the Storms sparks electricity that sears sand into glistening glass.

As Tonic and Atcher help pull each other free of the sticky earth, Prism’s snapping, rumbling chant continues with a passion. Atcher calls out, trying to be heard above the rising storm, “The tea leaves! Is this when we need Prism’s ferocious emotions?” 

“Yes!’ Tonic agrees, “And the missing season has caused a land of desolation and death; Summer is the grave enemy.” Turning toward the sprite, with the land in tremors from the mention of Summer, Tonic shouts to be heard above the storm “Prism! What is the hidden poem?!”

At these words, Prism stops conjuring the terrible hurricane, and says with surprise in a low voice, like the barest rustle of raindrops on leaves, “Oh...My creation song…” The sprite stands on the edge of the eroding cliff, wild rain mixing with foaming surf and seaspray; everything is soaked and pulled about by the storm. Prism’s voice crashes and fades like a storm-tossed boat on wave swells, then sounds more like wind soughing and wuthering. The conjured storm pauses, then builds according to the sprite’s words:  

I Was the Wind and the Ocean

I stood on the edge of sadness,

Looking at the chasm beneath me.

One the balcony of despair,

The wind played with my hair,

Tossing it about my face.

Then it picked me up,

Swirled me to places my mind had yet to see.

I ran atop the ocean,

The sea-spray in my clothes,

Waves pushing at my frame,

Begging me to join them.

So I did.

I flung out my arms

With my head held high,

And laughed at the Great Unknown,

Then fell backwards into the foam.

I was the Wind and the Ocean

And I laughed.

The sudden wind and waves from Prism’s poem has further washed the mountain away, and as the sprite stills, the friends find the mountain has worn away into a sandy shore. The far-off ocean beyond the mountain is now at their feet, not so far off, and lapping seafoam at their toes. The wild, violent hurricane quickly diminishes, and the Storm Herds disperse. Clouds of Summersweet flowers grow in abundance where Prism was consumed by the harsh earth of the fourth season. The flowers' scent is a fresh, sweet, woody scent, something like a blend of honeysuckle, rose, and clove. The buttery dawn light is friendly on the newly-made beach.

Gnome and brownie help their exhausted friend walk, while asking concerned questions. “Prism! That was astounding!” Tonic gushes, “How did you do all that? I never knew you could exist without your water! We really thought you were…gone...” Tonic trails off.

“Are you okay?” Atcher asks the sprite, while giving a big hug. “Your song was glorious! Where did it come from?”

Prism smiles sleepily and replies, “Thank you both. I am okay, just worn out. Separating is miserable; I won’t likely ever be able to do it again. There is a precision to it, and it takes an intense amount of energy. I’m so tired.” Atcher guides the group toward some shade where they can rest, as Prism continues dreamily, “The song is not something normally shared. It’s my Becoming song, the song of my creation. It’s the music that played me into existence, the rhythm of that brilliant, clear night on the seaside; the waves crashed into the beach in a joyful, powerful way and jellies glowed blue along the crests of the waves; the stars shone crystaline while bright meteors raced across the black silk arc of the night sky.”

Wading through a sea of fireflies, the exhausted friends help each other to the plinth where the missing statue belongs. Tonic pulls over large leaves to use as pallets. As the sun rises higher in the sky, leaving scudding white clouds above, smooth sand below, and promises a day of seagulls playing and interesting shells to be found, the trio rests amid the seagrasses on the warm, inviting beach. Steam, Undertow, and Turbine all frisk in the waves. You can almost smell ice cream cones and the new-plastic of freshly inflated beach floats. A sandcastle sits just off to one side, two crabs industriously building up the towers. The beach is peaceful, and the stillness just waits to be full of friends and fun and long, warm days full of kites and laughter. 

Prism dozes on the leaf pallet and damp sand, with toes gently patted by the ocean waves. Tonic makes some energizing tea. While the tea steeps, Atcher assists Tonic in looking for edible plants nearby. Tonic points out a clump of seaweed to Atcher, while gathering a bundle of cattails. “These will make a good meal; I think we will need to rest here a day while Prism recovers. Oh, curly dock!” Tonic exclaims as they walk back to the sleeping sprite. “Grab that glasswort, too, Atcher!” Brownie and gnome prepare the plants and watch over their recuperating friend. After the food is ready, they gently wake Prism up enough for a snack, and the weary trio eat. It has been a long day and night, full of physical stress and emotional turmoil.

Prism is quickly back asleep, recovery powered by cattail sausages and seaweed salad. Atcher rests and sips tea with Tonic. “What is the next step?” the gnome wonders aloud with a yawn. “How do we finish the task of finding the missing knight?” 

The Wind Rabbits kick up sand and push flowers high into the salty air while the friends drowsily try to think up an answer, relaxing in the warming comfort of the sand. Still asleep, Prism reaches out, and they all hold hands. The sleeping sprite gives a contented sigh.

Shortly, Atcher snorts awake and suggests, “I think we need to find the essence of the season. All the others were named for some part of their core. What has the fourth season been for us? Or what do we want it to be?” Sleeping in the sun and shade on the shore, Prism happily murmurs something that might have been ‘relax,’ or might have been ‘rest,’ or possibly even ‘recover’ (some insist the word was ‘berries,’ but as no one can say definitively, you shall have to decide for yourself what you think it was). Tonic and Atcher can’t tell, as both are swiftly asleep.

The trio sleep through the day, and thus they don’t notice the tide come in, or how it carries them along on their leaf pallets; the friends are still holding hands like otters, which keeps them together, and the Wind Rabbits gently brace the trio along. When Prism, Atcher, and Tonic all wake at dawn the next morning, the friends find themselves washed somewhere new. 

“Where are we?” Prism wonders, tucking the tuckered-out Wind Rabbits into pack, bag, and satchel. 

“I’m not sure. This isn’t where we fell asleep.” Tonic replies, looking at the forest just beyond the sand dunes. 

Atcher points to an island in the distance, “Look! I see four tall statues on that island; I think the Summer Knight must finally be named.” The friends pause, full of trepidation, but no rumbling or shaking comes. “Whew. It seems the Knight is found. I hope we are closer to the Tree Beyond the Garden.”

Prism points out plump, ripe dewberries growing in a neat line, leading like a trail straight to the forest. “I think we go to the woods. I’m pretty sure this path is a thank you.”

“To the woods, then.” Tonic lists ideas and Atcher takes notes, continuing the notes as they travel:

“Bring chalk, mark the trees. Avoid known dangerous plants. Untangle branches. Find and fall into a huge hole. Find a hidden clearing to camp in. Follow the winding trail up the hill and out the other side of the woods. Spot a village in the distance. Argue.”