Disclaimer: Still not mine.

"When you name something, you give it the greatest power of all; the power of existence." -Unknown

Chapter Twenty: Names

"This way," Guide said, and the man nodded, following him obediently.

Guide led him away from the river, where the light was dim and washed out. The man frowned, trying to see in the formless, blank mass, and Guide smiled and whispered fire in a language the man knew, but did not know at the same time.

Firelight lit his palm, Guide forged the way ahead, bathing everything in sickly green light. But to the man, who had forgotten what green was, the light was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"How did you do that?" He breathed, awed.

Guide looked at him askance. "You will remember," he said simply, "in time."

The man snorted but subsided. He had to trust Guide, because Guide knew the way. Guide was an elf, and elves were friends. The man knew these things because, as soon as he had realized them, he dropped them into Guide's flask so they would say and the river wouldn't take them.

So, thought the man, following his friend. I know five things. First, I am dead. Second, if I stop moving, I will fall asleep and never wake up. Third, this being's name is Guide. He is an elf. Elves are friends, and therefore Guide is my friend.

It wasn't much, but the man figured it was better than nothing, and he wanted to get out of the Gray Lands.

Guide said that it was important that he do so. And so far, the elf hadn't lied. So the man was going to trust Guide, because Guide had light and color in his hand, and it was so familiar the man could taste it, like lightningheatlove of his tongue—

(he knew lightning, and heat, and love. he knew flying across the sky, heat in his bones, love in his mouth, lightning slamming into his chest—)

"In the flask, young one," Guide said.

The man frowned. "How did you know? That I was remembering something, I mean?"

"It is in your eyes," Guide informed him gently. "Go on. Before you lose it."

Dutifully, the man gathered the memory of loveheatlightning and dropped it, shimmering, into the flask. It mingled with the other bits of knowledge he had collected.

I know six things, the man thought. Good.

"What's my name?" He asked Guide again. He felt like that was the most important. Once he knew his name, he could leave, he could go where he was needed again.

Guide smiled sadly. "I cannot tell you, young one," he said. "I am forbidden."

"By who?"

"The Lord of these lands," Guide said, casting a wary glance at the dark, sunless sky and the silvery glow that marked the twisting, flowing river.

The man's frown deepened.

"In your life, you might have called him Death," Guide continued. "Or Angvard, or the Gray Man who Rides a Gray Horse."

The man took in Guide's words, stirred them around in his blank, empty head. Angvard. That struck a spark—he'd heard men in armor call out to Angvard before. He remembered a thick stench (blood) and screaming.

War.

He put it in the flask.

Death rattled something inside him, deep down, in the what had once been a thing of fire's home. He didn't know what it was, exactly, but he knew, and it hurt—

Brother, whispered a long-forgotten voice, and the man shuddered.

"I just want to know my name," he said to Guide.

Guide bowed his head. "I cannot tell you your name. It is forbidden by Death himself. But I shall call you Traveler, for that is what you are. Do you find it acceptable."

Traveler, the man thought, rolling it around in his emptiness. It rolled within him smoothly, didn't jar anything loose, and the man nodded.

"Traveler," he said. "I like it."

"Good," said Guide, and he spread his firelit palm. "Come, Traveler. We have far to go."

Traveler nodded, happy with his new name, and he was sure to put the burst of happiness, of not alone anymore, I am somebody again into the flask.

He would not forget again. He wouldn't. The river would not take it from him.

Guide smiled. They were walking through the gray forest now, leaving the river behind them. As they went in the silver light faded and faded, and Guide's werelight became the only source of light anywhere.

Traveler looked around him. He'd never been this far from the river, before. There hadn't seemed a point. All around him were great gray trees, massive, far older than he could even imagine, and their roots were gnarled and tangled deep into the bitter earth.

Around the trees were those who had fallen asleep, their eyes closed, their faces carved wooden and stony.

The Traveler felt a stab of pity for them; they had no purpose, so they slept.

Must keep moving, he thought. Or I will sleep, and Guide says I won't wake up again.

He didn't want that. He wanted to be somebody, and to get out of the Gray Lands. Guide said there was more to Death than this gray, stone-turning existence, and so far Guide hadn't lied.

"Tell me about the lands beyond this one," Traveler said. He watched the werelight, and loved the way it turned dull gray emerald green or deep jade.

Guide smiled. "There are many lands beyond the Gray," he began. "As many lands as there are in the realms of the living, and more. There is the Blood Land, where those who crave battle's glory go to fight, and eat, and fight again the next day. Then there is the Water Land, for those who loved the rivers and the sea. There we have fish to hunt, ships to sail, and eternity to do so. Beyond that land there is my own resting place, Forest Land."

