The Second Moonrise Part 13: Epilogue

I felt my horns for the third time this trip. There they were, my cow horns. One shorter than the other and covered in frost. Each time I had brought my hands down and felt the frost, rubbing my fingertips together to warm them. It was like picking at a scab. You know you probably shouldn't, but your mind keeps going back to it.   What am I?   Cicero had refused to answer that question. The prude said it was too dangerous for me to know. He also wouldn't answer any more questions about whatever she was. Didn't I have a right to know? Why was I the only one who seemed to have questions about myself? Why wasn't I allowed to know the answers? For that matter, what was Zephnos? Why could I summon the moon? Had I always been able to do that? Why did I have so many memories in my head? It was more than just Zephnos' life. Ever since Ron had mentioned lobsters, I could feel them crowding around inside my skull. They weren't my memories. I could focus on them and see pictures of a place of light and dark. It was beautiful in its contrast, but that's almost all the world was: contrast. I pushed aside the thoughts in my head, focusing on those memories. Why had Ron's mention of lobsters conjured them? He had shown me what a lobster looked like, but I hadn't recognized it. Except I did? It was familiar, but I was certain I'd never seen it before. Eventually, a new image appeared to me. It was a lobster, but not like the one Ron had drawn on the ground. It had too many legs. More memories joined this one, and I saw they had many different shapes and sizes. But these weren't lobsters, they just looked like lobsters. I was certain I had never seen them--   I walked face first into the haunch of one of the bears. Cicero had stopped and started to set up a small camp, pulling a tripod pot holder and a arranging several stones to keep the fire contained. "Are we stopping?" He looked up at me, his mask back in place. It occurred to me for the first time that the markings on his mask seemed to change very slowly, almost imperceptibly. I guess I hadn't seen him where it often enough. He never had it on when he visited the Campgrounds.   "Only for now. We are waiting until the moon disappears. And then we are going to have to find the Campgrounds again. If the Dark Forest still exists of course." He puts on a pair of iron tipped gloves from his pockets and begins to rummage in his oversized backpack. After a while, there's a brief "ah" and he pull something out of the mess. I crane my head to see what he has. It looks like a small iron box, but it's smoking slightly from one end, where the lid is slightly opened. Cicero pulls back the lid to reveal what appears to be live coals, glowing an eerie blue. "A nice change from the Salamander's purple." He plops one into the firetrap and begins to feed it sticks. Finally, his gaze swings back to me, and I can't help but notice his gaze fixed on my frost-covered horns.   Something connected suddenly. "She's a fucking god isn't she? And THAT'S why you don't want me fighting the Ashvine."   Cicero's gaze snapped to my face. It was easy to tell when it changed, because his entire head moved. Owl skulls have fixed eyes after all. I made a mental note to thank the Salamander for including THAT tidbit of information in Zephnos' starter pack.   "Yes."   "That's it? That's all you're going to fucking say?"   "Yes. That is all I can tell you safely."   "But you know for sure I'm going to figure it out on my own."   Cicero reaches out and rests a hand on my shoulder. "That is what I am hoping for. I have seen what happens if you had tried to interrogate the Salamander. It does not know the answers you seek."   "But you do?"   A pause. "Yes. But they are not the answers you want."   I gently pulled his hand off my shoulder and held it in mine, looking down at the scaled pads. "And how do you know what I want?"   "Because I have met you more times than I can count." Another pause. "And I have met her almost as many times."   "This 'her' is the thing inside me?"   "Please do not call her a 'thing'. She is a friend, though not to you."   I let go of his hand and backed away, crossing my arms. "Doesn't that make her my enemy? And by extension, how can I trust you? If you're her friend, that means you're on her side."   Cicero cocked his head, wordless. After a few seconds, he resumed speaking. "I... I do not know what to say. I want what is best for both of you, but I am not sure what that is."   OK, it wasn't much but we were finally getting answers. "What do you mean you've seen both me and the Salamander die?"   Cicero was looking at the fire now, avoiding my gaze. Because of the mask, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. At first I didn't think he would answer, but then he sighed, and began to speak.   "When the erstwhile goddess reached out her hand, The spark answered her call. And as the Flame scorched the land, We saw the princess fall. But as the fire unmakes the dark, A new one will arise, For while the old world missed its mark, flame has yet to claim its prize."   "Something I wrote. It is the same each time. You and her are the same. This place is the same. The Salamander is the same." He pulls out a few radishes and begins chopping them up for a stew. "But not this time. Bjorn was not here before."   "Bjorn? What about him is different?" I wasn't sure what he meant by 'before'.   "He was not here at all."   "So what you're saying... is that something happens to the Salamander, and I... or she at least, becomes the new Salamander, and that ends the world? And you think Bjorn can change all of this just by being here?"   He looks up from the pot. "Not end. Resets. I have never stayed for the cataclysm."   "Cataclysm?"   Cicero shook his head, his bags rattling as he did so. "I cannot tell you more about this. It would bring too much risk to you. Trust me when I tell you that everything I have done up to this point is to end this cycle."   