Oh, how the shadows of the rolling crests cast a mighty light on miracles.
The ascent was slow, and the wind howled unceasingly in their ears as they pushed against it and against gravity. Their boots still scraped damp, brown earth, but as the path led on they sunk into the piling snow and each step forward took greater effort. It wasn’t just the thick white layer that slowed them, it was the emanating cold that pierced deep into their bones and chilled their veins. Fluid motion was difficult, each movement seemed only to follow a mechanical and pointed arc. A numbing sensation like nothing they’ve experienced before began to seize the tips of their noses and ears.
Gen struggled to retrieve the map from inside his coat. His knuckles were stiff and they stung with even the slightest movement. All the while the swelling wind threatened to whisk away the thin sheet of paper. Gingerly, though not entirely by choice (he’d seemed to have lost some control over his limbs), he pulled the map out, gripping it tight as if his life depended on it. And in many ways, his life did depend on it. The map flapped violently against Gen’s chest before he caught it and held it open with his other hand. They’d just passed the first waymark - a rotting plank stuck into a mound of snow on the left side of the path.
It wasn’t easy to see the road ahead. Their lashes had caught the billowing snow like flies to a spiderweb while the fitful squalls caused such dryness to their eyes that they had to keep blinking in a bid to moisten them. Though an expert in the geography of the land with his years of experience, Malaban’s extreme weather and altitudinal differences proved a challenge for Jovin. Nothing he’d lived through could prepare him for this. Senses impaired by the frost and thick clothing; the barrenness of the landscape void of cues.
“Let’s take a rest, Gen,” Jovin advised, when he noticed Gen’s faltering gait. Stopping and grabbing onto the wall beside them to catch but just a breath, Gen waved him off with a shaking hand. He looked ahead - a sharp turn in a few feet and crests upon crests stretching into the distance, whirls of white sailing across their path with each blast of wintery air crashing against the rock. He then began to cough, a drought in his painfully constricted throat from swallowing too much cold air. As he heaved, his vision blurred a little and he swayed on his feet till he felt his face collide with the craggy surface of the rock wall.
Then, a comforting hand landed on his shoulder and he was led to sit down where he was. Gen felt the canteen being placed in his hands and he lifted it to his chapped lips to take a sip. The water was cold, but his throat was colder, so it provided some relief.
“My friend, we need to rest when it’s due. Only then can we go the distance. Resting is not giving up nor is it a sign of weakness, it’s a necessary part of endurance.”
Though the wind was roaring in his ears, the message was never clearer. As he opened his eyes once again, he saw Jovin looking at him in a way that reminded him of how he would look at Leia after giving her some big brother talk. He didn’t think of it often, but Jovin was in many ways like an older brother. He chuckled lightly and delivered the appeasing nod; he did mean it.
There was nowhere on the ledge to hide away from the full frontal attacks of snow. So they sat huddled against the wall and tried to minimise their posture as much as possible to conserve heat. The long and thick scarves Fredin gave came in handy and they wrapped them like hoods around their heads and faces.
Each breath of slightly warmer air leaving their mouths produced a cloud of white. Sometimes they channeled it to their icy palms and fingertips in a weak attempt to warm them. Other times they watched it rise to the sky and disappear into nothing. It was fascinating. It reminded Gen to hope in things usually unseen. Never before had he seen the breaths that sustained him so visibly. Yet there was no doubt that they were ever present. Seeing was a bonus, not a necessity to keep believing.
The sun was shining ever brightly, but its rays did little to warm them. Still, when the golden arms of heaven caressed the snowy landscape, it glistened, beautifully. And beyond the rolling ridges, the boys glimpsed what looked to be the other side of the whiteness, the horizon from which the sun rose every morning.
After an indeterminable amount of time, Gen and Jovin got up to continue on their journey. Hours melted into days. There were times when a blizzard came strong and hard. Those times they clung to the rock, afraid to take another step forward. The path ahead would disappear into whiteness, like a sheet separating them from the other side - which could be a hundred feet plunge into the chasm below them.
When the storm cleared, they began moving, ploughing their way through deep snow. When night fell for the fifth time, or was it seven - they’d lost count - they sought shelter in a shallow cave-like opening in the wall. With measly pieces of dry wood they made a small fire.
