White Stag (PERMAFROST #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two: White Stag

            I looked at the animal. His breath turned to frost in the snowy air. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."

            The Stag huffed and closed his dark eyes before sinking to his knees. I went down with it. "Listen, you can't die! You just can't. Not now, not yet!"
The border between the worlds was where I was born. The ancient voice spoke again. It is where I must die. My body is fading away. We know this; this is how it began and how it will end.

            The gleam of Donnar's black, pitying eyes and the shine of the silver moss came back to me and I found myself repeating the svartelf's words. "For thousands upon thousands of years you have sat beside your throne, firmly rooted into the earth. After thousands upon thousands of years the roots are devoured and torn away. A thousand wars have been fought for you, a thousand deaths offered to you. Each time you have been ripped away from the earth and each time you regrow stronger than before. One day, your roots will spread across the worlds and when they do, they will be all there is to anchor it in place."

            The Stag lifted his head to gaze into my eyes. Can you accept that burden?

            I blinked as slowly, slowly, what he was asking me to do sunk in. I do not envy you, child. Donnar had said as I left him. Maybe it wasn't just the rambling of an insane creature who never saw the light.

            The eight seeds sat hard in my pocket as I closed my eyes; trying to think, trying to block out the swirls of memories creating a whirlpool inside me. Not my memories. Memories of being captured and killed and risen again, memories of long years beside the Goblin King, the bond that grew between the two creatures, almost like the love one would had for a family member, the pain as the Erlking's power was drained away and died. The search for someone worthy as a thousand worth nothing chased him through the bracken.

            He is worthy, the Stag said. As are you. Do you think just anyone born between worlds could do this?

            My hands were shaking and I didn't try to stop it. "How am I worthy of...of this? How could I possibly...?"

            You are balance and chaos. You are light and dark. It churns inside you, forcing you to choose yet you never do. You will walk between the worlds throughout your life and know innately which being deserves your respect, your mantle.

            "I won't be...subjugated," I spat the word out. "Not to anyone. Not even to Soren."

            The Stag made a sound similar to a snort. You think I am the one who is subjugated? You think I lack the power? I have all the power. The Erlking draws from me, not the other way around. And when I deem him unworthy of what I possess, I leave him with nothing but his own death. I am more powerful than anything.

            I swallowed. It made sense; the way the power was exchanged. I knew that, but I hadn't thought of it in the way the Stag described. Still, become the Stag? To Soren and...whoever else long after Soren was dead and gone? To live forever and ever until I found my death at the border and something or someone came to take my place? And if they never did, continue to live and watch and run. To judge the beings who believe they are gods by the standards of men; to prove to them all that before you they are as weak as a newborn fawn.

            "Is it worth it?" I asked. It was a stupid question. The balance of the world, the subtle control over all living things; my life was nothing compared to that.

            Before in the Erlking's palace the Stag was just a symbol of subjugation. That was so long ago it could've been another lifetime. No, it wasn't demeaning but it was frightening. Even now in the calmness of the snowy hollow, I was close to hyperventilating, shivering with the choice before me. The power to choose the rulers of the most feared species in the Permafrost; the power to decide who and what deserved the strength that seeped from every inch of my being; the power to make a king and also take away his crown.