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// Chapter 7: The End 
// Story: The War and What Came After 
// by NorsePony 
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        They were six days from the edge of the forest at a pace slowed by the wounded, and Ghost had little hope of reaching it alive—at this moment, a group of flying ones could defeat them by spitting on them. Ghost worked the few surviving scouts mercilessly, but there was no sign of pursuit, which only increased her itching sense of not knowing when the spear would strike. The scouts were able to guide the army’s remnant around several small armed camps and patrols, justifying Ghost’s urgent use of them.

        Some of the wounded fell and did not rise again, or stopped breathing in the night. They were loaded onto travois which the warriors most attuned to Noa were able to create from the fallen warriors’ tubes and harnesses. The dead would be burnt in the forest so that their spirits would rise to the gods. Ember’s pain did not ebb. She grew sick, and then sicker, despite the teas and poultices. The healer was skilled with plants and herbs, but was weak with Noa. His supplies ran low, and then ran out, and he was unable to reach out to Noa outside of the forest itself. Ghost set her teeth and continued pulling her travois, hoping that Ember’s fever would not prove lethal before they reached the forest.

        On the morning of the day they would enter the forest, Ember began raving, speaking to visions only she could see. It was a very bad sign, and Ghost ignored her exhaustion and pulled harder. They crossed the threshold of the forest, and Ghost led the remnant a little further on, until they would be hidden from eyes outside the forest. She let down the travois on a small flat rock and turned to find the healer already kneeling by Ember, his antlers glowing green.

        The healer frowned, bent his head, then strained visibly for a long while, eyes screwed shut and breath coming in pants. At last, with a sigh, he let go the god and his antlers lost their light. He would not meet Ghost’s eyes directly. “Noa will not obey. It is as though the god refuses to heal her.”

        Ghost scowled at him, her anger rising, but blew a breath out through her nose and forced herself to relent. He is weak, but it is not his fault. “Gather your herbs, healer. Ember is in need of a fresh poultice.” The healer bowed and scurried away, calling a few warriors to him to help his search.

Ghost bent to touch her antlers to Ember’s with tears hot in her eyes. “You must live, Ember. This is not the after we sought, but it is an after, and so it is your time, not mine.” She fell silent for a moment, then a sob escaped her. “Oh, Ember. What do I do now?”

        Ghost sank down to lay listless next to her friend, listening to her rough breathing and occasional snatches of argument or conversation with entities only she could see. The healer returned with a poultice ready, and when he stripped the old, dried poultice from Ember’s side, Ghost saw that the wound had torn further open and its edges were an angry red laced with the white of pus. The healer clucked at it before applying the new poultice, but did not state the obvious to Ghost. She is dying.

        Ghost forced tears back and stood. She raised her voice to carry to all the pitifully small group of warriors. “We will camp here. I need runners to travel to all the villages of the forest and those villages of the hills which are not blocked by snow, to inform them of our defeat. All of the People must know that we are weaker and more at risk than ever before, and so every village must be on guard. The warriors gathered here are all that remains of the People’s spear, so we must remain at the edge of the forest to battle the Others if they strike.” She bowed to her few scouts, lying exhausted on the cold ground. “My scouts, I must ask yet more of you. You will keep watch for the Others, for an attack must be in the making. The Others are soft, but they are not stupid, and they will understand that they have dealt us a staggering blow.”

The scouts dipped their antlers in salute, heaved themselves up, and left the forest on stealthy hooves. Warriors, young and lean, the haunted look in their eyes their only battle scars, came forth and were dispatched to all the People’s villages. The rest of the warriors began making camp amidst the trees of home, moving slowly with fatigue. Ghost turned away and knelt next to Ember, waiting and hoping.

        A day passed, and Ember grew worse. It was after full dark that one of the scouts came to Ghost where she lay unmoving by her friend’s side. The scout bowed low, touching her antlers to the earth in a blessing for Ember. When she spoke, her voice was urgent, and fear danced in her eyes. “Campfires on the horizon, Ghost. Enough for five times our number—” Her eyes flicked down. “Our original number. The Others will be here by sundown tomorrow.”

