Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…
“We should go this way.”
“It looks like many have gone this way. It’s easier, and safer,” Jovin had said about the other path.
“I think we should go this way.” He had been resolute.
You should have followed the other path. It’s your fault that Jovin died.
The possibility tormented Gen. If he hadn’t been so adamant and wilful, Jovin might still be alive. If he hadn’t arrogantly believed he knew better, that he was special and chosen, that he could save everyone…In his overweening attempt to fight for the unknown fates of the MidLanders he’d instead sealed the fate of his dear brother.
Jovin lay cold and lifeless in the grass, the wind tunnelling through the tender blades like waves washing over him. Gen couldn’t bear to take another look at him. He’d let him down. A life of pain ended in pain; the knowledge of Jovin’s suffering remaining but a sempiternal regret.
The aching in his heart - it felt like he was being torn into pieces with no way of being put together again. The difficulty breathing - he was choked up with guilt. The stinging of tears - but it couldn’t wash away the pain.
When the tears had all but dried, Gen lifted his head and stared blankly at the silver stream flowing before him. He couldn’t discern its direction, nor did he care to. What was the point? If this was hope he didn’t want it. It would have been better if they had sat at the foot of the mountain and waited for the end of all things, at least the grief would have been shared between them and oblivion would have ended their pain.
If this was hope he didn't want it. What was the point? He’d lost everything, and hope - this meagre spark that had kept him going - turned out to be but a whiff of smoke, a pretence of a fire that never was. Hope was sand slipping through fingers while the vastness of the shore mocked on; the reddening sky at dawn hiding a coming rain; the wind through the trees stirring up the leaves - here in a moment and gone the next, leaving the mere echo of rustling in its wake.
The further you wander, the more lost you’ll be. The higher you climb, the harder you’ll fall, Ma had once told him. He didn’t believe her then. With childish ambition he’d paid no heed to her warnings, only dreaming of lands and lofty mountains faraway. But now, years on, her words hit him hard and caused him irremediable pain. She was right, all of it, the great outside was a scary and painful place. How he wished he could be that little boy again, content to be in his mother’s arms while listening to her lulling voice put him to sleep.
As he knelt there, head bowed, his hands that lay limply in his lap began to clench into fists.
A spark of rage flared and rose vehemently within him. He looked up to the sky, glaring with what could be scorn.
Why didn’t heaven help them this time?
Why did heaven choose to abandon them now after helping them so much before?
Why did heaven let them come so far only to destroy hope in such a cruel way?
A passing breeze brought Gen’s attention to the map that had rolled gracefully out of his open bag on the ground beside him, the unrolled edge caught on invisible strings in the wind.
In a fit of anger Gen grabbed the map and flung it towards the river, determined to rid himself of the reminder of a quest flawed and failed.
As he watched it sail across the bank toward the water, a stirring within made him scramble to his feet and run after it. Gen then made a dive towards the river bank and caught the map just before it touched the water.
He lay there catching his breath for a few moments, map clutched in hand, arm remaining outstretched over the water. Then as if he was spent from his uncharacteristic outburst earlier, he lowered his head to the ground and buried his face in the grass.
The gushing of the river, crystalline and comforting, soothed the conflicting emotions within him. Till all that echoed in his ears and mind was the present, senses once again attuned to the weight of the moment.
Slowly he got up till he was kneeling by the bank, and turned his attention to the map firmly grasped in his hand. Unrolling the crumpled scroll, Gen realised he was looking at the back of it.
Before he flipped it over, something in the river caught his attention. Other than his reflection, stunning despite the moving current, one word on the map began to take meaning.
RIVER TIRIPS.
TIRIPS.
SPIRIT.
Gen stared into the water and suddenly an understanding began to take root in his muddled head. It was clear and piercing as dawn. The sun had risen, its light like the stroke of a mighty sword, tearing the veil of doubt, confusion and despair in his mind in two.
