Blight Part Two

The WOM, sniffing the air, led Bello all that day. They soon met another field worker. The WOM explained that there were seeds in the field that would be detrimental to the land if not immediately tended to. The demonstration of Bello, as he wrestled to pull up a found seed, was enough to quickly spread concern to the entire town.

The WOM visited the Gnomish village in the neighboring forest and found as expected the same blight in the forest. The Gnomes could smell the scent, but were unable to uproot the blight.

The WOM arranged to combine- and then divide- the force of Gnomes and Giants to work effectively in both the fields and the forest. 

Deep in the night, the WOM gathered everyone from their work, “That was very good work you have done today. The same should be applied tomorrow and for a week or more. This nameless blight’s purpose is to kill all living things in the soil. They are always growing and spreading. You must be vigilant in uprooting and burning all of them in a pit far from town.” The WOM looked steadily at the Giants and Gnomes present to allow this news to sink in.

“The wind has sown this. Though you have done nothing to bring this trouble upon yourselves, you will reap the consequence if not handled immediately and thoroughtly.  This blight was once removed from Truth, but, clearly, it has been released. I must leave at once to seek the source. What is before you will take determination and a tremendous amount of work, but I know, together you can do this. Goodnight and goodbye.”

The WOM would not listen to any offers of a bed for the night or concerns about the lateness of the hour or the darkness of the night. He was friendly but firm as he set off at a quick pace.

The WOM was correct; the work to clear the fields and the forests was very difficult. The worst part was that there appeared to be no end of the blight. Soon the quality of work began to grow sloppy. Gnomes found only the most pungent of the seeds, and the Giants began to yank up those with such force the entire root was not excavated. This continued all throughout the planting, tending and growing seasons.

Crops did not grow. The forest began to thin. This should have caused immediate alarm and action but their weariness made them careless. What could have been saved was lost.

Blight Part One

For the first time, in as long as anyone could remember, the WOM was on the move. The sight of the Fallen had awakened his sense of stagnation. He had not left his grotto in far too long. He wanted to get a good look at the world and see what she had become.

Ten miles from Kern, the Giant Settlement, the WOM began to smell a disturbing sent. Now, well into the spring planting season, rows upon rows of furrowed, good soil filled the horizon. He would have smiled and breathed deeply of the scent of freshly tilled soil had not that other smell tormented the edge of his memory. What was it?

As he entered Kern, he was pleased to see the Hidden Valley’s flowers blooming in every garden.

Bello, headed back out to the fields after his lunch, spotted him. “WOM!” he yelled and happily ran to him. He hugged the very old man, “How happy I am that you have come to our village! Come and meet my family.” He directed the WOM towards his house. “Mama!” he called.

She graciously welcomed him into her house. Giant hospitality was aggressively generous; a standard Giant size cup of tea and scone were placed before him. As he nobly applied himself to the meal, he listened to the entire story of the desolation the “butterflies” had wreaked upon the Fallen.

After conveying his relief that all had turned out so well, he expressed a desire to see the fields. Bello was only too happy to comply with his request. Entering the first field the WOM asked, “Do you smell that?”

Bello took in a deep, satisfying breath of cultivated soil. He smiled, “I believe you are referring to our oxen fertilizer. I know it can be overwhelming at first, but soon it will be like nothing at all. The year we imported dragon fertilizer, whew that was the year…”

“No” the WOM interrupted, “It smells… tangy.”

“Tangy?” Bello took in another breath. “No, I don’t believe I do.”

The WOM walked with his nose in the air and his eyes shut. Bello followed closely and steadied him every few feet as his stumbled upon his beard or a rock or into a small hole.

Finally, in the middle of a perfectly furrowed row, the WOM squatted down. He explained that this area had not been seeded yet. But the WOM wasn’t listening; he began digging in the ground. “Could you uproot this seed?”

Bello had to get his face every close to the ground to see the tiny black speck. “Sure” Bello pulled at the minuscule object. Surprisingly, the seed did not budge. Little by little the seed was forced to release itself from the ground. It's root was at least a foot long.

“Here,” the WOM produced a leather pouch. Bello wrapped the root into a ball and dropped it into the pouch. “This is what produces that tangy smell. I have no idea how this has come to be here, but it is deadly. It will poison the land.”