        Ghost sucked at her lip. “They will not camp near the forest. Even weakened as we are, they will still fear what we can do in the darkness. They will attack the next day.” Realizing that the scout was still waiting, she went on, “You have done well. Eat and rest a little, then continue to watch them.” Dismissed, the scout bowed her way out of the tent.

        None of the Firsts or their head warriors had survived the slaughter, and Ghost felt keenly out of her depth, longing for the missing voice of experience. What do I do? What can I do? The ravages of wounds and time had left her with fewer than a thousand warriors, of which nearly a hundred were wounded in some way and unable to fight. She chewed on her lip, deep in thought. They would have to let the Others enter the forest, though Ghost’s spirit rebelled at the thought of allowing even one of those broad, graceless hooves to profane this last bastion of the People’s earth. Once inside, the Others would be at their weakest, while the People would be at their most powerful. The People knew the forest intimately; perhaps they could employ stealth and subterfuge to trick the Others into thinking that more warriors had joined the People’s forces.

        The next day dawned clear and bright. Conversation in the remnant’s camp was tight and low-voiced, and tension was in the movement of every one of the People. Scouts came and left from dawn to dusk, reporting on the Others’ movements to Ghost. The enormous army was marching straight toward them. They saw where we entered the forest. One of the flying ones must have been watching from high up. Damned winged beavers. After the first reports, Ghost had ordered her healthy warriors to dig pits and bury sharpened sticks across a broad swath of the forest’s edge centered on their camp, so she was ironically grateful that the Others were confident enough in the People’s weakness to come straight in.

        When not attending to the necessities of command, Ghost stayed by Ember’s side, gently offering her bites of nourishing travel cakes soaked in broth. She tried not to think of when Ember had done the same for her, and she tried, and failed, not to wish that their places were reversed now. She pleaded with Ember to eat, to heal, to speak to her, but all her pleas went unanswered. At midday, the wounded who were unable to fight were to strike out for the nearest village and then for their homes. They would spread the tale, so that the remnant’s inevitable defeat would not be forgotten. Ghost heard the bustle of the wounded breaking camp, and it struck her powerfully that this was the last time she would ever see Ember. She grew frantic, begging Ember to come back to her so that they could say goodbye properly.

        As Ghost watched, her vision swimming with tears, Ember blinked slowly and her eyes focused, then turned to Ghost. “Ember?” Ghost croaked.

        Ember smiled, the barest twitch of her weakened lips. “I have only a moment.”

        “What—”

        “They’ve explained it all to me. This is how it must be. It is for the best.” She raised her head on a weak and wobbly neck, and Ghost bent to touch antlers. “I love you, my friend. I will see you again.”

        Ghost choked back a sob and her questions. “I love you as well, my friend.”

        Ember let her head fall. Her smile drooped and faded, and her eyes left Ghost to focus on something Ghost could not see. “Oh,” she said, in a small voice, “I’m ready.” The light left her eyes as the breath left her body.

Ghost bowed to touch her antlers to the earth, and stayed bent, tears coming unbidden. Silent tears became weeping became great heaving sobs, giving voice to her anguish at losing her closest friend, her equal, the doe who had taught her to think of after. But after was meaningless without Ember to show her how to live. She sobbed for all that she had lost, and then, as her grief expanded, at leading her people into slaughter for no purpose, no gain, no reward. She had doomed the People, she herself, Ghost the Kinslayer, Ghost the Traitorous, Ghost the Doom of the People.

        She found suddenly that her teeth were set, and her grief became anger. She alone had not doomed the People. The gods had taught her of the weapon. They had set her on this course, knowing where it must end. Knowing that it would cost their People everything. Knowing that it would cost her Ember.

That thought fanned her anger into rage. You have betrayed us all, but I will not allow you to take Ember as part of your spoils. You will not have everything. Not everything. Her antlers glowed as bright as the summer sun as she reached to seize Noa’s throat with her spirit-teeth. Ghost gripped, and held, and threw the god down with an impact that shook her soul. Heal, you traitorous god! Noa writhed in her grip and Ghost knew that what she demanded was beyond possibility. Ghost shook the god by the throat to still her. Her mind raced. Ember herself had taught Ghost that anything was possible. Ghost compartmented herself, pushing her rage to one side, keeping Noa pinned with its white heat. In her other part, she let herself feel her duty and her love for Ember, and beckoned to Ano. He came willingly, and more fully than she had ever felt, as though his power was hers to wield directly. Red and green chased each other over the walls of her tent before merging into a brilliant yellow. She reached out to touch Ember’s body with Ano’s power and found she could feel what was inside Ember. She released a tiny fraction of the fire in the little pieces that Ember’s heart was built of, and then pressed Noa into the freshly-warmed heart. The god’s fear was salty in Ghost’s spirit-mouth, but Noa did what she was bid, infiltrating the heart and filling it with her essence. The dead heart flickered greenly to life, giving a desperate clench before settling into a frantic rhythm.