But rest was incomplete. Like the faltering and glowing fire they slept restlessly, alert and afraid for a sudden snow storm that could trap them in. There was no telling when the snowfall could turn heavy, or if the temperature would fall drastically in the cover of night. The darkness wasn’t far behind either; the devourer a slippery serpent slithering through the valleys and bends of the MidLands and springing upon its unsuspecting prey. Slipping, slipping, the light of life, strong jaws of the evil one closing, closing.
Gen stared with empty eyes at the waning flames dancing about the shrivelled wood. The embers that escaped were extinguished swiftly by the wafts of winter air. Gen was usually the chatty one of the two, yet now he was quiet. It was cold, very cold, cold beyond description. And in the shivering a sinking feeling took root in Gen’s heart. The bleakness of the snowscape beyond their shelter was creeping upon him slowly but surely like a shadow that grew with the downward arc of the noonday sun. The deafening nothingness could easily drive one to madness and in no way was Gen prepared for this. Searching eyes meeting a blank canvas, rolling with no end with the rising tide of snowfall. There was no colour, no distinctions, and at times it was impossible to discern where the sky began and the earth ended.
It was in those dismal moments that the comfort of a home rang ever empty and loud. Gen missed home. Where there was warmth and colour and the space to be vulnerable and weak because of the safety of cover. If only he hadn’t left home all those years ago… A few frozen tears glossed his eyelids.
Weakness, helplessness, hopelessness, nowhere to go but forward, no home to go back to. Gen was terrified, as he found himself to be often since he’d been driven from home and thrust into the world pillaged by netherworldly forces. The mountain range went ever on and on, as far as the eye could see, and he doubted if they could last the long winter days and nights. There was no guarantee that they could emerge on the other side of the range alive, let alone ascend the holy mountain. Help was nowhere to be seen, the skies cloudy and void of the strong wings of their recent saviour.
There was little hope on the horizon. Oh the horizon - its depth of meaning finally setting in on his vision. From a constant faraway hope from which all motivation stemmed, it now seemed like an unreachable one, a mere delusion that doused the fire of tenacity.
Jovin was sitting furthest from the entrance of the cave, hugging his knees to his chest. He was silent and still as usual, meditating and tuning his senses to the new environment.
“Do you still miss your family?” Gen heard himself ask through chattering teeth, though he wasn’t sure if Jovin heard. In that moment, he was a child intimidated by circumstance and seeking guidance amid his chaotic emotions. He wasn’t sure if he was entitled to feeling such despair, and a sense of guilt seemed to have trickled over at having failed the title of being the ‘Chosen One’, the one to carry this quest till the end, the one who had to be unbreakable.
“Always. I have never gone a day without thinking of them,” came Jovin’s earnest reply. Here was another child, having held the fort for no one but himself for 19 years. A child, who was also the knight, cushioned within his castle of solitude while riding into battle when the shadows fell. The call came early, when he was merely seven, but he rose to the occasion nonetheless. Still, he longed for protection from another - that he could relinquish those reins and drift off in security for but just a sacred moment. He wasn’t afraid to admit it. Instead, he found himself having no one to confess this to, until now, when the sound of yearning had almost faded to silence. His confession brought courage, not only to himself, but to Gen as well.
“Did you ever...cry?”
“I still do. On nights when the light of the stars falter behind grey clouds, I remember vividly that night when the wolves came. I get scared. I weep.”
Here Gen was, believing it was a sin to crumble and show weakness. The romantic expectations were piled upon not by the world but himself. Even the hardest of exteriors hide a child in want, and there was nothing wrong with that. Chosen One or not, humanity bound all together one and the same. It is in humanity’s weakness that a Saviour is looked upon. Yet sometimes the journey sharpens and strengthens even before the glimpse of eternal hope. Friends - family - that hang on and share in this tapestry of life is what makes it worthwhile. The crossing of paths and the entangling of purposes - it could prove complicated, yes, but each loop and knot builds upon the sparks and frays that individual threads bring. And altogether a masterpiece - a speckle in time in full bloom.
Gen let the tears dangling precariously go free. Like little gems they tumbled down his cheek. The tiny cuts and abrasions on his face would have stung if not for the numbing cold. And just like that, a sense of relief washed over him, as the soothing waves lapse onto the golden shore just before day’s end, delivering warmth from the melting sun on the horizon. He’d only heard stories of the Southern shores, but this is how he imagined it to be.
Jovin wasn’t one to offer salient consolation but his empathetic presence was more than enough for Gen.