Then we are aligned. The voice creaked inside our heads. A familiar voice, and one that had helped me before. I looked around, searching the trees. "Gramps? Is that you?"   A chuckle rang through our skulls. Cicero was also looking around. He was nervous. Yes little one. I've been watching ever since you left the Campgrounds. That was quite a trick you learned with the moon. A shame I never learned to do that, but probably for the best.   "What is that?" Cicero's voice was quiet but I'd known him long enough to know he didn't like this.   "You know, that's a good question Gramps. I don't think I ever asked, what the fuck ARE you? Most trees don't have giant purple eyeballs and gush tree sap into television screens as a means of entertainment."   The trees rustled around us. His voice was in the splinter of the wood, and the wind in the leaves. It sounded like... I couldn't place it. It was familiar but not. There are two answers to this, but I think you're ready for at least one of them. This is the first time I've tried to tell you this in at least a hundred years, maybe more. It fell silent. I stood up and walked a circle around the fire Cicero had made. He was clearly shaken by this. Given all the information Cicero had thrown out, I'd almost forgotten that he wasn't a fighter. I motioned for the voice to continue. "And?"   You are Soil, my daughter. Your other you cursed me centuries ago by locking my soul and body inside an ever-dying tree. And so, I am now known as the Tree of Wounds. But you know my original name I think.   I did. He was the first thing I had ever seen, and was the first thing that had ever tried to kill me.   "Zephnos."   Yes. And now that that realization is out of the way, we can continue.   "But you're not Zephnos! Bjorn killed Zephnos! You can't be Zephnos if you're dead! And I think I'd remember creating a hundred foot tall pile of decaying plant mass that was constantly fertilizing the Forest with its innards!" I was screaming at this point into the Forest. I looked at Cicero. He would know what to say. His masked form was still though. It was hard to tell if it was shock or thought. "Tell him! There is NO WAY that that's Zephnos!"   Please, tell me who I am then. Show me the error of my ways, like you once did. Maybe he can tell me who I am? I knelt next to Cicero, grabbing him by his shoulders. "This is a lie. This can't be the truth, there's no way that thing is him right? Zephnos is dead!"   A version of Zephnos is dead. Your version. This version of Zephnos is alive and perpetually unwell.   I could almost hear the laughter echoing among the tree branches. Cicero finally spoke. "There is a chance... a small chance that it is telling the truth."   I stared at him, mouth open. "What... I... I can't take this right now. Bjorn may be dead, I'm some sort of crib for a sleeping goddess, the Forest is constantly resetting, Zephnos is still alive and a fucking TREE!" I shoved Cicero aside. I put my hands to my head and ran them along my horns without thinking about it. I stopped. "And now whatever I did earlier has worn off." I screamed a long, loud scream of frustration into the trees. I turned around and punched Cicero in the face, smashing his mask. Before I could even see the damage, I began to run.   I don't know where I was going. I just knew I needed to be away from them.   You can't run from me, Soil. As long as you remain in the Forest, you're a threat to it.   I clamped my hands over my ears. "Fuckofffuckofffuckofffuckofffuckofffuckofffuckofffuckoff..." It became a mantra. The mantra of fuckoff, coined by yours truly. It starts with fuck and ends with off.   But it was in my head.   What do you hope to accomplish? Cicero is trying to help you. I am trying to help you. We need your help to set you free. I tried my best to ignore him. I ran and ran and ran, but his voice always followed me. Until it finally began to cease. Then I will give you a reason to help. I tripped suddenly. I'd barely been paying attention to where I ran, just dedicating enough to jump or weave through obstacles. Stones thumped to the Forest floor around me. Small, smooth stones that looked like they'd been fished out of a river. I rolled over, spitting a wad of moss out of my mouth. My teeth hurt and I'd hit my knee pretty bad, but otherwise I was fine. I took a closer look at what I'd tripped over.   It was a small pile of smooth, rounded stones. They had been stacked on top of each other so as to form a small cairn. Now, the top half had been dislodged by a certain satyr ploughing straight into them. I picked one of the stones up. It was hard to see now that the moon had gone, but I could feel the smoothness of worked stone. Bjorn had made this. This was one of the grave sites he had created. I walked over to the opened cairn and looked inside. Just more rocks. I snorted. At least that musclehead was consistent.   He is gone. In your place, he paid the price for your mistake. There was unmistakable regret in the voice. "What mistake?"   You called them to the Campgrounds. Against the pull of the moon, there is nothing I can do. I am not a god, and cannot deny ones will. Nothing can move during the moon rise. All is frozen, as if in ice. And so the Campgrounds becomes easy to find. "I did this?"   When you summoned the moon, yes. I'm sorry I had to tell you like this. I began to stack the stones of the cairn again. After a few minutes, most of the damage was repaired. I looked at the last stone, then turned to face the trees again. "Can you bring me back here?"   Of course. I put the stone in my satchel. It clinked against the bottle that held the Salamander spark. I would have to be careful not to jostle them too much. Finally, I sat down. "What are you asking me to do?"   Cicero slowly walked out of the Dark Forest, out of breath, chains rattling. "We need... you to... to..." He held up a finger and collapsed next to the cairn. Pulling a flask from one of his many packs, he took a long drink, then swallowed. I waited patiently. "That is better..." He screwed the lid back on and stowed the flask once more.   "We need you to leave the Dark Forest."