        Ghost smiled grimly and continued her work. The edges of Ember’s terrible wound grew pink and healthy, then knitted back together, closing without even a scar. Her eyes shone again, her chest rose and fell, her muscles thrummed with vital energy. But no matter how Ghost touched the gods to Ember’s corpse, they could not put Ember back into it. Ghost ignored the tears rolling down her muzzle for a long while, trying one thing and another, as though she hoped to trick the gods into returning Ember to her.

Finally, with a broken sob, she released the gods, the yellow glow from her antlers winking out to darkness. But the gods did not go. She felt them rush into the waiting, empty shell that was Ember’s body. Ghost recoiled in horror, fetching up against the wall of her tent to stare at the alive corpse. What have I done?

Ember’s chest rose sharply as Ember’s mouth sucked in a desperate breath. Ember’s eyes blinked, and when they opened they were no longer her brown eyes, but holes filled with a white glow. Ember’s head raised, absent the frail weakness it had so recently shown in life, and swiveled to point those glowing portals at Ghost. “Ghost of the People,” Ember’s mouth said, and her voice was gone, replaced with a voice that was both masculine and feminine, both life and death, both creation and destruction. “We grieve for your loss.”

        Ghost did not know whether the gods meant Ember, or the war, or both. Or neither. “What do you want?”

        The gods made Ember’s body stand, and Ghost’s heart pained to see it. “We want what we have always wanted: the survival of the People.”

        Ghost's fear evaporated as her rage rekindled. She snarled and tossed her head, stabbing the air with her antlers. “Survival! You have destroyed us!”

        The gods bowed their head, looking incongruously contrite. “It must be. The Others grow more powerful by the year, while the People grow weaker. In time, the Others would have penetrated the forest and slain the People, regardless of our best efforts.” They hesitated, then plunged on. “And we have reason to believe that it will be sooner, not later.” Those featureless white pools turned aside to glance at the sun-dapples on the tent wall, but they did not elaborate.

        “You brought us to destruction on the field! You gave us hope of the People’s earth being the People’s once again, and you snatched it away! You have set into motion forces which will push the People out of the earth entirely. Were you so very eager to have us join you?”

        The gods sighed. “You are a proud people. Too proud to retreat when there is any chance to fight. If your warriors remained, you would not heed the truth in our words. The People have faded, and we are not powerful enough to give you victory. Instead, we chose to give you defeat, so that the People would survive in the end.”

        Thoughts clicked together in Ghost’s mind. Her voice stabbed out. Bitter. Accusing. “And there is Ember.”

        The gods nodded. “Without the defeat, we would not have had a vessel.”

        How long have they been manipulating events to this end? “Why do you need a—” She swallowed. “A vessel?”

        “We can only touch the earth through the People, and then only when you call for us. What is to be done requires… more control. So. A vessel was required to work through.”

“What more do you plan to inflict on us?”

The gods smiled sadly. “We will save you, if you will let us.”

Ghost’s shoulders sagged. They offer the People an after, though they have stolen mine from me. My anger is an indulgence when my duty is so clear. Her face was rigidly controlled when she looked at them again. “What is to be done?”

        “We will show you.” Their antlers glowed, one red, one green. A sudden wind blew, whistling through the evergreen leaves and bare branches of the forest. The whistling modulated, shifted, and formed into words with the same dual quality as the gods’ voice. “People of the forest. People of the hills. Ano and Noa speak to you in your own words. Heed us. The Others come now to destroy you, your villages, and the very forest and hills themselves. You must flee south, deep into the forest. Take what you can carry, and no more, for the way is long and hard. But safety lies at the end of it, a place free from the Others for all time. We ensure it.”