“It is so tiny. How much harm can it really do?” Bello asked incredulously.

“More damage than you can imagine. Come, there are more. We have work to do.”

To be continued….

Fog

Maral strolled through a beautiful country, enjoying the pleasant weather she had as her traveling companion. The birds sang, the flowers tossed their fragrance all along the path, the warm sun smiled down upon her.

She was content and felt a good purpose drawing her onward toward Babalonia. Wisdom had explained that there she would discover her next step toward her ultimate goal- the Eternal City.

She wished that Wisdom could have accompanied her. Things never stay the same. Maral understood that the essence of Wisdom was still with her but not physically as she had been. Wisdom had told her that this was a new season of maturing. She could hear the voice of Wisdom whenever she listened. She would never be really alone. Maral was not altogether confident in this, but she put on a brave face.

Maral cleared the cobweb of negative thoughts from her mind and enjoyed the lovely day. Without warning everything changed. The sun dimmed, the bird’s song, with all other sounds, muted leaving only the echo of her own breathing. Everything became hazy. Maral stumbled as she tried to figure out what had happened. Timidly, she continued down the path which now felt unfamiliar and mildly ominous.  

All too soon, her state of contentment was replaced with a haunting notion that she was lost. Her body felt drained and worn out. The purpose calling her had dimmed. She wanted to collapse upon the grass and rest. But her heart prodded her onward. What had happened to her?

Only days before in the City of Enlightenment, she had experienced the incredibly powerful event. Just moments before, she had enjoyed the peaceful beauty of nature. Now, all that seemed ages ago and pointless.

Wisdom’s voice came to her faintly, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

Maral raised one heavy foot, then another, and on and on she trudged. The sluggish plod experience seemed to last for an eternity but actually it had been only a few days before she felt an easing, slight at first, then suddenly everything returned to the way it had been before the unknown difficulty.

The sun broke in upon her dreary thoughts and shattered them. The joyful bird’s song seemed magnified after everything had been dulled. She found she was still on her path.

She looked back and saw a fog hovering just behind her. It lingered for a moment then dissolved.

Wisdom’s voice was clear and strong, “The fog was sent by the East Wind. It is a terrible snare which has trapped many in its body. It comes without warning and settles thickly upon a wayfarer. Its goal is to get them to stop, give up. It achieves this by creating the elements that causes them to feel lost, shiftless, and without purpose. As you continue through the fog, it clings tighter to you, compelling you to give up. But if you refuse to stop, regardless of the difficulty, it is powerless. You did well. Continue on.”

Escape Part Two

Itch was astonished; she had never experienced a ghost, missing so much of himself, turning away from her. She had assumed her power over him was absolute. She threw stones and taunted him. Not taking the rebellion threat seriously, she shrieked his name and laughed at him.

She was following, always following, waiting for him to exhaust his meager supply of energy. When he dropped, she would make him pay for this impotent escape attempt. He would soon know that she had a legal right of ownership over him as he had chosen her after being made fully aware of her character.  

But he did not stop, though the stones hurt his body and her taunts chilled his blood, he continued walking away. He felt exhausted and panic rose with the awareness that he could go not much farther.

He knew when he fell he would be recaptured by the Witch, but he suddenly heard the sound of a swift flowing river. The violent water crashed upon bodies of the protruding rocks; the strong current easily carried huge branches down the river. Though the river was dangerous, the churning water looked fresh and clean.

The weeks of grime, filth, crusty blood and rancid saliva that covered his body propelled him toward the water. The promise of being clean, even a moment before he would drown, gave him an unexpected burst of energy; he ran.

Once the Witch saw his destination she jumped upon his back and dug her nails deeply into his flesh. She threw all her weight backwards but, in that moment, his will was stronger than the force of her pull. He lunged into the river. His knees hit the hard rocks and splashed Itch with tiny droplets of water. She released her hold and jumped back to the shore.

Efren collapsed, allowing the strong current to pull him down deep into the belly of the river. All the filth and stench he had worn for so long slowly washed away layer after layer.

He had assumed, in his weakened state, that this would be his burial place, but the water was restoring him. It was clearing the fog from his mind and inexplicably strengthening his atrophied muscles.