This quest was never about finding a river with magic waters that could somehow put the darkness out like a fire. It was living, something that would ignite a flame in their hearts, from deep within, that would immunise them from the surrounding darkness, that would keep them whole even as the darkness sought to chip away at them. It was something eternal and untouchable that would remain even as the external fades away. It was the spirit of a living being, of a higher power, a spirit that would reside, fill, and exhibit its power through a vessel.
He let go of the map and it was taken into the wind, whisking past his shoulder to somewhere far away. He didn’t care where it went because he didn’t need it anymore. It had served its purpose, bringing him here and revealing the secret of the river.
Gen looked up, and for the first time since he arrived here, took notice of his surroundings. The river bank extended endlessly in both directions as far as the eye could see, the water’s source a mystery. There were bursts of birdsong, symphonious and unhurried. The river bank was verdant, and there were trees and flowers of every kind lining the edge. Blooming forests of what must be rich diversity lay hidden behind the lush outer wall of trees.
The wind caressed his tear-stained cheeks, leaving behind a cooling, tingling sensation. He closed his eyes in reverence and breathed in deeply. The air was sweet, with faint notes of pine and tangerine. It was deeply invigorating, and the sunlight now seemed to be for him what it was for the thriving plants. He found his body instinctively reaching for it, face turned upwards, palms wide open.
“Maybe it’s not an extension of our current life. But new life.” Jovin’s words suddenly came to mind, echoing ever loud and clear.
New life. New life! Gen’s eyes shot open. He got up and ran to where his belongings lay. Taking his leather flask with him, he hurried back to the river bank.
Dipping the flask into the water, Gen filled it up to the brim. With eager and shaking hands he carried the water over to Jovin, spilling some in the grass along the way. Where the water fell, tiny wildflowers sprouted. But all this escaped Gen’s notice, the nervous palpitations of his heart and his vision, giddy with anticipation, kept him tense to the mission as he made his way to Jovin.
Kneeling next to Jovin, he steadied his heart and poured some of the water into his mouth.
Breath returned to Jovin like a drop of dew hitting a still lake. The ripple of life drew a gasp from him and his eyes flew open. The pallor of his skin visibly receded and a healthy glow swiftly coloured his cheeks.
Gen could only stare, speechless. His vision blurred with tears once again, but instead of the sour and painful twist in his throat, there was a sweet freedom in its place, like a knot had been undone and he could breathe again.
The first thing Jovin did was sit up. He then turned his right arm over and they both watched the blackened veins fade away, retreating from the tips and back into the wound, like some sort of reverse lightning. The festered wound seemed to swallow itself up like a diminishing vortex that melded the broken water, leaving no trace at all.
Awestruck, Jovin could only clasp a hand over his mouth. He turned to Gen, eyes glittering with amazement. Gen smiled, eyes red and glistening. He never thought he’d see those eyes open again, let alone so full of vitality.
Jovin hadn’t a clue about the agonising hours that had just passed, he’d simply fallen into a deep sleep and awoken to pastures new. And maybe that was for the best. He’d been spared the grief that Gen alone knew, this heart-wrenching experience that would leave a mark on his existence forever, this memory seared into his very being - to be wrapped up in the palpable void of loneliness after having to watch his brother die.
Yet the wayfarer would also never know the joy that came after such debilitating grief, nor the sweet relief that came after a pain so profound. It was an experience that belonged to our Derrian scout alone. And he took courage to bask in it though the wound in his heart had yet to heal.
Gen couldn’t wait any longer to express this joy and relief. Throwing his arms around Jovin, he embraced him fully. The last time Gen held him he had been cold and rigid to the touch, an empty shell of extinct vigour. Now, it didn’t matter that he had been dead for hours; the life of the river, of the Spirit, had made him new.
“It was the river-the Spirit of life. It saved you,” Gen said, with ecstatic tears rolling down his cheeks.
Jovin stared at the Life-giver from over Gen’s shoulder. He didn’t feel different, but he knew something had changed - like a fire had been set alight within him though he had been drenched. It wasn’t a mortal flame kindled and manipulated by the winds of circumstance. Yet what it was escaped thought or reason. He was beginning to experience what Gen had long had a foretaste of.
