Civilization

image credit: DeviantArt via pheelfresh

Civilization

They gave me one water skin and a hard roll filled with dried fruit; reckoning if I needed more I would have failed, anyway.

The mountain was not steep, at first. In the bright morning I passed a pleasant hour or two climbing the various broken trails dotted with romping sheep, chattering birds and later, stern-eyed mountain goats. The wildflowers gave the mountain side a vivid purple hue, a haze of heavenly beauty come to earth.
At midday I stopped to rest, sitting against a moss strewn outcropping of rocks overlooking my village.

Home. The patterns of life below seemed neigh undisturbed; indeed, I wondered if my absence created the slightest ripple. I sighed gently, my heart aching for the few comforts I left behind; my books, my work, little else.

Perhaps my spinsterhood, and my knowledge of herbal lore and my sympathy for the human heart had set me apart – a lonely life marked by brief periods of human companionship. A deep need filled only when I healed the body or soothed a hurting soul. And it was my gift for compassion that choose me.

“You are the one who knows the heart of man, whether it be truth or deception, love or hatred, and for this, you are chosen to comfort our grieving god.”
This is what they told me, after being summoned from my home, the village elders, priest and lawmen emerging grimly from their cloistered room in the heart of the assembly house.

For in truth, our god was grieving, his sobs echoing in thunder and rain. At night, wailing winds pounded our homes and shelters until the very animals cowered in mournful fear.

Our sacrifices, offering of the best fruits and vegetables and livestock went unheard. Our silent prayers unheeded.

It was when they selected me that the winds stopped; it was deemed a rightful choice.

Still, my heart beat heavily as I neared the top of the mountain. The steepness caused me to cling closely to the rocks; yet I climbed steadily, wrapping my head and mouth against the growing cold, my mind blank against the task set before me.

How does one console a god?

It was well known that the door to the heavens rest upon this mountain, open only when the last sun’s rays touches the peak. To enter without censor is to forfeit one’s life, and at the last moment I hesitated, my hand trembling on the cusp of the highest peak.

I closed my eyes and prayed, my heart urging me forward, aching with the remembered sorrow of our god. And with grim resolve I reached for the top edge.

A hand clasped mine, bringing me up into a swathe of light.

“Welcome”, he said. And his eyes were full of love and grief.

Overcome, I knelt. The very ground of the heavens a soft bed of sweet smelling flowers. The day was unlike my own, the sun neither a source in the sky but everywhere, around and within, so the very tips of my fingers were infused with a golden hue.

“Please”, he said, taking my arm and raising me to my feet. “Come.”

He led me to a small building wrought with colored glass, the lights dancing a slow symphony upon his face. In the center sat a a golden pyre where a maiden lay in death’s stillness.

“My beloved”, he said simply.

I bowed my head, sharing a small part of his grief. We had wondered, our people, what had befallen our lady. It was said that she was the moon to his sun, keeping them both in harmony and love, and in turn our lands free and prosperous.

I turned to him as we left through the gardens and asked softly, “Take me to the place she held most dear.”

He inhaled deeply, setting his jaw harshly against the pain. “Here”, he pointed at a carved bench, gold- inlaid and overlooking a leisurely flowing stream.

I took his hand and sat us there, upon her favorite perch, where their lives held so much happiness. Serenity filled me and I bowed my head. “Tell me.” I said.

And he began to talk, hesitantly at first, then eagerly spinning the story of their long years of companionship, their deep love for each other, her laughter and life.

In the end, he trailed off, uncertain. “It is, unusual, for one of us to die so.” He looked out over the stream, ever flowing over the smooth stones. In the center was a small rift, jagged and deep. A whirlpool of chaos surrounded it, foaming waters spraying harshly against the water’s flow.

I looked again at the stream, and saw there patterns upon the water. Lives and deeds written in the ripples and currents, unerring paths, now diverted to the jagged darkness of the rift.

I gasped.

“And so, you see”, he said softly.

~~

We dined in a large hall, made of glass and light. Fruits and delicacies I had never imagined laid temptingly on the plate. But I could not eat.

