Third Son had a favorite perch, a high and lonely place atop a stony plateau, far away from his own den and those of the Salortog. A hardy growth of Ohmefrai covered a depression at the base of the bluff. At the top lay an outcropping of black rock surrounding a few sparse and weathered trees. A steady trickle emerged from a cleft near the summit, spilling over a small basin, then rushing down the cliff before joining a bigger stream on its journey to the restless sea. Splashing water was his conduit into Tribal Memory, his pathway to Vision. In this falling brook he had found the Song of Endilinti, and first touched the mind of Doktor. This place called to him when he wanted time and privacy, for Vision, or quiet thought, or when his spirit was restless.
He had taken wing at first light. The morning was reaching mid point by the time he landed, pausing to pluck a few strands of Ohmefrai to prepare for Vision before moving to a particular tree amid the stone circle, tall and straight, with a perfectly placed horizontal branch. He had perched there before, often enough that the bark wore grooves from his talons. He looked out over the terrain encompassing his familiar and serene world, a view that usually brought a feeling of rightness and contentment with his place in the One, but on that day he was troubled and uncertain, and his introspection turned to brooding even as he chewed the Ohmefrai, swallowing the bitter liquid.
He thought about his role among his people. Some degree of the Eye was universal among the Tribe, but the ability to far-see was not widespread. All could share a Vision through the Ihrid-Ohmefrai, but always aided by a Sightful Eye. For many cycles, that responsibility had fallen mostly to him. Although Eldest Mother could still guide, the effort to lead the entire group was tiring, and it took her longer to recover. Darkeye, whose Eye had been strong in the past, was failing, his Vision waning. One day, possibly soon, he would join the One, his song becoming part of the Essence. Halaba's Eye had never been strong, although she had some Vision for herself, she could not bring the Ihrid-Ohmefrai to life for the others without assistance.
The Tribe was aging. If the length of a life could be compared to one day, most were past the mid point, many were in or nearing twilight. He was in his prime, he imagined himself in his early afternoon, still hale and strong in both body and mind. Only a small handful of Sons and Daughters were before midday. And only one still in the morning.
Fledgling was the Tribe's youngest, much loved by all, but Third Son had always taken a lead in his nurturing. Tenionifi, as he had been called in the nest, was bright, always questioning, wanting to understand. He was quick to sing, fly, and from all indications, would develop his Eye early. And there was no doubt he had a Far-Seeing Eye, perhaps deeper than the Tribe had known before. Third Son had no recollection of a youngster coming into an Eye before Naming time, but Fledgling was certainly Seeing some things well before choosing his Call Name. He was not too surprised when Fledgling admitted he had been attempting to See in splashes and watery reflections, as Third Son did, but he was truly startled when the child asked him about Endilinti. Initially he wondered if Fledgling had indeed delved into Tribal Memory on his own, unguided and unassisted. At his age, such a feat would have been astounding, almost unbelievable.
Eldest Mother had approached him the previous evening, still unsettled by Fledgling's inquiry and the event she thought may have been a Vision. She questioned through their link, her concern and worry evident, wondering what and how the child knew of Endilinti. Third Son could not reassure her or himself and they remained without answers.
The Endilinti. The notion disturbed Eldest Mother. More than disturbing, he could sense a sort of fear and desperation almost foreign to the Tribe. Eldest was the only one remaining from the time of the first Salortog. He knew she had shared some of her memories into the Story, but those, like her living mind, were well protected and had yet to be discovered. There was some horror there, of that he was certain, but she could not or would not tell of it.
The Ohmefrai he was chewing had long since yielded its store of sap. He spat the fibrous, tough remains from his mouth. The juice he had swallowed would combine with special enzymes from an organ in his abdomen to produce a fermented liquid, a process that would take a while to complete.
He recalled discovering Great Father's Memory. In the beginning it was unclear, distorted, and he had trouble Seeing, but as he continued to delve and peel away layers of antiquity, it became clearer, finally shining with Rightness and a terrible beauty that was both frightening and compelling. He spoke of it with Eldest Mother, who did not believe the accounting of the Endilinti to be in truth a fortelling of real events. She told him as much, but seemed to regard his fascination with a wry and resigned tolerance.
The Salortog returned, once again dwelling in their old dens. A little later others appeared, going about in strange flying machines, deep into the river valley and into hidden places. Mother warned the Tribe it would be best to stay away, but otherwise had little to say about their reappearance in their world, although she was troubled, and cautioned him against approaching the Salortog places. He followed her edict for a time, but found himself watching them more often, at first from afar, but lately he had gone closer, occasionally taking a few curious members with him, but more often by himself.
Third Son could feel the minds of Salortog, weak, grievously unshielded, alone. Most were bland, a few seemed more disciplined and purposeful than others, some were dark like a blight had touched their being, leaving an indelible mark. The Salortog were a danger, a threat in ways he did not understand. He made no effort to communicate with them other than reading their superficial life light. He was not arrogant, but they were blind to each other and to his own Essence. A stone would have as much awareness.
Then, far away, he touched the mind of Doktor, shining with an Essence that could only be Endilinti. Once he arrived on the world, Third Son realized Doktor was oddly unaware of his destiny. Inside, he was primarily Healer, considering that title to be of greatest worth, which admittedly had turned out well for Fledgling. And though his spirit blazed, the flame was often hidden by Doktor himself as he struggled with doubt, sometimes fear, and a peculiar loathing that seemed directed only inward. Third Son did not understand the darkness, but the brightness could not be denied. He tried to relay his sense of hope and reverence. He was not sure how much Doktor understood, but apparently he was not happy being thought of as a savior, and twice denied being such through their thin and wobbly layer of communication.
Eldest Mother discounted the possibility of Doktor being Endilinti from the beginning with a certainty that at first had seemed unconsidered. Following the meeting in the wood near the Salortog den,Third Son found his own conviction, if not wavering, at least less firmly entrenched. Doktor's mate wanted a song, and he had complied with a simple version of Great Father's story, sang as he might to a nestling. He did not think the female comprehended, despite her reaching out in a feeble attempt to contact his mind, but Doktor was distressed and somehow shamed. Should Endilinti be ashamed of his own story? Assuming Doktor was Endilinti, he was still Salorotg, even if the thing existed at all.
That line of thought was not pleasant. Third Son shook vigorously, surfacing from his introspective mental state. He was surprised to find the afternoon was growing old. The wind had shifted and lessened amid steadily increasing cloud cover. He snuffed deeply, the promise of frozen precipitation hung in the air, stinging his nostrils. The impending change in weather was accompanied by an undefined but growing sense of unease.
He hopped to the ground, deciding to forgo any attempt at Vision and head back to the Den instead. He drank deeply from the little pool of water, then stretched before launching himself into the darkening sky, flying home ahead of the approaching snow, but not able to outfly his own uncomfortable cloud of doubt and anxiety.
