The ice began to crack under the pale light of the last half moon. As the tendrils of the fern unfurled on quiet spring earth, she took notice. Her taller compatriots, the trees, dropped their whispers to listen together. Even the night breeze, so often content to stop for nothing on his way, paused a moment and took it in. When the jarring first break rang out in the night, it was as if all the world stood entirely still, listening, and waiting. The stars winked knowingly high above, but then again, they did little else. They shared their secrets with the wind, for he was here the last time, too. Long had they waited. Soon, after they were gone once more, in the sky they would begin their waiting anew. As he waited, the wind shook petals from the flowers that rested on the banks and swept them over the ice. After a moment, the life of the world began again, but deep in each creature that walked upon the ground, swam within the waters, soared above the clouds, or rested in the soil felt within itself an undeniable sense that something was coming. Something that had not been seen for an age. Something even the wind and the stars often struggled to recall, because it had been so long since last they emerged. But they would be here. They only had to wait.

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Each passing day that arrived brought new life to the water. As the ice melted, and the days grew warmer, the sun and his friends called them, young and old, to draw near. He knew they would want to be here when they arrived. Happily the wild ones ate, and drank, and rested in the coolness of the shade. The wind and the trees played games together, as they often did, and they laughed with the birds as they flew through their branches and made their nests. The brave little fawns dared each other to try their luck standing on the thick sheets of frozen water that still hung around in some places. Their wobbly legs would wander out, their flashy little white tails would flick side-to-side in triumph, and then they would scurry back to safety, to solid ground. It was a beautiful spring. There was much joy to be found, in all places. Even the stones, their faces unchanged by the year, seemed to try and contribute to the lighthearted mood. When the seals came back – nerpas, they were called here, in their home – their cries to one another could be heard clear across the great expanse of the lake.

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She was called “Baikal”, by some, and “Pearl” by others. She was the oldest of her kind. Her water was deep, deeper than any creature had ever tried to venture. What secrets she held, it could not be said. Undoubtedly, they were innumerable. She was blamed for much, and associated with all sorts of unsavory phenomena. True to her word, however, she revealed nothing, and so she learned to endure. She provided, and she took, always in equal measure. She knew how long this world would last, as she had been here when it began, and she would be here after it ended. She never stopped growing, and she could never lose her way. She was sacred, and omnipotent. Those who were wise paid her their deepest respect, and those who were foolish paid the price. She had been with them almost since the beginning, and she held them above all others. If she could love, her love was theirs alone. If they were alive, it was only for her.

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Carefully, the sun and his rays took the ice away, and carefully, the frozen life drew out of the land. Day by day, the water ran quicker, and the air baked, hotter and ever hotter. The time was coming. Each night, the stars watched with unrelenting eyes to see how much longer it would be. They knew them well enough to know they never came until the time was precisely right. 'Unquestionably punctual,' they laughed to one another. And indeed, they were.

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The day before the full moon, coincidentally (the wind would disagree – for he is a strong believer that nothing is a coincidence) also an eclipse, the last remaining fractal of frost melted into the rushing waters. The sun, wasting no time, noticed it first. He burst and burned even brighter than before, and it was not long before the others caught on. As he carried them tirelessly through the longest day of the season, the sun hardly paused a moment to take it in. The rest had more time. The sky, steadfast as always, remarked upon what their future held.

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“They will come tonight,” they said. “They are almost here again.”

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The animals went about their lives, but the forest and the rock and the soil that built the land Baikal supported could not continue so easily. The hours passed on their bated breath. Soon, the stars began to show, and the moon was slowly rising in the northeast. She reached the precipice, and waited for the sun to join her. As they came together, though only for a brief moment, the light was obscured, and the hush that fell over it all was profound. All at once, the world was entombed by the night.

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Then, in that moment of silence and darkness, the water began to speak. Something moved the waves out from the center in an unnatural way, and slowly the surface of the lake became perfectly smooth. Many eyes did not witness this change, but the wind and the trees, and the fern and the stars, they saw. And then, they saw something else. It was rising from the water, coming from deep, deep down beneath the surface. It glowed a little, stronger and stronger as it came closer to breaching. It was moving fast.

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Suddenly, the water was broken, and the heavenly bodies parted once more, and the light of the moon illuminated their form.

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“Ah,” sighed the stars, “so this is how they come this time. Most fitting. Most fitting, indeed.”

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A young nerpa who had just been born not six days past looked up at the figure now floating above the water.

“A hippopotamus,” she thought. “My mother was right.”

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With their everlasting grace, they began to descend again, but made their way now to the shore. The path they left in their wake sparkled and shone with supernatural light. As they touched the earth, the flowers there bloomed. As they walked, they breathed their life back into the land. And everywhere, they smiled, and turned their beauty into light. It was not long before everything around them glowed, and the stars rejoiced to see it. Even the moon shone brighter in their honor.

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“Lusud-Khan,” whispered the wind in their ear. “Lusud-Khan is come. Look. Look upon them now, for you will not get another chance this age. They are here. Behold.”

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They breathed back to the wind, and felt the wind reply. Long had it been. Long would it be again.

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When at last they saw their work was done, when at last the soil had been fortified, and the waters had been healed, they turned and looked back the way they had come. Just for a moment, they took it all in, and wished they could stay. But it was not to be. Some day, once again, they could return. It would be different, and indeed they themselves would be different as well. But it would be the same too. These trees would not be here, but their children, their great-great-great-grandchildren would be. These stones would not remain, but perhaps pieces of them would still be found nearby. They sighed. It was not their choice. They knew why. And so they began to move again.

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As they returned, they took care to notice, and observe. They saw the little sleeping snakes, breathing in and out in scaley slumber. They smiled at the rustling leaves and the itinerant clouds shifting high above. And when they reached the edge of the water once again, they took another look at the wonder they had brought. The glow was beginning to draw back in again, returning to them, but the enchantment they had cast was not to be seen. It was deep in the ground and thick in the air, and it was there. It would replenish the life over and over again, wisely spending its power, until once again they were called to fulfill their purpose. But that would not be for some time. One last breath, one wink returned to the stars, and down into the waters they plunged. Deeper and deeper they went, all the way to the bottom, to the place only she and they knew. They were alone, but always, they were together.

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In the morning, when the moon had set, and the sun looked upon the landscape once again, it seemed almost as if nothing had changed. But of course it had.

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The trees mourned, though truly it was bittersweet. The stones gave thanks, in their obstinate way. The nerpas cried and laughed and played in the sun and the fish they caught swam swift and wild. Everything was as it was before, but the stars knew what had changed. They saw the water inch up the banks day by day, and saw the bottom of the lake retreat even further down into her own depths. They saw, and they grinned.

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A thousand summers will pass, and still they will not come. They will not come until it is precisely the right time. Then, they will rise once more and bestow their love upon this place.

 

And nothing will change, and everything will. One more time.

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The End

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