He found he could swim to the surface for air. Alert, and with remarkable speed, he managed somehow to make it to the other side of the river.

He saw Itch far upstream. He knew she would not get into the water. Clean, pure water would torture her. It was his shield for the moment. Now, was his chance, he fled. He heard her words coming to him on the back of the wind, “You cannot escape. You belong to me. I am coming for you.”

He ran faster.

Escape Part One

The temptation witch, Itch, was glad for the interference of the meddlesome Gnomish girl. Though it had been touch-and-go for a few moments, the unforeseen result was that she was able to expedite the process of entrapment. When Efren had chosen her after seeing her true form, it afforded Itch the luxury of ending her energy-draining pretense of being a good thing. Addiction is a fine thing indeed.

Almost immediately, Itch began to feast upon his character. She stripped him of things he had previously enjoyed and isolated him. She was insatiable as she drained his personality and priorities. Her breath encompassed him in a fog of tormenting wormwood and acid.

As the horrible days blended together, Efren could feel his identity slipping away as he became a ghost of his former self.

Bitterness, grief, and regret were his constant mental companions. He occasionally remembered the haunting sound of a Gnomish girl calling to him to stop. But he could recall only faintly details of his life before the Witch had been exposed; the one exception was the strange fire… he could clearly remember that.

The only thing pleasant in his life was the memory of the fire. If Itch could have seen his thoughts she would certainly have taken that from him, but she couldn’t. As he dwelt upon the memory, it changed from a memory into something more. The fire spinning around in his head would sometimes speak to him. Efren couldn’t say what the voice sounded like or the exact wording, but he could understand it.

He was losing his strength as he felt himself nearing the edge of a bottomless pit. He was certain the Witch planned to completely devour him, leaving him only a tormented consciousness. He would be thrown into the pit alive, or, if not alive, at least aware. He would forever be falling and never reaching the end.

Efren wasn’t sure how he knew this. Perhaps he just sensed it, maybe Itch had told him, or it could have been the fire in his mental wanderings warning him of what was to come.  

The fire told him to escape, but it was too hard. He had missed his opportunity that day long ago. He had no strength left to run or to fight, he was in too deeply. All he could do was stumble on towards his destiny.  

The fire knew his hopeless thoughts. It showed him an image of what his life could be. The seemingly impossible possibility finally gave him hope. The hope gave him determination, which led to resolve. He released the Witch’s hand and reversed his direction.

To be continued…

War

Maral clung to the monument. As the hands of the mob clutched at her dangling feet, she heard an urgent whisper, Sing! She knew it was Wisdom. Wisdom had been there giving her instructions the entire time, but Maral hadn’t been listening. Quickly she sang as loudly as she could in the eternal language. The strange fire exploded from her lungs and swirled around.

The instant the strange fire appeared, the mob scattered. Maral climbed down from the arms of the monument. The powerful fire was consuming the city. She stared amazed, the strange fire had only ever destroyed dark things like Despair. Now as it licked the white buildings, they crumbled to the ground.

The next moment, echoing down from the treetops, the sound of a marching army could be heard. The east wind arrived. It raged through the streets of the city, rushing toward Maral with terrible speed. The fire became a solid wall protecting her.

The battle between these extraordinary elements began. Buildings were crumbling and debris were being thrown like large bullets by the wild wind.

Maral heard a call which woke her from her dumbfounded state. Wisdom was calling her out of the city, away from the supernatural war. She ran blindly toward the voice. As she ran, she heard Wisdom calling out the Scribes. The entire city was fleeing the destruction.

Maral ran into the safety of Wisdom’s arms. “You did it,” Wisdom whispered and kissed Maral on the cheek.

“I did?” Maral asked confused. But froze when she looked around and saw hundreds of Scribes staring, slack-jawed at Wisdom. Maral stepped back, unsure of what was going to happen, but confident she was safe with Wisdom.

Wisdom called out each Scribe by name.

On many, the expression of shock turned to joyful smiles. Maral watched astonished as the age and wrinkles of those Scribes melted. The years, ravaged by the locust of artificial-intellectual-bondage, were being restored. These ran into Wisdom’s open arms, as if they were children seeing their mother for the first time in years. The reunion was beautiful.

