6. Mushrooms and Moonbeams

CASCADE

CHAPTER 6

Cascade didn't know what had come over him. One minute, he'd been grieving his father. The next, he couldn't keep his hands off Entin. He supposed he'd wanted to feel as alive as he could manage. He'd wanted to feel excitement, heat, and friction—all confirmations that his life would go forward despite the horrifying chasm that had opened up in it earlier that day.

Now, as he sat in the cocoon of warmth provided by the pool, the chill of reality began to seep in. The night air was sharp, and the drying leaves above rustled in the breeze. His arms were still tightly wound around Entin. If the gods were real, and allowed such things, he would have clung to this moment forever, shielded from the harshness of the outside world by this preternatural warmth. But he knew those were childish desires. As if to remind him of that, a dire wolf howled in the distance. Cascade felt Entin startle, and realized the man had nodded off while they'd rested. He kissed him on the neck and was disappointed when he flinched away.

"Sorry," Entin mumbled tiredly.

Cascade drew him in more forcefully, still enjoying the warmth of their contact.

"You're safe," he whispered.

He felt Entin relax, though not completely. He hoped he'd be able to prove to him that he meant it. A chorus of howls joined the first, and the sound reminded him of the other Wolves… the ones they were destined to battle. He shuddered.

"We should make a fire. I have a little food left, but we'll need to scavenge after tomorrow," Cascade said.

"There were some edible berries and mushrooms back along the trail. And some ferns we can char the stems of and eat," Entin suggested.

"You know your plants?"

In Cascade's tribe, it was not unusual for a man or woman to do whatever work came naturally to them. But the cataloging of plants and medicines wasn't something many men had the talent to pursue.

"I do," Entin admitted. "Though if you're looking to be impressed by my spear skills, you're going to be disappointed."

Cascade chuckled.

"Come," he said. "We'd best brace the cold. I have sparkstone and firestarter in my pack. Let's make a fire and dry off before bed."

But it was many minutes before either dared leave the warmth of the water or break contact with the other. After a long while, the pair rose wordlessly, nude in the pale silver of the moonlight, and set about making the fire.

Cascade gathered fir boughs and piled them into a makeshift bed. The crackle of the fire warmed him now, though he was growing increasingly concerned about whether Entin would return. He'd left to forage food some time ago, insisting it wouldn't take long. But enough time had passed that Cascade couldn't help but worry he'd run off, or worse.

The wind roared, and each snap of a branch or call of an animal caused him a brief flash of unease. The wolves had just made a successful hunt somewhere in the middle distance. Their kill call was unmistakable. Cascade shuddered as his mind conjured images of the pack stumbling across them in the night. One of his greatest fears since he'd been a boy was for the gods to curse him with such a demise. In his mind, there was no worse fate than being eaten alive. The snap of a branch behind him caused him to whirl around, only to finally find relief at the sight of Entin. He held a bunch of ferns in one hand and some gray, spindly mushrooms in the other.

"Thank you for the fire," Entin said.

He sat down beside Cascade and began pulling the leaves off the fern stems.

"What are those?" Cascade inquired, nodding toward the mushrooms.

"Dream Caps." Entin grinned.

Cascade was, of course, familiar with the things, but they came in many forms. He'd never seen so many in one place before—they were a rare commodity. He shrugged, then joined Entin in removing the stems from the ferns.

"Place stones along the edge of the fire like this," Entin said.

He fanned out an array of palm-sized rocks from around their campsite along the fire's edge. Then he laid the defronded fern stems on them. Cascade watched as they slowly charred and blackened. Entin turned them a few times to cook them evenly on the heated stones.

"They're really only good when they're hot," Entin explained.

He handed Cascade one of the charred stems and bit into another of his own. Cascade sniffed the thing, then took a tentative bite. Like his dried salmon, it was crunchy. The outer layer of the stem tasted crispy and bitter, but the flesh inside was juicy and oddly sweet. He chewed at it appreciatively and was even thankful when Entin passed him a handful of them. The wolves had fallen quiet, but occasionally, one would still yip-yip-yap or cry out into the night.

"Have you ever done that before?" Entin asked.

"You mean what we did in the spring?" Cascade replied. "No. I'm sorry if I crossed a boundary I shouldn't have…"

"It's not that. I just didn't know anyone else was like me," Entin admitted.

"To be honest, I didn't know it about myself either. Not until it happened."

"In my tribe, we'd be exiled if anyone found out about what we've done." Entin's tone was hushed, shameful.

"In mine, we don't adhere to such strict rules. It's allowed, though we'd come last in most considerations," Cascade explained.

Entin reflected in silence. He had put the bulk of the mushrooms in Cascade's pack but was holding two in his open hand. He pushed them around with his finger. They glinted an opalescent gray in the moonbeams that flickered across their little camp.

"Have one with me," Entin said abruptly.

He plucked one of the caps from his palm and extended it to Cascade. While Cascade had often watched his uncle partake in the drug, he'd never done so himself. He eyed Entin warily, all of a sudden wondering if the man intended to poison him.

