FOREWORD
This entire story was inspired by the image below. I stumbled upon it while watching art videos on youtube. I don’t know who she is or where the picture is from, but it just inspired me to write this short (planned) series.
And honestly, I like it that way. I don’t want to know who she is, or where she’s from. It’s a mystery to me- and that’s perfect!
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Who is she?
*In the deepest belly of the steepest mountain, a call to action. A den of lions lay prideful- wary of each other to compete for the one- just one. *
A den of lions, devouring enemies who are not their own. Devouring the enemy of she who is the nemesis of the way of the world. Disrupting the natural flow, for one woman. Who is she?
Where is she?
What is…?-
…
In a distant paradise, upon even greater horizons, there lay a boy.
He left his eyes to rest and daydreamt of great adventures, waterfalls of buttermilk and ripe honey, and a long line of beautiful women, all yearning for just a glance from their wonderful hero. Who else could the hero be but him?
Dreaming, in paradise. Where there was peace at all times, where everyone loved each other. A paradise, where the last major conflict took place 2000 years ago- and even that conflict was relatively tame compared to what’s going on down below.
The land was separated from the rest of the world. Sea dwellers would call it a Skyland, or “Heaven”. Some of the particularly sentimental sea dwellers refer to this place as “Elysia”.
All of those names are in some ways correct, and in other ways wrong. For example, the land our “hero” lays on isn’t exactly a land suspended in the sky, more so a condensed cloud that just so happens to be at the peak of a mountain.
There, he lies. In the “heavens”, above the clouds- dreaming! Dreaming in paradise. Isn’t it a wonder?
Maybe to you and I, this boy lived in a paradise- but to him, it was a prison. He fantasized of forging his own sword and running off past the mountains and descending to the seas below, but there is no steel or molten flame to form any such weapon. What boat will he use to sail the seas and slay sea monsters? And who would even teach him such things here, where there is no need for physical conflict?
He wanted blood to present to his peers. He wished to behead the enemy and hold it up in the air, crying a battle chant as his allies cheer him on.
Enemy. What enemies? The word itself was unclear to the boy.
All he has is his wooden stick- long but brittle, unfit for battle. He sought fame, but where was the villain to capture? He sought glory, but where was the dragon to slay?
It was unnatural. To you and I, perhaps.
Someone with ambitions such as his own, it’s strange to imagine how he’s found comfort in such beliefs. They say humanity can never be satisfied. Humans are innately wired to conquer and to always want more. A race of greed and warmongering- in which it’s mothers never stop bleeding and it’s fathers fly off to war in droves, like sheep being led to the slaughter.
The boy was never exposed to war or bloodshed. There was no hardship or wanting, for everyone shared. There was no competition, for no one hated one another. There! There lies paradise, upon the highest peak of the tallest mountain, in the most quaint and serene of all clouds.
So why?
Greed. Down to the bone, it is greed.
Unbeknownst to him, he enjoyed such thoughts. Thoughts that he is different from other children his age, for he has the will to conquer. In his pampered and softened eyes, becoming a king would be no more difficult than picking a ripe apple off of a tree.
But perhaps he’s the only one “acting” on such thoughts. In a society when everyone is polite, nobody is kind- isn’t that so?
The boy started home. His mother was in the kitchen as usual, busy baking or frying, broiling or boiling. His father was in the back of the kitchen, slaughtering animals needed for this weeks’ breakfast dinner and lunch. They would not have time to greet him, so he carried on straight to his room.
Once again, the boy lay there for a while, daydreaming.
And suddenly, a call to action knocked on the frame of his window.
“Horace? Are you up there?”
His head quickly turned around to focus on the window- which had been left open for the day. The boy walked towards the window and looked down, seeing an even smaller boy just barely hanging on to the window frame.
“What do you want, Paj?”, he asks. “I can’t play today. I’m tired.”
The smaller child struggles to respond.
“Can you first… pull me up-?”
Horace thinks it over and pulls him up.
“And so? Speak, or I might just push you back outside.”
Paj sighs, and leans against the wall, sliding down to a crouch.
