Edelweiss

Nuristan province, Afghanistan.

------ Chapter One ------

I crane my long neck to gaze at the sky.

The clouds are a wash of deep red and lavender blue. I hear birds above, but cannot make them out with my ruined eyes. Everything I see blends together; the rising sun, the clouds, and brush mixed into one, like reflections on a muddy pond. I feel the breeze against my cheek, cool and caressing. Shrubs poke at my thick hide, softly clicking as they brush from one silver scale to the next. The planes stretch long into the distance ahead, and I am walking slowly and cautiously, sweeping my tail back and forth behind me to erase my tracks. The last thing I want is to be found.

Still thinking of the birds, I turn my neck behind myself to look at my wings as I walk. Both are prickly and numb; white as bones, black at the joints and brittle at the ragged tips; utterly useless in flight, and painful as they drag broken on the ground. They’re dangerous, even. They could be bitten by snakes, infect my blood with cuts and scrapes, or tear my shoulders apart if they were snagged. I’ve considered gnawing them away myself, but I am too weak to ever bring myself to do it.

Now, they’re trailing gently along the tall grass as I walk, collecting droplets of cold morning dew. My left wing briefly catches on a branch, sending pins and needles up my shoulder. I tug it free and move on.

After a day’s travel, I find what I’m looking for. Just beyond the tall grass and a thick barbed fence, darkness gives way to the warm glow of artificial light. I breathe a deep sigh of relief, careful to conceal the charcoal-black smoke of it with a claw. I am safe here, but I know full well that I am not welcome. As I listen closer I hear chattering: two humans, male, likely out patrolling their territory. Both of them smell of beer and gunpowder.

I must be careful tonight.

If I strain my ears enough, I can make out the quiet shuffling of livestock on the other side of the camp. My mouth waters as I imagine it: filling my eager stomach with plump cattle, as I’d done for centuries in my prime. It was a tantalizing thought, but one that would surely see me killed. No, once the silver light dies down and they all return to sleep, I will only take the coyotes and jackals that come to eat their livestock in the night. They won’t come looking for me, then.

I creep up a nearby hill, staying low to the ground, and lay my head on a rock overlooking the village. I drag my wings above my head to conceal what remains of my horns. In the darkness, I will look like nothing more than a bush or a small tree. Soon, the lights fade, and I am left to wait for my meal. My stomach growls.

As I bide my time in the pitch darkness, my starvation-addled mind begins to wander. I remember a distant time when I was so full of life and vigor, and when I was loved. I remember how the humans who lived here before, calling themselves Kata, would offer me food and beautiful things, and in return, I would fly high into the clouds and force the rain to fall with my powerful wings.

I do not know how long it has been since those times. Only that I haven’t shown my face since the day they ended, when the sky was stained black with ash, and flames consumed the horizon, and the peaceful old village was conquered and replaced forever with something violent and unforgiving.

Indeed, I haven’t dared to show my face here since, no matter how much I want or need the new humans’ help. I don’t like the sounds they make when I show myself, or how paranoid they become after; how they come in packs to the woods, carrying cruel weapons that sound like lightning; tearing gaping holes through my wings, mangling my jaw, shattering my horns and destroying my eyes.

I am dragged from my thoughts by the sound of baying wolves. I drop my wings and prepare to pounce.

------ Chapter Two ------

As the sun peers over the horizon the next morning, I stretch and shake dry canine blood from my scales. My eyes gently droop. I haven’t slept a wink for the past two nights, and I want nothing more than to make it home within the day. I begin my long and slow journey, guided by the distant rustling of conifer trees.

I listen intently to the dry grass crunching beneath my claws as I walk, perhaps to distract myself, or to fill the silence of the plains in the early morning. The air is as thick and humid as mud, but the ground is parched. I take extra care not to let myself breathe too deeply. I don’t want to give myself away with a fire.

Over time, I notice the air growing thicker, the wind picking up, and around halfway back, raindrops falling quietly on my snout. I tentatively pick up my pace, but it’s no use. Within the hour, the quiet trickle of monsoon rain becomes a downpour. The sound of it overwhelms my sense of direction; I can no longer hear the telltale whispers of the trees, or the chirping of crickets in the ferns ahead.

All at once, the wind is pounding at my back and the rain falls in twisting ropes, casting up steam from the burning spaces between my scales. I have no time to spare now, unless I want the humans to see me smoking like a godforsaken signal fire.

Puddles form under my claws as I barrel across the grass, skidding and kicking up mud with every turn. Deep in panic, I find myself drawing upon my old power; running faster than any man or beast ever could, streaking across the plain so quickly that I could no longer feel the wind or rain touching my scales.

