Wren’s Wild Journey

Into The Misty Realm

As I stood there, the chanting seemed alive. As I breathed in, it invaded my body like a warm liquid flowing down my throat and spreading its essence through my bloodstream, and its life synced with the rhythm of my heart. The river lapped at my boots, a soothing sound under the moon's watchful gaze. The shapes beneath the surface flickered again, but longer this time, deliberately. The river surged before I could step back, not with violence but invitation. The water rose gently, curling around my ankles, calm and insistent as if tugging them forward. The chanting sharpened, a chorus of mournful and ecstatic voices, and the night breeze carried a single, silvery word: "Cross."

I exhaled, a shaky breath lost to the wind, and stepped into the river. The moment my foot sank beneath the surface, the world tilted. The humid air dissolved into a mist of iridescent violet, indigo, and gold hues; the chanting surged into a melody that vibrated through my bones. The Rio Grande was no longer just a river; it was a veil, and I had stepped through it.

I emerged in a vast realm where the sky shimmered with a thousand colors, like a stained-glass window made from forgotten dreams. The ground beneath me was soft. The mossy glowed faintly with veins of liquid light pulsing in time with the chant. The air hummed with life that felt electric, ancient, and alive. And there, at last, I saw the spirits.

They were not shadows now but beings of luminous strangeness. Some were tall and willowy, their forms trailing wisps of mist that danced like silk robes in the breeze. Others were darting sparks of light with voices that chimed like bells. A few bore shapes almost human, but for their eyes, endless pools of starlight, and their hands, which shimmered as if woven from the river itself. A chant flowed from them, a song of memory and longing while weaving a tapestry of sound that contained this realm together.

One spirit drifted closer, its form a cascade of silver and shadow, its voice a soft ripple in my mind. "You've come," it said, not with words but feeling, an echo of welcome laced with curiosity. I felt my voice catch and spill out: "What are you? Why do you sing?"

The spirit tilted its head, or what might have been a head, and the chanting shifted, softening into something tender. "We are the river's keepers; echoes of its forgotten. We sing to remember and to be remembered." The other spirits pulsed brighter around them, forms swaying as if caught in an unseen current. I felt it too, a pull, a tide of emotion that wasn't theirs alone. I could feel joy, sorrow, rage, and peace, all woven into the song, all part of this existence.

Cautiously, I reached out, and the silver spirit met my hand with a touch like cool water. A flood of sensation followed, not just my own but the spirit's: I saw the rush of centuries flowing past, the weight of storms and sunsets, the quiet thrill of a child's laughter by the riverbank long ago. I was still held under its weight but couldn't pull away. I lived, breathed, and became part of the spirits' endless dance.

Another spirit darted forward and brushed against my cheek, whispering, "Stay," with a slight giggle. "Sing with us." The offer hung in the air, tempting and perilous. The realm pulsed with their presence, vibrant and eternal, and I felt the edges of myself begin to blur as if I could dissolve into this song, this river.

The chanting swelled around me, thrumming in my chest like a second heartbeat. I wasn't afraid, not yet. Hot and wild excitement burned in me as I pressed deeper into this other world. All the spirits noticed me then. Another figure stepped forward, a face like a swirl of light and shadow, and it spoke without moving its mouth: "You've joined the chant, wanderer. What do you seek?" Before I could answer, another one appeared, trailing wisps of mist, and it laughed, making a sound like breaking glass. They circled me, their voices weaving into the chant, and I felt myself drawn into it, my breath syncing with their rhythm. I roamed with them through groves of glowing trees and over rivers that flowed upward into the air, my heart racing with every step.

Time slipped away, hours, maybe days—and the excitement built to a fever pitch. I danced with a spirit whose hands were made of wind, ran alongside a pack of shadow wolves that howled the chant into the void, and stood atop a cliff where the horizon bent backward on itself. Each moment changed me, peeling away the weight I'd carried from the physical world. Doubt, fear, and the ache of unanswered questions. I felt lighter, sharper, more me.

But the river called me back. I felt its pull again, steady and insistent, and the spirits paused, their chanting softening. The first figure nodded, its swirl of a face unreadable. "You've sung with us. Now, you must return." I didn't want to leave—but the water rose around me, calm and familiar, and it took me. I walked out of the river, not into the spirit land but back onto the muddy bank of the Rio Grande. The night breeze was quiet now, the chanting gone, and the stars overhead burned brighter than I'd ever seen.

I was dripping wet, my favorite hat still clinging to my head, and I knew I wasn't the same man who'd stepped into the river. The spirits had left something in me, a spark, a hum, a piece of their wildness. I was a changed man. As I turned away from the river, I felt my perspective of the world shift. At that moment, I felt everything had changed. There was a depth to our existence I had only dreamed of.

I sat on the sandy bank of the river, thinking about what I had just experienced. It was now dark, but I could still hear the eerie sounds of chanting lingering on the night breeze, a haunting echo that wrapped around me like a shadow. Would Silas believe a word of it? I pictured his skeptical frown and dismissive laugh and decided to keep it to myself. Some mysteries are too wild to share.

I returned to camp and sat in my chair, nodding to Silas. "Why are you all wet?" he asked, peering over the rim of his reading glasses. I told him, "I needed a bath, so I stretched out in a shallow part of the river and let the water flow over me. "He remarked, "I was beginning to wonder when you were coming back!" He chuckled at me and returned to his book, the pages rustling like cottonwood leaves. I thought to myself, maybe someday I'd tell him about it. I smiled, the eerie chanting still humming faintly in my ears, a secret, for now, best kept between me and the river's restless keepers.