Something familiar stirred in Traveler's chest. "Forest Land," he said, trying it out.

"Yes. It is the land for my people, who were raised on forest-magic and who loved the trees and the creatures in it. It's autumn, in some parts, spring in others, winter and summer in others still. We have homes there that are carved from trees—"

(the city called Ellesméra)

"—and we live with the animals."

"It sounds beautiful," Traveler said. "Do you think I could stay there?"

"No," Guide murmured gently. "The Forest is not for you."

"Oh." Traveler tried to hide the hurt in his voice. I'm in pain. Why?

"Do not be sad, young one. There are other lands, other places for you to go, when it is time."

"Tell me about them."

"Beyond Forest is the Land of Fire," Guide continued. "It is for those who are Fire's children, and wish to be in passion always. The Sky Land, for those who love the air and its freedom, shares Fire's borders, because Fire and Wind have always been kin…"

And so it went, for many hours—days, weeks, months—as the two walked through the gray, lifeless, stone-dotted forest. Guide led the way with fire in his hands and Traveler followed, listening to Guide speak of the Lands of the Dead.

"I like the Land of Sun the best," he said, after a very long time. "Aside from Forest, I mean."

Guide dipped his head. "The Land of the Sun is the most glorious of our lands," he acknowledged. "It is the highest of them, and the closest to the Mother. Only those truly at peace, who do not miss life at all, go there."

Traveler tilted his head. "You miss your life?"

Guide smiled, and it was tinged with sorrow. Traveler knew that expression, had seen it before, and he reached for it—

But it was gone.

"Of course I miss my life," Guide said. "I was cut from it when I was fairly young, by my people's standards. I left behind a mate, and a child, and a people that desperately needed me."

"Have they died too? Your mate and child, I mean."

Guide shrugged, and the flames in his hands flickered, threatening to go out. "I do not believe so," he said. "We cannot watch the living. They can dream us, and sometimes we see them in the memories of others who have died, but we cannot watch them. We can only wait to see their faces in the river, or their bodies in the stones, or, if we are lucky, embrace them as they enter our death-homes."

"That's sad," Traveler murmured, and looked away. His chest burned. Guide's grief was palpable, flickering like the fire in his palms.

"Yes," Guide said heavily. "I suppose it is. But despair not, young one. It is the existence I have chosen for myself. I am content with it."

The man shook his head. He didn't understand. "But you could go to the Land of the Sun," he said. "You're dead, and you can't do anything to help the living, so why stay? Go be at peace."

"It is not easy," Guide said. "And I am a bit of a coward. But perhaps one day, I will go. All do, eventually."

Traveler shifted, trying not to peer into the stone faces of the sleeping as he passed. He didn't want to see anyone he knew after all.

"Do not worry," Guide repeated. "My existence will not be yours. You are meant for more."

"What do you mean?" Traveler tilted his head, clutching his flask tightly. It was warm in his grasp.

Guide smiled, banishing his melancholy. "Look," he said, and pointed. Up ahead, through the dense, gray trees, light was bursting through the forest. He saw the silver river again, flowing, always flowing, and a landscape that was war-torn and blood splattered, the gray ground liberally splashed with crimson.

"This is the Land of Blood," Guide said. "Look. We have left the Gray Land behind us."

Traveler turned, and saw the vast expanse of it behind him. He smiled. "So far," he murmured.

Guide nodded, pleased. "And farther still to go," he said. "You will not have to go through all the lands, of course, only a few, but still, it is a long journey."

"Yes," the Traveler agreed, looking into his flask. He knew many things now, thoughts and emotions and fragments of memory. He tightened his grip. The river would not wash this away from him, not this time.

"And here comes your next guide," said the elf.

"You're leaving me?"

Guide smiled. "No," he said. "I have been tasked with taking you all the way. We will get temporary companions as we go, but I will remain."

"Good." Traveler relaxed, shading his eyes against the bright silver. A being was advancing down the blood-stained hills, strong-limbed, fierce, and leaning on an axe.

"Hello," Traveler said, suddenly nervous.

Guide hid a smile.

"Hello," said the newcomer. "You may call me War. I am here to take you through the Blood Land."

"War," Traveler said. It fit, and he promptly stowed the rightness of it inside the flask. "Hello, War. Shall we go?"

War threw back his head and laughed and laughed. "Yes," he boomed. "Yes, let us go. Onward!"

And he raised his axe and charged towards the hills, and Traveler tore after him, yelling a warcry.

Sorry, this chapter was more worldbuilding than anything. If you have any questions about the Lands of the Dead, just let me know!

~WSS