Only a few near the rear of the group looked upon Wisdom with skepticism. These longed for their laws and places of power which had just been destroyed. Their names spoken by Wisdom, sounded to them as harsh grinding noises that clawed at their hardened hearts. They gave the slightest nod they could manage to Wisdom, limiting their respect to almost nothing at all, and turned away.

Maral turned to the city. From this perspective, she could see the fire was attempting to burn the city while the east wind was defending it. It was no use. The fire had the advantage and soon the wind retreated, defeated.

Maral knew it was not logical, but, before the east wind left, she felt that it looked at her. She felt a shiver go through her entire body. Wisdom placed her hand upon Maral’s shoulder. She immediately felt strong and safe.

Attempt

Maral walking into the City Enlightenment; her heart pounding. She felt alone even though Wisdom had assured her she would be there. Maral was aware of a faint hum in her mind but focused instead on her surroundings; the hum faded away.

The absence of sound made the tap of her shoe upon the pavement echo. This quickly drew the attention of many Scribes. Irritated, they investigated who it was making all the racket which interrupted their important work.

The Scribes’ appearance was disturbing. Their skin appeared to be bleached from the lack of exposure to the sun. Their hair was shaven, even the women. Their posture was chronically bent over from endless hours at desks. They all appeared to be ancient. Their expression was sour.

Their appearance alone would have made Maral’s heart fail and defeat her purpose but for a compassionate resolve which filled her heart. She believed this was Wisdom’s doing. She was seeing them through Wisdom’s eyes, with pity and compassion.

She made her way deep into this city, to the monument of a distorted Wisdom. She stood upon the monument’s pedestal to get a better vantage point. A huge crowd had assembled. They looked mostly annoyed and angry but also curious.

“I come to you,” she began. She was going to explain how Wisdom had sent her, but the crowd began to contort their faces and stomp their feet. It was such an odd thing that she was shocked into silence.

She felt a heavy weight pressing upon her shoulders. Her mind registered that before the diet of Wisdom’s odd bread this weight would have driven her into the ground. Now she stood tall, acknowledging the weight but not being affected by it. Maral saw the crowd was transforming in a moment it would be a mob.

“Wisdom sent me to tell you,” she tried again. They started kicking up the white dust that covered the ground. It choked Maral. She felt fear breathing on her neck as the crowd surged forward to grab her. She hoped they only planned to throw her out of the city but there was a call for blood in the eyes of those closest to her. She scampered up the monument….

To be continued…

Silence

When Maral had completed her training, they headed for the City of Enlightenment. As they traveled, Wisdom recounted the city’s history. Its birth had been beautiful and messy. A group of Scribes, seekers of Wisdom, formed a community to delve into the ancient books in order to discover hidden and forgotten treasures of truth. They were excited and passionate about their good purpose.

Over time the Scribes became more preoccupied with the thrill of discovery than what they were actually discovering. They found that digging out real discoveries was time consuming and laborious. Slowly, they began to lose sight of Wisdom as they looked for short-cuts. When she tried to guide them back to the path of reason, she was rejected and permanently dismissed.

Obsession was welcomed into their community to fill the void left by the absence of Wisdom. Obsession showed them how they could manufacture artificial discoveries. This was more thrilling than genuine discovery because they were the authors of this new “truth”.

The benefits seemed to be endless; they found they could create these “discoveries” in a remarkably quick and comparatively easy manner. They began by warping history and truth- which provided many more opportunities for “discoveries”.

Obsession was allowed to take control and dictate the protocol of life. He quickly led the Scribes into the bondage of silence. No matter how controlled an environment Obsession created, through debate some genuine truth could leak out. Obsession couldn’t tolerate this, as truth would shatter the illusion that their work was great and lead them once more to Wisdom.

Though they have made a huge impact upon the world with their books of doctrines, theologies, and scientific breakthroughs, the impact had been harmful rather than positive. What the world had acknowledged as truth, these former seekers have now stolen and lost.

As they approached the city Maral noticed that Wisdom appeared uncomfortable. “What’s wrong?” Maral asked.

“The silence, it screams in my ears.” Wisdom said furrowing her forehead. She called out many names but her voice rebounded as if she was in a canon. “Maral, I can go no farther. I have been walled out of this city. Will you go on?”

Maral was shocked, “Me? Without you?”