His servants, conjured of flesh and metal, glided serenely about the hall, setting brief flashes of colored light for purposes unknown. I looked at him, my gift of compassion burning hotly within me.
“My lord,” I asked coming to kneel before him, “would that I could bring her back to you. But if that is not so, may this night be a small substitute of companionship for you.”

I felt his hand on my head, and trembled. This I would give to him, and more, if he so ask.

He stroked my hair and said, “Child, it is not so – I have no wish to impose on you. What you gave me… what you have given me was enough.” He sighed and raised me to sit beside him, in a chair made of flowers and sunlight. I knew in my heart it to be hers.

“We were once like you, long ago. But I am the last here, and I do not yet wish to leave my beloved to join my own kind.”

I shuddered briefly. “If our lord were to leave us, what would happen to our people?”

He gazed at the table, his face filled with pain and sorrow. “Time does not reckon the same here as in your lands. To you, you have been here scant few hours – to your people, you have been gone neigh hundreds of years.”

I racked back a sob, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. “What, then, has happen to my people, do they still prosper?”

He looked at me, then; his eyes still filled with grief over his lover’s death. “I have not looked,” he said, simply.

~~

He walked me back to the stream and told me to kneel. He bent and touched the stream and it stilled, the currents unmoving and ragged in beauty.

“There,” he said, and pointed.

I peered closely at the frozen place; a small ripple, a vision came upon me, not unlike a bird taken flight, soaring over my village. “My home,” I said breathlessly.

“And so,” he nodded. “Watch.”

The vision changed, moving faster, like a hand upon a clock. I saw the village’s buildings grow and rise high, then fall from decay. I saw it become vast fields and then war grounds where people fought and died and fought anew. I saw another village, larger and made of metal and glass, rise up, growing above the clouds; then fall to fire and smoke and ash. And then I saw darkness and no more.

He tapped the stream with his hand, and current resumed, flowing happily.

He did not look at me as I knelt weeping, holding my arms tightly.

“I have been amiss in my duties, I know,” he said, softly.

I looked at him through scalding tears, “Is there no way to save my people?”

“I am sorry – the data has been written. If – ,” he sat on the flowered ground, holding his head in his hands, “if I were to simply reverse the timeline and undo all what has been done, the data would be corrupted and need to be deleted.” He turned to the stream, “And what you yet have – would vanish.”

I stared at him, uncomprehendingly. “My lord,” I said shakily,” my lord, what does this mean?”

He stared silently at the stream. I looked upon my lord and knew despair.

He looked at me then, grief turning to grim resolution. “There is a way.”

~~
He carried me to a room of white and laid me upon a bed of soft feathers. He bid me to close my eyes, but I refused.

What I saw in his heart, I did not like.

“My lord, what are you doing?”

He did not answer, but took a glass vial and thrust it into his arm. A thick liquid filled it and I saw it was his blood.

“My lord!”

“We were like you, once,” he murmured. “Pray, let us not have strayed too far.” and tipped it into a golden cup. “Drink.”

I looked at him, pleading – but his countenance was firm.

I drank.

My eyes welled as the burning in my mouth. It flowed outward, spreading to my limbs, hands, feet and finally my very head- aflame in agony. I screamed futilely, scratching my swollen throat. He grabbed my flailing hands gently and lowered to kiss my brow.

“Sleep,” he commanded.

~~
I woke to darkness.

My hands and feet felt heavy, cumbersome. My tongue was thick and coated and I breathed shallowly in the darkness.

“Lights”, I rasped, unthinking.

I blinked as the golden hue returned to the heavens. Outside, the stream was there, flowing murkily, a rusted brown instead of the clear white it had been before.

“Touch it.” said a voice behind me.

I turned, reaching, “My lord – “, and stopped.

“No, I am but a servant.” He bowed. He was both bull and man, with metal fittings clasped about his arms and chest. “ Your lord has gone to his people. I am to be your guide…”

I turned and looked, placing my hand upon the watered sludge; seeing still the patterns and lives not yet touched by death and darkness. Lives that fought on, despite of the darkness.

I am sorry.

I closed my eyes and said the words that came unbidden to my tongue.

New Game.”

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