The Ma’Tahn stood on the riverbank in the early morning sun and waited as he had done a dozen times before. He knew the scene and what was to come. He knew when the deer would appear on the opposite bank and knew when the fawns would look up at him curiously and then return to grazing on the grass. He knew that after a hawk flew above him a rabbit would hop in front of him and nibble on the grass before hopping away. And he was comforted by these simple things.

What he found disconcerting was the river itself. While he could predict with absolute certainty what would happen on dry land - the deer, birds, rabbits - what happened in the river defied him. After the fawns looked at him, a fish would jump in the water. Or not. Or the fish would wait until the rabbit ran away. Or a hawk would fly down to the river and grab a fish with its talons. Or not.

The river was cursed. At least, he thought it was cursed. Growing up the Ma’Tahn heard the stories of the Surijan River flowing red with blood on many occasions. Was this the time? he wondered.

The river still perplexed him. Rivers changed. Rivers were not constant as this one had proved. And maybe this river had called him here, to this location, time after time. Twelve times he came, twelve times nothing changed. But the river.

He walked down to the edge and knelt. He put his hand into the cold water held it down.

Nothing happened.

He took his hand out and stood on the bank. He shook the water off his hand and wiped the remaining drops on his pants.

He felt no difference. No cosmic answers. No great inspirations. Just one hand colder than the other.

He heard voices behind him, but he knew they would come. An Elfkin family, a father and two children going to fish.

When they passed by him on the trail near the bank the father looked at the Ma’Tahn and smiled. "Good day," he said. Looking closer at the man he added, "Haven’t seen you here before."

But he had and the Ma’Tahn smiled back. "Fishing’s better down at the crossing."

The Elfkin nodded and took his kids downstream. They would catch four fish.

As the sun reached meridian Ma’Tahn walked downstream to a rock that overlooked the river, climbed it and had his midday meal. This was the first time he did this. After he ate he stayed on the rock and watched the water flow by. Passers by, both Human and Elfkin, greeted him, but he gave no response; they assumed, he thought, that he was meditating. Which he almost was.

After an hour of sitting on the rock he grew restless. Thirteen trips to this river on this day for nothing. The prophesies and the histories were wrong. He started telling himself that on this sixth trip to this spot but now he believed it. He decided to go home and embark on a new misbegotten adventure that would actually have a result.

When restlessness grew into frustration and then to anger, something changed.

He saw something floating in the river. A body.

The body was floating face down in the middle of the river and as it came closer to Ma’Tahn he saw it was wearing armor. He jumped off the rock and followed the body, trying to make out the markings on the helmet to confirm his suspicions. He knew what army the man belonged to, he read the account in a history text, but was hoping nevertheless that he was wrong.

As he followed the body down the river he wondered if the legend was true. The Crossing was named for two rivers, the Surijan and the Sellajan that flowed down from the Pyara Mountains and when they met near the Crossing, instead of merging, the rivers continued as if the other river didn’t exist. Debris floating down one river never flowed into the other; fish would stay in their river. But a body? This body?

The body continued to float in the middle of its river as it approached the crossing. Ma’Tahn thought about doing something to stop the body; up ahead Elfkin were fishing and this development would cause a panic. He could retrieve the body from the river and hide it in the forest and then perhaps nothing would change. But he was also curious about what was to come. Even at the expense of his son.

Ma’Tahn heard the other river grow louder and he realized the crossing was close. He heard someone cry out and some gasps and saw Elfkin running to the river, pointing at the body. He heard his heart beat louder as he ran ahead of the body to the point where the two rivers met. And there he stood watching and waiting as a marble guard at the ancient palaces of his youth.

"Old friend, what have you done to us?" Behind Ma’Tahn the Crossing’s Elfkin mayor, portly but half the height of the man, stood with arms folded watching the human and ignoring the scene around him.

"I haven’t done anything, Macuh." He lied. The body came into view and Ma’Tahn pointed at it. "That," he said, "isn’t my doing. Something else is happening, something…"

"Evil?"

"Evil."

And it happened. The body, floating down the Surijan River changed course into the Sellajan. Ma’Tahn stood silently and expressionless; his world had just collapsed around him and he knew it was because of him. Macuh gasped and pointed at the body muttering "Impossible."

"Fish him out," Ma’Tahn ordered. "Call in your constable and tell the Chromatta about this. It’s best they hear it first hand than through idle gossip. And find that crazy old man that lives around here…"

"Midnight?"

"Him. Tell him to expect people." He looked down at the Elfkin. "And you, have your people prepare."

"Prepare for what?"

"War."

Ma’Tahn put his hand on Macuh’s shoulder and gently squeezed. "My friend, everything has changed." He smiled at the Elfkin and walked off.

"Where are you going?" the mayor asked.

"Home."