While Jovin tried to make sense of this second chance at life, Gen, on the other hand, began to feel a visceral distance. Though they were still locked in an embrace, an unmistakable separation had made itself known. While the journey had inextricably intertwined the cords of their lives, the world was once again tipped on its edge, evincing their polarities.
It wasn’t just the physically dead that needed new life.
Gen wanted what Jovin had - a resurrection, a rebirth. In his youth he was wasting away, and now, having had a brush with eternity, he was reminded that he too needed the infilling of heaven.
So he picked up his leather flask and received the Spirit.
It was in that instant that the mustard seed found its place under fertile soil, roots beginning to spread, far, wide, and deep. And the flame of being, once meagre, now burned ardently.
Gen stood up; there was a time for kneeling and mourning, but that time had passed. The journey continues.
Extending a hand, he helped Jovin to his feet. Then, looking upstream, he found himself drawn towards the river.
The source, though hidden from view, was calling to him.
“I want to know who…,” he began walking as if his feet were on familiar ground. But his heart was still amnesiac, longing for memory.
Jovin followed wordlessly as they entered the forest, tracing the meandering river to its source. Though this was foreign territory, he was completely relaxed. He’d been on the qui vive all his life, but here in this place he could let down his guard. The promise of safety was tacit, carried in the benign breeze sweeping through the woodland. The quiet psithurism, fading into the background, smoothed over any emotion that sought to pierce through their peace.
The comforting susurrus of the river seemed to be playing hide and seek with them, darting between pockets of the canopy.
As Gen led them down untrodden paths winding through the greenwood, Jovin couldn’t help but have a question at the tip of his tongue. He debated about breaking the comforting silence. For one, he was always content with wordlessness, and was seldom compelled to venture out of that safety, especially when it was afforded him. But his curiosity got the better of him.
“Back at the fork, how were you so sure of the way?”
Sure. He had been sure. But then he faltered, in a spin of irony when he had reached his desired destination. He began to question the way that led him here, as if it wasn’t the only way.
Still, he answered, riding on the faith and wisdom of that moment.
“You said that many had gone that way; the wider path. But none have found the river.”
It was plainly and painfully simple. But something about human nature keeps them doggedly pursuing an old, inefficacious way.
“It was right before their very eyes, completely in their reach, but they failed to see it,” Jovin said, referring to the Galvigon who have had centuries of access to the mountain.
“Perhaps it wasn’t time,” Gen offered. Time - this sacred concept that was well out of their grasp, so precious yet at the same time so mysterious.
They continued on till they reached a clearing and the soughing of the wind stopped. The river came to its beginning at a cave opening with a large, chiselled stone propped up against the wall on the right.
Gen and Jovin glanced at each other before walking in. It looked very much like a predator’s den but that was not what it felt like. There was an air of majesty in the dark and dusty cavern, like a sprinkling of gold upon raw rock.
There was nothing, no one in the cave, though they weren’t sure what or who they were expecting. But there was a sensation of sorts hanging in the still air. Like something trapped had been set free. Like something dead had come back to life. Like something defeated had risen.
When they emerged again, Gen caught sight of a figure from the back, with golden fur and a tail, sauntering into the woods.
The scene was sublime. It reminded him of a memory almost lost in time.
“I want to be the bravest like a tiger!” Five-year-old Gen said, waving the figurine about and making roaring sounds.
“Oh, but a tiger isn’t the bravest animal,” Pa said as he trudged about the room moving wood from one pile to another. He then stopped to look at Gen, smiling like he was hiding a secret.
“Then what is the bravest animal? I want to be like it!” Gen looked up at Pa, doe-eyed and brimming with curiosity.
“A lion.”
“What does a lion look like?” Gen asked, this time frowning a little in puzzlement.
“You’ll know it when you see one. He’s the King of all creation,” Pa said earnestly, blue eyes gleaming as he crouched down and placed a hand on his shoulder.
As Gen stared at the disappearing figure, he felt a wetness down his cheeks and the weight of something otherworldly upon his heart.
Author’s note: It has come to my attention that sIx moNtHs have passed since my last update. A thousand apologies for my unforgivable tardiness 🙃