Moments later, my forward momentum abruptly comes to a halt as I slam into something cold and sharp. I feel rough stone slice into my nose, ripping through skin, and snapping the thick cartilage beneath. Moments later, my body follows. I feel the jarring impact from tooth to tail, and for a moment, I collapse into the thorny bushes below. Stars flash before my eyes, and I lay there for a moment, reeling from the pain. I take a quick breath and force myself to stand, willing myself to press on.

I take a single step, sway, and fall to my side.

I do not know how long I slept, only that I awoke to daylight, the ground still damp with rain and blood. It is quiet; peacefully and dreadfully quiet. I know I’ve been wounded, but as for the extent of it, I cannot tell. My snout and chest are as cold as ice and completely numb. I apprehensively feel my nose with one claw, and am relieved to find that it’s still intact.

I open one eyelid, trying to get my bearings. I can vaguely make out the shape of a cliff’s face - the one I ran into - and conifer leaves above me, but my crooked jaw blocks my view of anything on the ground. I climb to my feet, scanning my surroundings with my better eye.

From what I can make out, I am in a wooded clearing just beyond the plains and surrounded by mountains - a place that is only barely familiar to me. I came here once, but any memories beyond that feel . . . wrong. As if vultures had picked them apart, leaving only bones; abstract and bare fragments of what could’ve happened. I pace about the field with a sense of dread, unable to bring myself to leave. I can remember only two specific moments, each only a fraction of a second in length.

Huddled into a dark crevice in the face of the cliff.

A flash of light, then pain.

An edelweiss bloom stained red with blood.

I swivel my head around the field, my pulse loud in my ears. I have to leave, but still, I can’t bring myself to look away. I close my eyes and try to control my breathing, redirecting my thoughts to the swallows singing in the trees, and wind sweeping through the brush. And…

A wailing, growling shriek, like a hyena cub snatched by an eagle. The sound rose and fell like something howling at the moon, and squeaked intermittently like a cricket. Every time I try to pinpoint its source . . . it changes. I am perplexed, intrigued, and to my relief, utterly distracted from my memories and the clearing.

I lower myself to my haunches and creep towards the source of the sound. The ground here stoops into a small creek between two hills, rainwater noisily trickling through, carrying on it the stench of hominid blood.

I blindly step over the stream. On the other side, my claws sink into something rigid and cold, sending more of the blood-scent into the air. I freeze in my tracks.

After a pause, I tentatively bring my head close to the body, careful not to catch its dark hide on my spiked lower jaw.

My eyes confirm that it is indeed human, it's two biped-legs partially hidden beneath the brush, rigid and contorted in death. Its hair is torn to the root, and its limbs are covered in deep cuts and scratches. My heart catches, and despite everything, I grieve.

Beyond that, I am horrified. I wonder what could’ve done this. The cuts are brutal and animal in nature. But if a bear or a wild dog had caught it, it would’ve attacked the vitals first. Its throat, chest, and stomach had, by far, the least damage, and judging by the blood, had been slashed at last. I close my eyes, and choose not to consider the implications of this. A flame builds in my throat as I push forwards through the thicket.

I hear the strange cries again, echoing from the dead human’s far left. This time, the rising and falling tones start out clear as birdsong, then shift to quiet, sorrowful bleating.

I push through a patch of sweet-smelling edelweiss, and then I see it.

The newborn is no bigger than a single claw, completely and breathlessly still as it stares up at me. I cannot see its eyes, but I feel them, staring straight into mine with bright curiosity. At this moment, I realize. The flames die in my throat, and I can’t bring myself to do anything but stand and watch. It gently grasps at the soft white flowers cradling its head, innocent and unaware of its situation, and utterly unafraid of me. I don’t want to move any closer. I don’t want to ruin this moment - perhaps the first time in decades since any creature hasn’t been afraid. But after a moment, my curiosity overpowers me.

Slowly and quietly, I move closer. I gently nudge it with the smooth tip of my snout. It only giggles, looking up at me again. I’m near enough to see its face now, and studying it closely, I am shocked by the bright intelligence within its eyes. And again, I see no fear. Only hope.

I hear leaves crunching to my left - lightly, slowly, and deliberate. I softly turn my head, careful not to frighten the newborn. My eyes narrow.