But this same man had handed him back the cutting stone of his own volition. He'd fallen asleep in his arms just hours ago in the hot spring. They'd even shared in godly bliss—Cascade's first time with another person. He took the mushroom from Entin's outstretched palm and locked eyes with him. And then the pair ate their Dream Caps.

"By the gods, that tastes terrible," Cascade spat.

Entin laughed. "We're not eating them for the flavor," he assured him. "Here. Relax with me. They work better if you clear your mind."

The seemingly demure man guided him to the ground. The pair lay side by side on the pine boughs, staring into the night sky. The stars overhead glimmered brilliantly, and yet still the harvest moon outshone them by far. But Cascade didn't feel any different. Not yet, at least.

"Relax. Take deep, slow breaths. Like this," Entin instructed.

Cascade listened as the man inhaled deeply through his nose, drawing his breath out over many moments. He held it in for so long Cascade worried the mushrooms might be poison after all, only to release it in a slow, steady stream. He placed his hand on Cascade's chest.

"From here," Entin intoned.

He repeated his deep breath. This time, Cascade followed suit, feeling Entin's hand rise as he filled his chest with as much air as he could hold. He held it in and then matched Entin's pace when he finally exhaled. Then they did it again. And again. And each time, Entin's hand rose and fell atop him. Each time, the warmth of it grew and spread until it rippled out far past the boundary of his flesh and bone.

And then the world erupted into prismatic wonder.

"Oh," Cascade gasped.

The Dream Caps began to bloom within his mind. All at once, the moonbeams became an all-consuming ribbon of effervescent light. A cool, numb comfort washed over him, starting at the back of his scalp and rippling down his body to the tips of his toes and fingers. He felt both himself and then again not at all himself. He felt connected and yet entirely disconnected. His mind spun and then came into a roaring and singular focus as his soul temporarily divorced itself from his body.

It was then, for the first time, that he could truly see himself for what he was. It was as though he momentarily existed outside of time—he could see Entin and his corporeal form lying far below on the boughs. Nearer than he liked, he could even spy the dire wolves ripping and tearing at the carcass of an old mastodon. Farther off still, he could see the village where he'd captured Entin and even the vast pile of stone that had become his father's tomb. And in the other direction, at the very edge of the world, he could see the smoke of countless fires along the coastline.

That, he knew, was the Wolves.

But then his focus shifted abruptly from the woodland vale and up and out into the silver-blue moon. Its magnificence became all-consuming. It ripped through his mind until nothing else existed—except his father, who was with him now, floating just out of reach against a field of stars.

"My son. Your Journey doesn't end at Mountainhome."

The words boomed into the void with the surety of his father's wisdom—and Cascade had a hard time discerning whether this was part of the trip of the Dream Caps or whether he had stumbled out of his own reality and into the realm of the spirits he'd always doubted to be real…

He reached out to grasp at the man, wanting nothing more than to hold him close one last time and tell him he loved him…

But then, as abruptly as he'd arrived among them, Cascade was wrenched from the stars. He tumbled down and down and down until he spotted the treetops far below, growing nearer all the time. He fell toward them, faster and faster, until he thought he might be skewered upon their spiny green crowns…

Cascade woke with a start, surprised to find it was already dawn. Entin was snoring quietly beside him. The pair had slept intertwined, and Cascade sighed as thoughts of the prior day flooded over him.

His head still felt light, and his body tingled with a pleasant buzz. He idly observed a flock of songbirds, their vibrant feathers contrasting against the deep green of the hemlock branches. They hopped about, their chirping filling the air in a final frenzy of activity before the impending winter. He envied their carefree existence, but the warmth of Entin's body against his own was a comforting distraction from what was to come.

Entin shifted in his sleep, and Cascade noted that his companion's eyes roved restlessly behind his lids. Cascade wondered what the spirits might be showing him. His experience with the Dream Caps had been uncanny, and his rational side wanted to believe it was merely the plant working as expected. But there was more to it than that. He'd felt something—a presence out amongst the stars—and inexplicably knew it had been his father, or something pretending to be him. Perhaps the gods were real after all. From what he'd seen of his uncle, it would appear that so were demons.

It was as he had that very thought that he finally acknowledged a detail that was starkly out of place on the horizon—in the exact direction of Mountainhome: smoke. And not the weak, billowing wisp of a cookfire, nor even the plumes of a smoldering village. No, this smoke wasn't of man—it wasn't even of nature. It was the smoke of the spirits. It billowed out of the Slumbering God, black and wrong and terrible, scarring the cloudless sky with a charred stain. What had begun as a wisp the day before was now a horrendous and unending plume.

The birds scattered, taking their song with them. Cascade was left in an eerie silence. He stared at the ominous mountain with growing disquiet as its dark expulsion, little by little, blotted out more and more of the coming day. Its intrusion made the prospect of home seem even more distant and unreachable. Everything was changing far too fast.

But he knew, as he'd known the moment he'd seen his uncle murder his father, that his vengeance would carry him wherever it needed to. Blood would be paid for with blood. It was the only way to maintain order in a world like this. And not even a smoldering god would stop him from upholding the honor of his ancestors by seeing it done.

Cascade gritted his teeth and stared down the future, hoping that whatever was to come, his new companion might continue to be a part of his Journey…