Chapter 3 - The Owl

One evening after a hard day’s work, Prylof left the forge and, instead of turning homeward, headed toward the western edge of the city. A few times a week he would take a long route home to stretch his legs, clear his head, and glimpse the outer edges of Hevenin. He had visited each boundary of the city plenty of times, but his favorite by far was the tree line of the Western Woods. There was something mysterious about it that he felt drawn to—something simultaneously alluring and frightening. So on this night, like so many nights before, he let his feet carry him toward the woods while his mind wandered wherever it pleased.

Normally, during his walk home, there would be a smattering of other residents hurrying across the cobblestones to the glowing comfort of their respective homes. But on this night, as Prylof maneuvered through the familiar streets and back alleys, he noticed that they were almost entirely empty. It seemed he had worked later than expected and the evening bustle had already passed, leaving the streets dark and desolate.

Prylof’s hand reached almost automatically into the pocket of his vest and emerged grasping his silver pocket watch. He glanced at the watch face, which read 3:21. But of course it said that. It had read 3:21 for months, and despite being broken, it was still the one item that Prylof kept with him everywhere he went. The watch was his prized possession—a shiny and handsomely-designed piece that Prylof had saved for months to buy. He figured that at some point he’d have it fixed, but was in no particular hurry. He was usually too busy—and besides, he cared primarily about its impressive appearance, which was in no way diminished by the minor functional quirk of immovable hands.

He tucked the watch back in his pocket as he continued forward and carefully patted the outside of his vest to feel that it was secured. As he did so, his eyes glanced up at the Tower of Things, which on this evening stretched straight up into the gray, low-hanging clouds so that the top of the tower was completely out of sight. He felt grateful that his beloved watch was safely in his pocket rather than lodged deep in the hulking structure above. But he also couldn’t help but wonder whether somewhere up there, there might be an even better pocket watch—one with shinier silver, more intricate engravings, and gears that never broke down.

He sighed. Looking up at the tower had always left him with an uneasy feeling, but lately, it felt like more than general unease. It was usually at this time of day, when all the work was done, that Prylof was most-acutely aware of the unnamed feeling that had been building inside him for so many months. Sometimes it felt as if something inside him was unsettled, restless, and longing to get out.  But on this evening, it felt more like an empty space—as if something was missing, but he was not sure just what it was. And as he continued to gaze up at the jagged, shadowy tower, he wondered whether what he was missing might be found somewhere up there among the things.

Prylof continued to look up longingly at the grotesque, imposing, and intimidating marvel. It appeared to climb, weave, and arch of its own accord—as if it had a will, a drive, a desire to become to people what the sky had once been. Growing upward and outward, the tower exuded darkness, yet with a subtle, ever-present shimmer—each flickering speck of light a reminder that a specific thing was calling out to someone, somewhere.

Suddenly, the tower along with the rest of the world was jerked out of view in a blur as the dirty ground zoomed up to meet Prylof’s face. With a painful thud, his head knocked into the earth and he toppled over, rolling several feet past whatever had just grabbed his foot. For several seconds Prylof lay there letting the dizziness and confusion fade until he realized what had happened.

Prylof had tripped over an exposed tree root. With his head lost in thought and eyes locked on the tower, he had walked beyond the city limit and reached the tree line without realizing it. Here, the smooth gray gave way to a different plane, where the colors varied, and so did the terrain. With roots, rocks, and bumps all around, one needed to keep an eye on the ground. Serves me right, he thought, as he stood up and dusted himself off.

The trees here stood tall with an ancient, intentional, almost dignified look about them—as if they thought themselves the guardians of a sacred space not to be encroached upon by the profane urban sprawl inching ever closer. Their branches extended confidently outward with rich greens and browns that contrasted sharply with the monotonous, sweeping gray of Hevenin. Just beyond the tree line, in the shallow woods, the moonlight filtered in from above in gleaming white streaks that seemed to serve as a mystical connection between the forest floor and the sky above— a connection that did not exist within the city limits.

It was also quieter here. The Noise was low enough that Prylof could hear himself think. And while he had come to be alone with his thoughts, Prylof did not feel as if he were alone. He felt a presence, as if something or someone was watching him. He could not come up with any logical reason why he felt that way, and figured it was simply part of the forest’s mysterious nature.

In accordance with his usual routine, Prylof turned south and continued walking along the tree line, gazing with wonder into the deep and mysterious woods. He always walked along the edge of the forest, but not in—never in. There were plenty of stories and ideas about what existed beyond the tree line, but Prylof had never known anyone who had actually gone in. He knew, of course, that some people did, but they were few, and certainly a different kind of person. Prylof was not sure exactly what kind of person they were, but he knew that he was not that kind of person.

After only a couple minutes of walking, Prylof stopped. He had heard a rustling sound nearby, and now, the feeling of being watched was stronger than ever.

“Who goes there?” A voice spoke suddenly from the darkness.

Prylof, startled, spun around to look behind him, but no one was there.

“Who?” “Who?” The voice repeated.

Prylof peered through the trees and then glanced back toward the city, but still saw no one. So he replied into the darkness.

