Page 63 of Tiger's Tale
As you become death’s vile tool.
Learn from those who came before,
Should you ever start to drift,
Beware desire,
Trust, but inquire,
Lean upon your tiger’s roar,
Capture every gilded gift.
Then as champions, you’ll arise.
Brimming with a brilliant power.
Distinct, each one,
Shining, each sun.
Rising to boreal skies,
And prolong your terrene hours.
Zakhar quizzed Matriova, taking notes and making his own as long as possible. Finally, when his eyes and the dwindling fire allowed him to work no more, he carefully stoppered his inks and cleaned his quill tips, then rolled up the scroll, vigilantly storing his work, before falling into a deep sleep.
By the time he woke the next morning, everyone else was breaking camp. “What’s going on?” Zakhar asked sleepily as he rubbed his eyes, shivering now that the fire was completely out.
Matriova answered, “I hope you don’t mind. I shared the basic information of the prophecy from your scroll. At least what I could remember. It appears to correspond with what we were already planning to do anyway, which was to try to get the three tigers to the Dreaming Mountain. After that, who knows? Iriko has agreed to accompany you that far at least.”
When the group was ready, Matriova placed a pack on her back, including snowshoes and the sturdy little yurt gifted to Danik, as well as a nice supply of dried fish. Iriko returned his mother’s lovely cloak, securing it on her shoulders himself.
“Are you certain you don’t wish to come with us?” he asked.
“No, son. It is enough that I was able to reunite with you. If I die on the journey, I am ready now.”
“But I won’t know where you are buried.”
“That won’t matter. It’s only a body I’ll leave behind—an empty shell. You’ll know where to find me. Just look up. I’ll be there. Watching over you always, my son. I hope someday you’ll find a way to forgive your old mother. And remember: no matter what you choose, I love you. I’ve always been proud to have you for a son.”
Iriko nodded. He took a step closer to her, reaching out and groping the empty air with his hand, feeling for her shoulder. She took it and squeezed it, guiding his palm to her face. “You’re shorter than I remember,” he said.
“No, I’m not. You’re just taller.”
He hugged his mother and said, “Thank you. I... I’ll talk with you from time to time.”
“And I’ll answer.”
They touched their heads together, then when he had his hand on Stacia’s back again, using her eyes to see, she turned to Zakhar and said, “If you ever have time to seek me out, assuming I survive my journey, I wouldn’t mind talking with you again, young priest.”
“I, too, would enjoy further discussion,” Zakhar said in reply. “Perhaps we can talk about God and the ancestors on our next visit,” he suggested.
“I think I might look forward to that conversation.”
“Then farewell for now. May the snow be solid beneath your feet.”
Matriova grinned. “I like that expression. I’m going to use that one.”