Wisdom said, “Listen for my voice; I will be with you. You can do this. But it is your choice. Will you go?”

“What am I to do?” She looked at the intimidating city before them. It was too big. She considered saying no. It felt safe to say no.

“Liberate the city.”

Maral’s mind spun with a million negative scenarios. She looked at Wisdom and drew confidence from her steady look. She didn’t trust herself, but she trusted Wisdom- and Wisdom was asking her to do this. Maral nodded, “You will be with me?”

“I will be with you.”

Awareness

That same day, a father of one of the children discovered the rapid disappearance of his children’s allowances. He went to inquire. When he saw Quinbi, he remembered the newspaper report of the desperate plight of the Eldren.

He took Quinbi to lunch and asked her about her story. Little by little she began to give details of what her people faced, until the gruesome details poured from her like a flood. In a trancelike state, she spoke of witnessing the insatiable beasts of hunger and violence. The mass killings and horrible atrocities were constant realities in her land. The haunting hunger left none free of torment.

The unclean water, gathered from contaminated tiny puddles, caused much suffering and often led to painful deaths. The young were the most vulnerable to the illnesses arising from the dirty water. Wave after wave of children’s deaths washed over Ta’ Bough.

She recounted the disturbing memories of impotently trying to comfort the inconsolable mothers who had lost all their children one at a time and memories of children who had lost both parents- but were too dehydrated to let tears fall.

When she explained about The Taker and his daughters the entire restaurant fell silent. The wait staff and cooks stepped out of the kitchens to listened in. The business of the restaurant ground to a halt. Spellbound by the reality so different from their own, the customers looked at their discarded, half-eaten meals. In the presence of this story they felt shame but, more than that, a compassion and a determination to do something.  

Everyone had read the news report of the Eldren, but everyone assumed it was the responsibility of the government to handle so great a problem. Suddenly, they each thought of something they could do. Each had a unique skill, job, or amount of influence. All had resources they could spare. Their excess could have a great purpose.

Awareness was birthed; it did move a mountain. This awareness began with one girl who asked a question and gave what she had. She was the tiny pebble that started an avalanche of good works. It was a strong, swift moment that changed the landscape of Ta’ Bough entrenched in suffering. Hope survived and spread.

Pebbles if you hear coins jingling in your pockets click here to change the world. 

The Girl

Quinbi was devastated. It had been days and still there was no help offered. The government appeared to be mired in debate. Endlessly they discussed the ramifications and procedures on how to deal with this issue. Meanwhile, lives were lost on Ta’ Bough. The newspapers had splashed her story on all the front pages, but awareness had moved nothing.

She was sitting on the steps of the government building waiting, waiting, waiting. The population of Babalonia swarmed around her, all happy, comfortable, safe. It was so different from the home she had left.

Her eyes filled with tears at the memories of her family in the happy time. She longed to get back to her island to die in the place where they had. Her failure to generate help for her people threatened to crush her. She couldn’t breathe.

“Are you ok?”

The soft voice made Quinbi jump. Through her tears she could barely see the young Dwarfish girl. “No,” Quinbi whispered. She was able to slowly take some deep breathes.

“What is wrong?” The girl asked with the innocence that is only found in children.

Quinbi looked at the girl, she was possibly 7 or 8. She was dressed in fine clothes and looked happy and well fed. Quinbi had no wish to burden this innocent one with the pain she struggled with, “I miss my home.”

“Is it far?”

And on and on they talked. The little one asking simple questions and Quinbi answering in similar simple fashion. Finally, the girl stood and handed Quinbi all the coins in her purse. There were three. “To help you get home,” she said smiling broadly.

Quinbi hugged the girl, “This will help so many people in my homeland. Thank you.” The weight of failure began to crack as she rolled the three coins in hand. 

The girl ran away happily convinced she had done something wonderful. She told her friends and soon returned with more children. They all handed over the coins in their pockets. Quinbi was overwhelmed by these children’s generosity.

She was collecting quite a horde of small denomination coins. Though Quinbi understood the reality of the massive amount it would take to meet the need, she still felt these children with their coins were making a great impact. As if they were throwing their coins at the Taker, inflicting great damage. Quinbi couldn’t wrap her mind around this illogical notion but decided to rest in this good moment.