The Lonely Boy and the Egg (Fantasy Fables)

Once, long ago, when Gods still walked the Earth and stars flew across the heavens, there lived an old family who were very, very strange. Everything that normal folk do, this family would do backwards; instead of seeking fire’s warmth they sought cold, and instead of living upon the ground they built their home where the mountains met the sky. Instead of growing old they grew younger, and they preferred working not in the day but in darkness, which they found easier to see. The father picked the clouds like apples and the sons rinsed and rung them out to dry, while the mother fished for birds below the mountain and the daughters sung songs no one could hear. But though all this was very strange, even so they were happy, and lived this way for a thousand years.

One day Lathander, god of all who are born and renewed, was wandering the forest below the mountain when he caught a glimpse of the family through a gap in the clouds. “How strange,” he wondered, “I do not remember birthing any children up there. Surely they must be lost and in trouble, for a mountain’s peak is painfully empty.” But he could see many figures’ distant moving, and though he waited and waited, the family did not come down.

Eventually, Lathander called his sister Chauntea, goddess of all that is grown, and pointed the family to her out through the clouds. “How strange,” she remarked, “I do not remember nurturing any seeds up there. Surely they must be ravished with hunger, for a mountain’s peak is terribly bare.” But she could see the family’s distant contentment, and though she too waited and waited, the family did not come down.

Finally, the two gods called their brother, Kelemvor, god of all which dies, and showed him too where the family lay. “How strange,” he pondered, “I do not remember escorting any souls down from up there. Surely they must be there only shortly, for a mountain’s peak is fatally cold.” But he could see the village’s distant permanence, and no matter how long he waited and waited, the family did not come down.

Confused and bewildered, the three gods decided to journey to the top of the mountain to see what was going on. For three days and nights they climbed, through thin air and howling cold, until they reached the great summit where the family had made their home. Curious, the three approached the family, who came to greet them as they neared.

“Hello,” called Lathander.

“Goodbye,” replied the family, though they made no move to turn away.

“Who are you?” asked Chauntea.

“We are Gods,” replied the family, though they were obviously mortal.

“We seek peace,” explained Kelemvor.

“We want war,” replied the family, though they did not attack.

“What strange creatures,” the gods agreed, and stayed in fascination to watch. The family were harmonious, yet in constant disagreement, and they were numerous, though no two looked alike.

“Who birthed you?” asked Lathander.

“Our fathers,” said the family.

“What feeds you?” asked Chauntea.

“Living,” the family replied.

“Where go your dead?” asked Kelemvor.

“To the sky,” came the only answer.

Such answers only intrigued the gods, who spent many days and nights watching the family’s strange existence. Eventually though, they grew to feel pity for them for leading such backwards lives.

“They know not the pleasure of normal existence,” the gods lamented, “The joy of birth, the warmth of sustenance, the peace of death. Surely it is cruel to deprive them of these things. Surely we cannot leave without helping them to know.”

So the gods spoke to the eldest of the family and gave unto her a magic egg of pure white into which they had worked their power. This egg, they told the family, would grant one of them life as they do, and place into the family’s mother a child who would be born as all other things were, and who would bridge the divide between their worlds. Curious, the family accepted their gifts, and with this done the gods thanked them for their hospitality and departed for the world below.

Before long the child was born as all normal children are, which to the family was a great cause of wonder and delight. They took the boy and raised him amongst their many sons, and showed him how to pick the clouds like apples, how to hunt the birds as fishermen, and how to sing songs that lacked for sound. But as the boy aged he grew discontent, for a part of him was godly, and he pined for the ways of the natural world.

“Why can we not eat true food?” he asked his parents, who responded with confusion.

“Why can we not seek true warmth?” he asked his brothers, who replied with uncertainty.

“Why can we not sing true songs?” he asked his sisters, who answered with silence.

Eventually, the child’s frustration grew too great, and it was agreed amongst the family that he would go and wander the Earth below so that he may fairly weigh the life of that world against the strange one to which he had been born. So for three days and three nights the boy descended, to thicker air and budding warmth, until he came to the base of the mountain and found himself within the forest.

For many years the boy wandered, taking in the delights of the world and the many people within. He met the gods and dined at their table; hunted deer and fished in the streams; sung with bards and painted with artists; and witnessed many time the wonders of life and death and birth. Yet eventually, after much wandering he grew homesick, and resolved to make his way back to his true family, who he loved, and who had loved him dearly in return, despite their strangeness. He longed, somehow, for the taste of cloud fresh rung from the heavens; for the scent of bird fished from the sky; for the sound of songs sung soft beyond hearing. So for three days and three nights the boy climbed as the gods once had, through thin air and howling cold, until finally he reached the great summit where the family had made their home.

But to the boy’s despair, when he stepped atop the mountain the family were nowhere to be seen. Their houses lay in ruins, their cloud-fields ripped and scattered, their bird-lines torn and burned. None remained of his strange ancestral people, and the boy fell to his knees in heartbreak and wailed in mourning at his loss.

For three days and three nights he stayed there, but when it became apparent that his family were not going to return the boy again descended from the mountain and again he began to wander, though this time seeking not delight and new experience but the family he had lost. For many years he wandered, unable to uncover any reason for their passing nor find any place they could have gone. His footsteps turned to whispers and his shadow turned to grey, and he walked for untold lifetimes in his hopeless, endless search.

One day, after countless years of lonely searching, the boy alighted across a strange and rugged land, many miles from his home. There, atop a dark and windy mountain, in a cold and barren cave, he found his first and only clue – the egg which the gods had given his family, still white and unbroken, laying abandoned and unprotected on the ground. Moved with excitement the boy grabbed it, expecting to see his family again – but the egg did not reveal them, nor to any way show.

A great sorrow gripped the boy, and a terrible loneliness, made all the worse by his fleeting moment of desperate hope. Delirious with pain, he took the egg and strove to use it, wanting, if he could not bring back his family, to make one anew – but unbeknownst to the boy time had turned the egg rotten, and what life it could make was now hollow and untrue.

First the boy dreamt of his parents, but what birthed from the egg was no wise and loving father but a pale and feral child, which snarled and snapped in frenzied hunger. Next the boy imagined his brothers, but what birthed from the egg was no clever and worthy equal but an empty shell with no soul of its own, which stood blank awaiting thoughts. Finally the boy dreamt of his sisters, but what birthed from the egg was no kind and gentle singer but a cruel and fractured creature, which twitched and buzzed like a swarm of bees.

In despair, the boy set the egg down, and resolved never to use it again. He looked upon what he had made, these strange and twisted creatures bound to him by magic and by blood, and he longed to abandon them – yet they were all he had remaining, the only sad shadow of his once great and happy life. So the boy sent them out into the world, and he cared for them, and he guided them, and then he continued on his wandering, searching for his family and searching for the truth.

It is said that to this very day he wanders – miserable and alone, never able to find the family he abandoned, never able to find the truth. He travels the world, avoiding others, a lone figure in the dark, until finally his loneliness becomes unbearable, and he sneaks into a village and steals a companion to ease his solitude – poor souls who he feeds only clouds and sings only silence, willing them to be the family he lost, until their mortal bodies die and once more he must walk alone. Thus beware on moonless nights; watch ever for eyes in darkness and cold mists upon the moors. For within the darkness treads the lonely boy, come to take those who leave their families, away to wither and die with him in misery and grief.