Nestled between fjords and forests was a small and quiet coastal village. There within it lived a shaman named Lars.
Lars had always been a gifted practitioner of ancient remedies and age-old wisdom. His knowledge of herbs and their medicinal properties was renowned far and wide and villagers often sought his counsel when ailments befell them.
He had lived a simple and content life tending to his garden of healing plants. Each morning, he would rise with the sun, his old bones creaking and cracking in harmony with the branches of the morning forest. He would wander through his garden, caressing petals of the gentle flowers with his weathered hands.
One autumn day, as the air became crisp and the leaves turned into fiery hues, a stranger arrived in the village. A young woman named Freya, with the weight of the world in her eyes, sought shelter in Lars’s abode. She had heard tales of his healing ability and had come in search of a remedy for her dying infant son.
Lars welcomed Freya into his home. As they sat by the crackling fire, he listened to her story – a tale of love and fragility. With a knowing smile, Lars handed her a steaming cup of herbal tea. Its warmth seeped into her cold hands. She cradled it, inhaling the soothing aroma before taking a careful sip. The fragrant blend seemed to envelop her, providing a sense of comfort she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“I’ve been here for years, tending to the village and its people,” Lars began. “But there’s something I believe you should know, Freya. High upon the mountain that overlooks our village, there resides an oracle, a seer who holds the secrets of the past, present, and future.”
Freya’s eyes widened. “An oracle? Like a fortune teller?”
Lars chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Not quite like the fortune tellers you might have heard of. This oracle is different – ancient and wise, a keeper of truths beyond our mortal understanding. Many seek her counsel in times of need, and I believe she might offer you guidance on your journey.”
Freya set the cup down on a nearby wooden table, her gaze locked onto Lars. “Do you truly think she can help me? Can she heal my child?”
Lars leaned forward, his old hands clasped in front of him. “The oracle’s insights are not mere predictions, Freya. She possesses a deeper understanding of the currents that flow through our lives, and her guidance often illuminates the paths we must take. I sense that your connection with her could be transformative, offering solace and direction.”
Freya’s heart fluttered. She had traveled far to find healing, and the idea of seeking out this seer ignited a spark of curiosity within her. “How do I find her, Lars? How do I reach this oracle on the mountain?”
Lars smiled, his eyes holding a twinkle of encouragement. “The path to the oracle’s domain is both physical and spiritual, Freya. It begins with a journey of intent and purpose. Climb the mountain with an open heart, and as you ascend, allow your thoughts to flow into your desires and questions. When you reach the summit, you will find a lake within a sacred grove. It is there that the oracle resides.”
Freya nodded, a sense of determination settling within her. “I’ll do it,” she said.
Lars reached out and placed a hand on Freya’s. “Remember, dear Freya, that the journey itself is as important as the destination. Along the way, you may discover truths about yourself and your path that you never expected. May the winds of the mountain carry your intentions and may the oracle’s wisdom guide you.”
***
The mountain’s path was rugged, strewn with fallen leaves and uneven stones. The earthy scent of moss and pine mingled with the delicate fragrance of wildflowers, filling her senses.
As she ascended, the air grew thinner and her steps felt both weightless and heavy. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, but the edges of her surroundings became hazy, as though shrouded in mist.
The world around her seemed to blur and distort, and the trees that once stood tall now swayed and danced in a haunting ballet.
Amidst the disorienting symphony of colors and sounds, whispers began to echo in Freya’s ears. Faint and elusive, they seemed to drift from the very air itself. She shook her head, trying to dispel the noises. Her own footsteps sounded distant and muffled, as if she were moving through a dream. Freya felt as though she were walking in place, trapped in a loop of perpetual motion. Her grasp on the tangible slipped through her fingers like grains of sand.
She stopped, her chest heaving, and clung to a nearby tree for support. Trembling, she pressed her palm against her forehead, feeling a cold sweat bead upon her skin.
As Freya’s ragged breaths began to steady, she slowly opened her eyes, revealing the breathtaking expanse that greeted her. Confusion tugged at her thoughts as she glanced around, her view settling on the tree to which she had clung. It was a magnificent oak, among many in a forest. Freya’s eyes widened as realization washed over her – she had reached the summit. She had found the sacred grove.
“I’m here!” she whispered, her voice a fragile declaration.
As she meandered around the ancient forest, Freya’s gaze fell upon a glimmering pool nestled among the roots of the grove’s grandest tree.
The water was clear as crystal, reflecting the sunlight in a dance of sparkling ripples. Her heart quickened as a sense of awe washed over her – this was not just any pool, she thought.
Freya approached the pool with cautious wonder, her breath catching in her throat. Her reflection stared back at her, but there was something different about the way she looked – a softening of lines, a brightness in her eyes, as if the weight of years had been lifted.
“Welcome, child of the earthly realm,” said her reflection.
Freya blinked, startled by the voice that seemed to come not from her own lips but from the depths of the pool itself. She leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing in disbelief.
“Is this some kind of illusion?” she whispered to herself.
The reflection smiled, a serene and knowing expression that sent shivers down Freya’s spine. “No illusion, Freya. I am the voice of the sacred grove, the echo of the mountain’s wisdom. I am the oracle you seek.”
Freya had expected a figure, a presence, someone to emerge from the shadows of the grove. But this? Her own reflection?
The oracle continued, its words like a gentle stream of consciousness. “You seek a path to save your child, a path that is fraught with uncertainty and sacrifice. To grant life, you must exchange it.”
Freya’s voice trembled as she spoke, “What must I do? How can I save my child?”
The reflection in the pool stared back intently with an infinite deepness. “To save your child, you must stay on this mountain, never to return to the village, never to see him again. Your life, your presence, will become a guardian of the sacred grove, a seed in the heart of existence.”
Tears welled up in Freya’s eyes.
“But… but to leave my child, to never hold him, to never see his smile again… is that the price I must pay?”
The reflection nodded, its image rippling like the water’s surface. “The choices we make are never easy, Freya. Your presence on this mountain will ensure the vitality of the grove, the balance of nature, and the continued existence of your child.”
Freya’s vision blurred as tears streamed down her cheeks. “How can I bear this separation? How can a mother choose such a path?”
The oracle’s reflection remained unwavering. “You carry within you a mother’s love, a force of boundless strength. Though you may be physically apart, the bond between you and your child is unbreakable. Your love will guide him, protect him, even in your absence.”
Freya lowered her head, her heart heavy with the knowledge that the path before her was one of unimaginable sacrifice. She had come seeking answers, seeking a way to save her child, but now she understood the true cost of that salvation.
“Remember, Freya,” the reflection whispered, “that love is not bound by time or space. Your presence on this mountain will be a testament to the depths of your love, a sacrifice that will ensure your child’s future. Embrace your destiny.”
With those words, the pool seemed to soften, the reflections’ image slowly fading until only the blackened moonlight danced upon the water’s surface. Freya was left in the silence of the sacred grove, her heart heavy with the weight of the decision and the love that would forever bind her to her child across the unfathomable depths of time.
On the mountain, alone with nothing except for her thoughts, she noticed the air suddenly filled once again with the familiar fragrance of Lars’s tea, a blend that intertwined the scents of moss, pine, and wildflowers.
the Mirror 