        The wind gusted, plucking Ghost’s tent from around her and the gods as lightly as a fawn lipping grass. The gods stood tall, looking around at the warriors kneeling respectfully in ranks around the tent. Ghost turned her head and found the healer lying outside her tent flap—or rather, where the flap had been until a moment ago. “What is this?” Ghost asked him, gesturing to the prostrate warriors.

        The healer tore his gaze away from the gods and swallowed hard before answering. “We— we heard your grief, and we saw the yellow light. We knew something mighty was happening, though not what. Not this.” His eyes went inexorably back to the gods, his mouth hanging open.

        Ghost stood, meeting the gods eye-to-eye. “What of the Others? They are mere hours away from this spot, in their thousands upon thousands.”

        The gods’ smile was achingly like Ember’s. “We will ensure your safety.”

        “Will you?”

        Their smile did not falter. “You have earned the right to mistrust us, Ghost of the People, and you have earned the right to bear witness to see that we are worthy of trust in this. Order the camp struck and your warriors returned to their homes to accompany the migration, and then the three of us shall go together.”

        Ghost issued the orders, and the camp became a bustle of activity. The gods watched it with a bemused smile. Ghost glanced aside at them with suspicion. “What do you see when you look at us?”

        “You are marvelous creatures. We exist apart, and cannot touch the world without one of you to act through. It is delightful to see how easily you do it.”

        Ghost shook her head at that. “Shall we go, then?”

        They nodded. “Walk with us.” They turned away and set off deeper into the forest at a sedate pace.

        Ghost fell in alongside them, refusing to be reminded of the last time she and Ember had had the chance to simply walk and talk. “Where are we bound?”

        “The heart of the forest.”

        Ghost balked. “That is weeks distant! The Others will be here in hours! Did you not hear me?”

        “We heard. We will reach it quickly enough.”

        Frustrated, Ghost looked back to make sure the camp would at least be safely gone by the time the Others arrived, and felt a thrill of surprise when the camp was nowhere to be seen. She realized then that she was in a totally different part of the forest. If she paid close enough attention, she could see that the trees were blurring past in the tail of her eye, faster than the fastest run. She turned raised eyebrows on the gods, and they returned a modest little shrug.

        In considerably less than an hour, the gods halted. “We are here.”

        Indeed, Ghost felt a curious pulse of energy in the air, similar to the closeness of the gods in the gods’ camp she had been trained in, but vastly more vital. “What is our purpose here?”

        “We are of the forest. It is the center of our power, and the locus which sustains us.”

        “If the Others succeed in razing the forest…”

        The gods nodded. “Exactly so. We wish to save the People, and also to save ourselves. In this place we are at the peak of our power. Through a vessel, our touch can encompass the whole forest. We will remain here, in this vessel, forevermore, always protecting the forest and the People within. Follow.” They led Ghost down a narrow path between tangled oaks. The path turned sharply and ended. Ghost gasped.

        She found herself in a broad circular clearing filled from side to side with tall green grass and blooming heather with a fine disregard for the winter mere steps away. In the center of the clearing was a circular pond brimming with water so clear one might think the pond was dry, but for the flashing scales of the fish swimming in it. In the center of the pond was a tiny island with an enormous standing stone planted upright in its soil.

        The gods walked through the grass and heather down to the edge of the pond. They regarded Ghost with their glowing eyes. “Your journey is complete. You can come no further.” They bowed to her, respectfully, as an equal to an equal. She returned the bow, flattered despite all they had done. The gods stepped into the pond—no, onto the pond, for the water did not wet their hooves as they crossed to the island. They folded their legs, laying down by the standing stone, and became as still as the stone itself.

        Ghost waited a considerate amount of time, then cocked an eyebrow at the stationary gods. Mindful of the approaching army, her voice grated out between gritted teeth. “Well? This is no time to sleep! What did you bring me here to witness?”

        The gods remained motionless, but a sudden breeze blew, fragrant with heather, and formed into a chuckle and a breath in her ear. “Our apologies, Ghost of the People. We were preparing. Look into the pond, and you will see our work.”