“I am Prylof.”

A response came quickly and this time Prylof could tell it was coming from the direction of the trees. It was closer now, clearly female, and calm yet strangely demanding.

“That is your name. But who are you?”

“I am a blacksmith at the local forge.”

“That is your occupation. My question again is who are you? Who?”

Prylof replied frustrated. “Where are you?”

“Up. Always up.” replied the voice.

Then Prylof saw it. Or he thought he did. But surely what he saw was not correct. Up above him, perched on a twisted, gnarled oak branch was a white barn owl glowing softly in the moonlight. And her beak was moving.

“Why the look of surprise? You’ve walked past these woods many times, surely you’ve noticed me here before.”

Prylof had. He had noticed the owl on plenty of previous evening walks along the tree line.

“Well, yes, I have seen you before. But you haven’t spoken before.”

The owl shuffled on its branch and ruffled its feathers.

“I certainly have spoken before, but you have never listened.”

Prylof considered this for a moment. But just as he began working on a retort, he decided that he had never argued with an owl before and was in no mood to start now.

“Look. I’m tired, my head hurts, and I’m covered in dirt. I’ve been working all day, haven’t eaten in hours, and I’m a good ways from home.”

“I see,” Said the owl, who leaned forward on the branch and with widening eyes, put her wings out in front and touched the tips of her feathers together almost like an attentive person tenting her fingers. “And how does this make you feel?”

Prylof sighed, a bit frustrated, and unsure whether the owl was teasing him. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

“Well I suppose I could be better, but these days that’s normal.”

“And why is that?”

Prylof had to think for a moment. “The world, it… it isn’t… it isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. And I… I’m not the way I’m supposed to be.”

“Perhaps you should do something about that.”

“No, you don’t understand. These problems are much, much bigger than me. And my own problems are a symptom of the general problems. I am not the right person to do something about…”

The Owl interrupted sharply. “If not you, then who?”

Prylof, now fully annoyed, simply shrugged.

“Who?” Repeated the Owl with increased volume.

Prylof replied, even more frustrated. “Someone else. Someone different. Someone… important.”

The Owl leaned even further forward, now almost parallel to the ground and repeated insistently:

“Who?”

“Who?”

“Who?”

Prylof couldn’t take any more of this. He turned away from the owl and took off running. Away from the woods, away from the moonlight, and away from the repeating question echoing through the trees. He continued at a run and did not stop until he made it all the way home.

Dirty, frustrated, and exhausted, Prylof went straight to bed. He tossed and turned under his sheets in the darkness, wishing for sleep. But when he became still, through the low, muted hum of The Noise, he heard, far off in the distance:

“Who?”

“Who?”

“Who?”

But sound didn’t travel that far through The Noise, thought Prylof. This is all in my head.

And slowly, very slowly, he drifted off to sleep. Into silence. Into darkness. And into a dream…

Prylof was walking. It was dark and mostly silent, save for the sound of leaves and twigs crunching beneath his feet. In every direction he looked, he could see only a few rows of thick tree trunks backdropped by total darkness. He continued walking forward for a minute, and then in a moment of clarity, stopped.

He could not remember how he had gotten here. He did not even know where “here” was.

Should I just keep going forward? But, which way is “forward”? He could continue in the direction he was just walking, but truth be told, he did not remember why he was walking in that direction. Well, thought Prylof, I was just going in that direction, so I must have decided earlier that it was the right direction to go. Perhaps it would be best to trust that I had made a good decision earlier.

But this line of thinking, though logical, did nothing to quell his growing sense of unease. He wanted to be sure of the right way to go. Prylof slowly turned in a complete circle, scanning the distance and the foreground, looking for something, anything, to indicate which direction was worth going.

But it was no use. There was really no discernible difference between the various directions in the dark and homogeneous surroundings. Prylof felt lost and afraid. And in utter exasperation, he fell to his knees, and let his eyes close.

But then….

Very faintly at first, almost inaudible—he heard a voice. And as it spoke, it slowly became clearer, and clearer. And completely entranced, Prylof listened to what it said:

Once there was a time when all was bathed in light

It glistened in the leaves and warmed the aging bark

But then the turning world moved beneath your feet,

Took away the light, and left you in the dark

And now the path ahead doesn't look so clear

The dark and dingy dirt is cloaked in browning leaves

And even if you thought that you could find the way

You'd still have to admit, you don't know where it leads

But even in the dark, without the aid of eyes

You can let them rest and tune in to your ears

And notice there's a voice that calls from up ahead

It whispers low and soft, just loud enough to hear

My head is on a swivel

My eyes are open wide

I see best in the dark

I'm silent when I glide

I take a wider view

Up high above the earth

I see further ahead

From my pensive perch

When you are in doubt

When you are in need

My wisdom can be heard

Whispered through the trees

But only in the silence

Stripped of all the noise

Can you find the way

By following my voice

In the darkest times

When it's hard to see

The quiet ones can listen

And those who listen lead

Someone in the darkness

Must begin to move

Someone needs to forge ahead

And if not you, then who? Who?

If not you, then who?