Then comes a quick and unmistakable yelp, and I spring to my feet. An armed, male human in heavy black-green clothing stares up at me with eyes so wide that I can discern their whites from the hazy blob of his face. I lash my tail in clear warning, raise my scales on end, and fan out my white cobra-hood to full length. I discreetly turn my head to the right, concealing where my jaw is lame, and tense my shoulders to give the impression of functional wings. My heart is beating out of my chest. If I can’t scare it away now, I have no real way to defend myself against its weapon. I’ll be dead where I stand.

The human screams, drops its weapon and runs away, and I let out a deep (slightly flaming) sigh of relief. I drop my hood and turn back to the child, who by some miracle, managed to stay silent through the whole ordeal. It coos and laughs, still playing with the scattered edelweiss.

I find myself wondering whether I can communicate with it or not. Do humans know their language from birth, like birds or badgers, or do they learn it over time? I only know a few phrases, and my voice isn’t so good for mimicking hominids as it is for other creatures. Still, I try.

“Kaaaghrm . . . whiiiiihss . . . ?” (Come with?)

I cringe. The impression was worse than I’d thought it would be. The newborn looks up at me in confusion - whether because it's language isn’t inherent, or because my speech was unintelligible, I’m not sure. Still, it was worth a shot.

In either case, I know what I must do.

I gently scoop up the child in one talon, and place it on my head between the stumps of my horns. It shrieks in delight, holding on tightly with one hand and wildly grabbing at falling leaves with the other. My tail flicks back and forth, and a small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

Why am I doing this? What’s wrong with me?

I let out a breath, dispelling my uncertainty, and step carefully through the edelweiss thicket. I make a quick turn to the left and into the conifer trees before the child can see what happened to its mother.

------ Chapter 3 ------

The journey home from the thicket is much shorter than my intended route through the mountains, and for what felt like the first time, I’m not so lonely anymore.

Over time, the sound of bells chiming on the wind blows closer, and I know I’m in the right place. When I first lost my sight, I hung hundreds of bells and scraps of glass from the trees surrounding Home and my Collection. To me, the sounds are more beautiful than gold could ever be, even as I remember it from the old times. I hope the child won’t mind all the noise.

Guided by the bells and chimes, I feel my way through a mossy cavern at the base of another cliff, then make a sharp turn to the left, stepping behind a thick curtain of vines. A rush of humid air meets my face, and the child’s eyes widen. I smile again, knowing that, more than likely, it feels the same way I felt when I first visited this place

The cavern clearing stretches almost as wide as the forest itself, lit from the outside only by a single crack in the ceiling. The ground is thickly carpeted in moss and flickering fireflies, and mushrooms grow as tall as trees from the banks of a waterfall stream gently trickling through the cavern’s center. I lower my head to let the child down. It cannot walk yet, but this place poses no threat for crawling.

I watch as it explores the grounds, playing with various objects I’ve collected over the years: old coins, extra bells, autumn leaves in every hue, conch shells that sound when held to your ear. I have human contraptions here as well - some with wheels, some with lenses or buttons or levers - but most are on a rocky shelf, far out of the newborn’s reach.

I try to think of a plan. Surely I can’t keep the human here forever. For one, I don’t know how I’ll feed it; I barely have enough food for myself as is. I can’t teach it what a human ought to know, not unless I find a way to magically stand on my back legs and speak. For all I know, I can’t return it either. I suspected that the male human I’d seen, judging by the route he took to reach the thicket, was at least partially responsible for the killing, and might’ve come back for the child.

And so, my talons are tied. I begin to raise it as best I can; as well as I would raise one of my own. I stop visiting the village entirely to take care of it. At first, I nearly starve, completely unable to hunt on my own with my ruined jaw. But I soon find a population of mountain goats nearby, and teach myself how to catch them. It is more than enough for the human, but my own rib cage is showing within a month. Still, I am happy.

Humans are wired to use names, so I give one to myself; something simple and easy to say, and as a human would have it, representative of myself:

Pan.

I chose the name from the first thing the old humans had ever gifted me. I remember spending weeks learning how to use the flute - I do not have lips or enough control of my flaming breath to play any notes on my own, so I taught myself to hold them up on stormy days, listening to the notes echoing all at once in the wind. The slow process of learning and exercising curiosity, of accepting new challenges and overcoming . . . that is who I am.

The hard part is finding the right name for the child. Soon after bringing her home, I learn that she is female, and try to choose a name accordingly. I spend several days considering this, testing and measuring her reactions to each one. Finally, I settle on a name, nearly wanting to kick myself for how obvious of a choice it was.

Edelweiss.

I cannot twist my tongue around the human word, so I make a substitution with the equivalent word in my own language - a short and quiet chirrup, sounding something like, “Aiy!”