        Ghost leaned forward, staring down through the crystal-clear water to the silty bottom. Her eyebrow went up again, and just as she was about to protest, the surface of the water abruptly went opaque, showing scenes that were no reflection. In each village of the People, signs appeared showing the villagers where their destination lay: a red rabbit sprang from under a rock, waiting patiently at the edge of the village for the People to follow it; a tree fell in a village center, all of its branches but two shivering off and rolling away when it struck the ground, forming a great arrow pointing deeper into the forest; a fawn spoke with the gods’ mingled voices, dictating instructions to the village elder. All over the forest, the People began to move, preparing for a long journey.

        At the edge of the forest, the trees twisted and darkened, grew or shrank. Branches formed into evil-looking talons and bark into terrifying faces. The changes rippled in from the edges nearly to the heart of the forest, leaving the north of the forest a dark and foreboding place, far removed from the bright and cool greenness Ghost had come to love. Shaded forest pools fed by sweet-tasting streams filled with murk and overflowed their banks, becoming sprawling swamps. New plants sprang from the ground, with dangerous, poisonous colors, wicked thorns, or grasping tendrils, choking fields and filling the ways between the warped trees.

        The creatures of the forest changed, adapting in minutes to their menacing new home, becoming bigger and more vicious, or lithe and cunning, growing fangs and claws, oozing venom, or a petrifying gaze. Deadfall throughout the forest cracked and split, shivering apart into piles which stood up in the shape of great wolves, howling at the sky through the crabbed branches above. From the newborn swamps, enormous multi-headed creatures rose roaring out of the muck, and Ghost shuddered at glimpses of dark shapes with too many eyes swimming through the opaque water.

        Above the forest, the air thickened and whirled, forming new weather patterns which had no part of the outside world’s weather in them. Birds grew larger, tougher, more agile, able to fly and navigate through the most chaotic weather, and many of them grew fangs. Ghost knew somehow that they also grew a taste for meat, especially the stringy meat of the flying Others.

        The pond became clear again, allowing Ghost to catch her breath. After a moment, she stepped back, eyeing the gods with a newfound respect. “I believe you will ensure our safety.”

        Their body remained perfectly still, and Ghost saw that it had become overgrown with moss, so that it was hard to tell where the gods’ body ended and the earth began. The breeze spoke in her ear. “Thank you for your trust, Ghost of the People. We will honor your friend’s sacrifice by keeping this forest ever free. None of this would be possible without the vessel.”

        Ghost nodded, surprised to find that she felt more pride than sadness at the mention of Ember, and surprised again at the truth in the words which spilled from her. “She would be proud to ensure that the People have a future.”

        With a last look at what had been her friend, Ghost turned to leave the clearing, trusting the gods to deliver her to her people. The path between the trees turned sharply, and she stepped from spring warmth to winter chill, finding herself on the edge of a village in the forest. It was the bright and welcoming forest she was used to—it seemed the gods would not subject their People to the new form of the forest as they passed through it on their way to their destiny. An older doe gaped at her. “Where did you come from, stranger?”

        Ghost’s lips twitched in a smile, knowing how the truth would sound. “The heart of the forest. How can I help the migration?”

        The doe looked at her as though debating whether Ghost was mad, then shrugged. “There’s plenty to do, just look around and find something.” Then, speaking to herself, “I hope that fawn of mine shows up. I fear for her.”

        Ghost had caught a red tint to the doe’s coat when she shrugged, and now she understood why the gods had set her down in this place. “Is your fawn known as Ember?”

        The doe’s head snapped back to Ghost. Her eyes were worried. “Yes. I am Autumn, Ember’s mother. Do you know her? Is she here?” Autumn glanced around hopefully.

        Ghost lowered her head in a ritual gesture of respect for the dead, and heard Autumn’s sharp intake of breath. “I am sorry, Autumn. Ember is… gone. I am Ghost, Ember’s friend.”

        Autumn’s shoulders slumped, but she nodded. “I had a feeling. How did she— how did she die? Was it the Others?”

        “Yes… and no. Ember died to save the People. It is a tale you will be proud to hear.” A cold gust blew over Ghost, ruffling her coat. She looked up, half-expecting the wind to talk to her, then smiled regretfully. The after I wanted is gone. But there is another here to be lived. It would be a hard tale to tell, but it would grow easier with repetition. All the People deserved to know the story of Ember, the doe who had paid the price for their after.