“I saw a beautiful woman, today. She was very far away, sitting on the peak of a hill. And yet, I could make out the features of her face. Something spoke to me, Horace.”
Horace stares at his friend. “Something spoke to you. Like what? You couldn’t mean…”
Paj shakes his head quickly, denying whatever it is he thinks his friend was assuming. “Not like that. It was different. Like… like… I can’t explain it. But I wanted to go see her. Not for the reason you think. I can’t explain it, you know?”
“And you’re telling me this, why?”
“You’ll get it if you saw her for yourself. Won’t you come along? With your swordsmanship and my navigation, we’ll be able to traverse the mountains without a problem!”, Paj says, barely raising his voice. But conviction can be heard from his tone.
He’s serious.
Horace is not serious.
The thought of going out alone- to traverse the mountains at that! With only a dingy wooden stick and a wannabe navigator?
It’s a deathwish. All heroes started their tales off with a death wish. All heroes saved the damsel.
But when faced with serious uncertainty… the ones who are fit for heroism and those he stay behind reveal themselves.
“You can’t be serious,” Horace says, rubbing his eyes. “You want us to go out all alone? Into the mountains, with only our two wits to guide us? Just look at you and me. You’re just a scrawny brat, and I don’t know if I’m ready for real combat yet! I don’t even have a real sword!”
Paj is surprised. But his disappointment and anger overcomes it. He narrows his eyebrows and scowls at Horace.
“Of all people, you? You, Horace, are the one who’s willing to give this up? You always talked of a chance like this, always saying how you’d be the first hero of the village! And now that it’s here, you’re too afraid to grasp it? An adventure, Horace! An adventure is what you’re about to leave behind! What kind of hero are you-”
Horace slaps Paj across the face. There is silence for a moment- but as Paj takes a deep breath to speak, Horaces mother opens the door to the room.
“So that was the rowdiness I was overhearing in the kitchen. Can’t you boys play outside?”
“Good morning, Mrs. Leithi.”, Paj says, bowing- perhaps in an effort to hide the mark on his face. Horace bites his lip and looks away from his mother’s eyes.
She sighs, and turns to leave.
“Well. I’ve said what I needed to say. Horace, when you’re ready, your dinner is on the table. Keep it down in here.”
The two boys remain silent, for a while. Until finally, Paj breaks the quiet.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. I don’t need you- I never needed you! I’m going on my own.”
“What?”
“I know you heard me loud and clear, Horace. You’re just a wannabe, anyway. You’ll never be a hero at this rate- so why shouldn’t I take the chance to step over you right now? Nows my chance, and unlike you, I will take it.”
Paj leaps over the sill, and rushes towards the mountains- where there lies a hidden path to the sea. Horace stands, and watches.
There, our hero stands. Standing there paralyzed with fear- looking only at the back of the one boy anyone would least expect to leap into the unknown.
Surpassing our hero. He watches.
At first, Horace accepts it. Paj won’t last long out there, anyways.
And then it dawns on him. Paj won’t last long out there.
Here he stands. A hero. What kind of hero leaves a child behind to go on their own quest? What kind of hero would Horace be able to call himself, if he’d even be able to call himself one at all??
“Curse it. Curse it!!”, he mutters- grabbing his wooden “sword”.
Paj was right. This is a one time thing. A golden opportunity for adventure.
What kind of hero will Horace be able to call himself, now?
He runs after his good friend- our hero dives into the unknown. Motivated by determined innocence.
And the scales of justice tip. A hero. Our hero.
“My hero.”
…
Snakelike. Slithering about, bound for eternity. A voice like honey, a face like that of an angel. Bound for eternity- words poisonous to those who dare step too close. Eagerly willing to be set free, never picky with its prey. Snakelike, cunning, but bound.
An enemy.
AFTERWORD
I’m too tired to finish this in one go. It took me way too long, and honestly, the story feels boring as it is now. The next part will be more entertaining, I promise.
The two boys’ reasoning for leaving the village might also seem weird(you see a pretty lady and now you want to go and leave everything behind to chase after her?), but it’ll make sense soon. Some of you already expect it.
That’s all. If you read through this entire thing, all I can say is thank you.
