Vaasa mountain is the point of highest elevation in Uvyali at forty four kilometers to its highest peak Maua. So named for the blooming tyril flower, a symbol of death and rebirth in the Uwo faith. It is a rare event seen once in a lifetime. The solitary niveous flower, home in the soaring arctic peaks of mount Vaasa, stays dormant for a hundred years under the ice. It eventually blossoms under the light of the heavy double moons. To witness the burst of shimmering rainbow against the barren tundra before it withers at the touch of first light is a fleeting sacred moment for many a pilgrim.The long trek is a life threatening undertaking, with rugged terrain, temperamental weather and unrelenting below freezing temperatures.
Many have tried, few have returned.
The woman floated in the air, perched on a large blue luminescent butterfly slowly flapping its wings, unaffected by the roaring hailstorm around her. She was wrapped in a buttoned furry violet cloak with delicately embroidered shimmering gold detail that brought out the warm hue in her dark skin. Her curly black hair, bejewelled and coiled up in an intricate ponytail that draped to her knees was motionless in the blustering wind.
Her eyes, swirling pools of purples, blues and golds, were turned downward, enthusiastically watching the indistinct figure below struggle in the unrelenting hail that fell so fast and so thick it glittered like raining diamonds under the silver of the full double moons.
"Do you think she will make it to the peak before sunrise?" she asked aloud. There was an extended moment of silence before the butterfly's proboscis twitched and a low male voice responded.
"She will if you help her."
"Oh? You didn't have this attitude when her guide team turned on her and stole her supplies. Or when she had to fight that pack of zeve wolves with a broken leg. Or when–"
"Isn't this because I know how temperamental you are?" He interrupted.
His wings flapped faster in agitation. "The only reason you come to do these tasks is because you like to watch their lives and try to predict the final victor. You won't intervene unless you want to.
He paused. "She is destined to die on this mountain. But we're still here, watching the predictable end of her life. Admit it. She is the one."
The woman shrugged, an elegant casual gesture. "So?"
The butterfly let out an exasperated huff. "So why not save her? She is already half dead and if you delay any longer the show will start without her."
The woman sat in silence before vanishing, a playful, "Okay," lingering in the air only to reappear in front of the snow covered figure below.
She was young. A girl, barely recognizable beneath the dirt, the mound of snow on her back and the icicles that clung to her hair and torn clothes. Only her bright topaz eyes, piercing the dark night with unyielding determination, and her slow gruelling effort to keep moving separated her from the landscape. Exhausted and injured, she crawled forward as the hailstorm tirelessly tried to break and bury her. Another eternally frozen addition to the barren mountain.
She blearily managed to follow the glittering open toed plum sandals up the plain deep ocean blue sundress with dark violet embroidery peeking through the cloak to the stunning face of the woman.
"Am I already dead?" Her low mumble was torn from her lips by the screaming wind but the woman heard it clearly.
"Not yet." Her voice, a melodious chime range in the girl's mind. "But soon."
"Oh." Then she turned her gaze away and resumed crawling. The woman, unperturbed by her rude gesture, trailed beside her, the snow undisturbed underfoot as she watched the girl drag herself forward inch by inch. Her hands were mangled frozen, difficultly following her instruction to pull her injured body forward. Her breathing came out in laboured puffs, indistinct in the storm. There was a bloody path smeared in the snow behind her, a silent call to the hunters stalking in the blinding storm. Waiting her out.
The butterfly reappeared by the woman's shoulder, its form shrunken to miniature.
"Aren't you going to save her?" his voice carried a hint of exasperation.
This woman's mouth twitched into a meaningful smile. "She didn't ask me to."
"On all my years-" The butterfly flew to hover in front of the girl. "Hey, kid. Do you want to die?" he yelled.
The girl paused. Looked up.
"Another hallucination," she mumbled, turning her gaze to the endless snow ahead, her right hand reaching forward.
The butterfly stopped her motion, landing gently on the bloody fingers shredded deep enough to turn the frozen flesh out and reveal bone. The soft blue light brightened, gently warming her blackened fingers and restoring the flesh and bone.
"Not a hallucination, kid. Now, do you want to live or die?"
"Live?" She asked in a daze.
"Yeah," he coaxed gently. "See that woman beside you? She has the ability to rescue you down the mountain. All you have to do is ask."
The girl craned her neck to the figure of the woman.
"Can you actually save me?" She asked.
The woman nodded.
"Then—" she hesitated, "can you also take me to the top where the tyril flower is?"
The smile on the woman's face widened as she let out a laugh like the clinking of pearls. "Of course."