It feels right. The child responds to it each time, and I am satisfied with the sound.

Over the years, we work out how to communicate with one another, in a strange language combining my natural grunts and growls with fragments of human words and phrases. By the sixth year, it becomes clear to me that she is not like other humans, and every time we speak, I doubt further that she’ll ever be able to return to the village. She walks bipedally, but she’s combined it with some mimicry of my long, trotting gait. She tilts her head when she’s confused, can perfectly weave traps and mimic bird calls, and smiles with all her bottom teeth bared. I can’t help but worry for her, and sometimes, I feel guilty for how I might’ve barred her from a normal life. But she is happy, and for the first time in decades, so am I.

And so it remains.

One night, on the fourteenth year, I come outside to find Edelweiss crouched atop a small redwood tree outside of the cavern, watching two bats flitting about above her head. Unaware of my presence, she turns to look at the pale light from the east, which has grown noticeably brighter since I last went to the village. She stares at it for a moment, then, abruptly, leaps from the top of the tree. I dash forwards, letting out a panicked shriek.

She lands perfectly unharmed in a pile of leaves, turning to giggle at my response.

“What are you doing?” I’m panting, my eyes wide. I lower my head in frustration, but she smiles.

“Climbing trees. Jumping off of them. Oh - and did you see me do a spin?” She teases, then shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I got bored.”

“No matter, dear. I am simply glad you didn’t injure yourself.” I give a pained smile. “Did you need anything? Anything at all?”

“Actually, I had a question.” She says. “What are those lights?”

My eyes harden. “I thought we were through with this.”

“I know, I know.” She says, raising a hand. “I don’t want to go there this time, I promise. I’m only curious - what are they?”

I pause. How do humans create lies? My mind can’t comprehend how to say something false as if it's true. Nevertheless, I try.

“It’s . . . it’s the moon,” I say, forcing my voice to become casual. Am I doing this right? “The moon lives there. That’s why it sets in the east.”

Edelweiss tilts her head. “The moon sets in the west.”

“Nevermind it. You know I cannot lie like you do. But, for all my trying, I’m sure you understand how much I do not want you to know. Isn’t that enough?”

“. . . No.”

I pause again, unsure of how to respond. And so, I don’t. I return to the cavern without another word, frustrated and hoping that she understands. She has before.

The next morning, I awake to a silent cavern. Edelweiss is nowhere to be found.

I don’t bother checking the forest, or the creek, or even the mountains and redwood trees; I run straight from the cavern to the plains, dashing across it once more at full speed. I do not care that the sun is rising in the sky, or that storm clouds are gathering beyond the horizon. Edelweiss wakes earlier than I do - she could’ve easily stumbled into the village by now. Who knows what they’d do to her once they find her. I remember the carcass in the woods, and gallop even quicker, my heart racing and my body glowing with hellfire.

How could I have been so blind?

I come upon a hill before the village, and deftly using my weak wings to glide past the barbed wire, enter it. I land as quietly as I can muster. The humans have yet to wake and leave their thatched huts, and I know I only have moments to spare.

I swivel my head above the buildings and tents, searching for her to no avail. I try to catch her scent in the air, but am overpowered by the stench of dried alcohol. I listen closely, but only hear a man’s voice, yelling.

A man’s voice.

I run towards the sound, my claws clicking on the wet concrete. Fire spills from my mouth in streams, and I come skidding to a halt at the scene.

Edelweiss stained red with blood.

Her hair lies in chunks on the ground, and two men, each dressed in turbans and wielding long weapons, scream for security.

I scream for vengeance. I remember little after that. The sky is stained black with ash, flames consume the new village, and I find myself, once more, alone in the storm.

I sweep my tail back and forth behind me to erase my footsteps. I let the rain wash over my wounded side, diluting the trail of blood I would otherwise leave behind. I want the humans to think they’d won. I want them to stop yelling and searching. I’ve taken my revenge. I have nothing left to fight or live or die for.

I forge on into the darkness, my feet dragging slower and slower, until I collapse at a bed of edelweiss blooms.

I turn my eyes to the sky. The clouds are alive, crackling in the morning light with shades of blood-red and stormy blue. I hear birds above, and watch the two of them soar beyond the horizon. Everything is so clear to me, now.

I am not afraid anymore, even as I hear the remaining new-villagers storm into the clearing. I stopped being afraid when I found my daughter, when I finally remembered who I was before they took everything from me. I’ve found and fulfilled my purpose, and with everything, I have no regrets.