Hope on the Horizon

The Wandering Star peeked over the horizon. It was late rising tonight, though it is difficult to call something late which never follows a schedule. Nevertheless, as Luna slipped beneath the sea of leaves that is the canopy of the old growth forests around the Grand Chantry, Elder Moon thought to herself that the star was late. Waiting for it to come up she had lost a great deal of sleep.

Yes, waiting for the Star, that's it Moon, my dear. It has nothing to do with the message you received, or the butterflies you've had ever since it arrived.

Elder Moon gave her inner-critic a stern look. A member of the Elder Council could certainly expect to retain a certain amount of dignity - even in her own mental monologue.

Nevertheless, it was true that she had been giddy this evening, an odd feeling for a fox-daughter of her age. Yet, even the oddness of it gave her pleasure. She felt light and hopeful, which made her all the more nervous and cautious. Now was not the time to go getting one's hopes up. All the signs, all the omens, all the observations and predictions were pointing to catastrophe. Daily news arrived from the mouth of Zipsum messengers describing more and more deforestation by the Children of Steel. Rumors were beginning to fly of demons haunting the jungles. The very behavior of the Wandering Star seemed ominous in the context of the oppressive reality of impending disaster.

Moon had countless reasons to be worried, which is why she found it so worrisome that far from feeling afraid she felt... excited.

One week ago the delegation of the Choir of the Seasons arrived at the Chantry carrying a sedan with the Most-High Soul-Singer Elder Winter inside. The rare visit, of the most honored living Prill, was occasioned, he said, by the near certainty that something prophesied to him long ago was about to take place. So certain, he said, because he was about to leave this sorry world and his aching body behind and so it had better happen any moment now, or else... Moon had to admit that it had taken several days of patiently listening before she honestly believed that he wasn't just a senile old baritone.

Why the Elder Winter had specifically summoned her and demanded her presence by his bedside every day since his arrival, she could not fathom. However, he had ceaselessly shared with her the things he had been told to expect in his youth. He had told her of the coming of spring. He had spoken of the arrival of guests, sojourners, bringing with them the tide of renewal. He had explained the secret meaning of the Wandering Star and even taught her a portion of its private symphony. Whether anything he said was true or not, it was an incomparable honor to be given this time in his presence so close to his final hour, for beyond doubt his health was deteriorating rapidly. He would not again depart the bejewelled halls of the Grand Chantry.

And then... this afternoon, she heard a whisper on the breeze. The gentle caress of a distant loved one carrying a message - just as her own Mokuzai was fond of doing. The message said, "We are coming. Me and some companions. Meet us at Inari's Grandmother."

She nearly swooned. He's alive! He's alive and he's coming back to me! She'd relived the moment a thousand times in her heart since the message came and each time new joy sprung out of the weeks and weeks of worrying. Mokuzai was coming home, and though it was difficult to imagine that anything could be more wonderful than this news, it was also true that he was bringing companions, guests, sojourners. Is it possible that this could be a coincidence? So soon after she had believed Elder Winter's prediction? Is it not more likely that these companions were the very ones Winter spoke of? The ones who would bring renewal?

Despite all of her attempts to chide herself into reserved hope, she could feel the music bursting from her soul, a triumphant melody of resurrection. This, she was certain, is what it has all been pointing toward. The Dusk Sages and their obscure lore, the Anakarix and their mathematical prophecies, the Prill lore-singers and their aural wisdom - were they not all singing about this moment? About these people? About this historic culmination?

The Wandering Star rose late tonight - an omen of doom. Staring straight at the orb of light on the horizon she said, confidently, "You don't scare me. For I have heard the music of salvation."