Now here on the road less travelled, the boys pushed ahead. Out into the open, tapping their staffs on the road before them to get a sense of the rock’s stability. Fredin had warned them of certain parts where the ground could give way under the weight of snow. He had stopped short of sharing how many of his people had perished in such mishaps. Gen willed himself not to speculate. The thought that they could be treading on the heights of a graveyard beneath and below caused his stomach to churn uneasily.
The journey went on tap and step until the end of Jovin’s staff went deeper into the snow than usual. He froze then drew away slowly. The ground shook just a little as they inched clear of the precarious section, backing away more than a few steps for they did not know how far the crack was growing beneath the snow.
While they were still moving, the path before them suddenly crumbled with a mighty rumble. They held their breaths as the cloud of snow and smoke cleared. When a steep and crumbling edge greeted them, they almost fell backwards in shock. They were less than a foot away from the gap and there were still chunks of rock dislodging and falling into the gaping chasm below.
All that was left of the path was a narrow strip, its width just short of the length of their feet, still attached to the rock wall. That was the only way forward.
Gen and Jovin decided to let the fissured rock rest for a few hours before even attempting to cross it. In that time they observed and made sure all had settled completely. But alas, there was still no guarantee that their weight and movement wouldn’t trigger another collapse. A necessary gamble had to be taken, for turning back now was out of the question.
Jovin took the initiative. Gen pulled him back in fear.
With a steely resolve and a firm grip to the wrist to ease his friend’s worry, Jovin went ahead and inched towards the precipice. Deep down Gen knew Jovin wasn’t going first because he was braver. In many ways he was, but this wasn’t triumphing boldness and fearless confidence. Not this time. It was selflessness - that he would rather be the one to perish first if that meant Gen could be given a second chance to carry the quest to completion.
Back against the cliff wall, Jovin shuffled steadily to the edge. Putting one foot on the dangerously small ledge, he held his breath and shifted his weight gingerly. Small chunks of debris fell off the side as he secured his footing and Gen watched in trepidation. Finally, his other foot left the safety of the path.
It wasn’t an extremely long way to the other side; still, it was nine feet too many.
Jovin kept his head up and his body flat against the wall as he inched towards the opposite edge. When the rock beneath his feet produced odd sounds, he closed his eyes, pursed his lips, and continued unfaltering.
When he was half-way across, Gen began to move onto the ledge, but he was not prepared for the test of balance. Immediately, seeing the tips of his boots hanging over edge, his knees became weak and a sick feeling rose in his gut. All these coupled with the sheer height made it seem like falling forward was inevitable.
At the point when his world began to tip on its edge, he felt a hand across his chest, pressing him back against the wall. Jovin had backtracked to get to him.
“Don’t look down,” he said. That was probably the first rule of climbing at great heights.
Gen closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before beginning to slide his foot a step to the left. He resolved to keep his sight on the cold, bright sky and focus on keeping his knees straight. While the latter used to be effortless given the piercing cold to the bones that kept them stiff as a board, the unnerving call of the void below was somehow the greater. His skin prickled with every tremor he felt rise from the ground through his boots.
Finally, after an agonizingly tense period of time (that was in reality not that long), they reached the other side. They continued shuffling for an extra few feet, palms against the wall, still not daring to look down, just for good measure. When they were almost certain the worst was behind them, they let their knees buckle and succumb to gravity.
“That was close. I never want to do that again,” Gen breathed, propping himself up on his elbows and looking back at the obstacle they’d just barely overcome. (One with foresight and the privilege of hindsight in that moment would wince, fully aware that our young quester had spoken too soon).
They must have been a little more than halfway across the range when the wind began to pick up and they encountered greater resistance with every step they took. The sky darkened as if a veil was suddenly cut loose and dropped over the earth and a low rumble shook the ground with each roll of thunder.
“That doesn’t look good, we better find shelter,” Gen said worriedly, picking up the pace and probing the rock wall for any signs of an opening.
Bright flashes streaked across the caliginous sky, and to their horror, a few struck the aiguilles in the distance, pulverising those pinnacles to dust. Like lassos, the bolts of lightning continued striking the earth accompanied by whips of thunder, and they were headed steadily for the boys.
The mountain range trembled at the epic clash of the elements. It was a raging war between earth and sky, and Gen and Jovin found themselves right in the middle of the battlefield.
Back in Meadori, Fredin watched the storm clouds march into formation above the range while playing in the field with Mighty. Gripped with emotion, he said a small prayer for his travelling friends and looked to the ground, prepared to grieve their loss when summer came.
A ground-splitting bolt came next, the greatest one yet. It hit the rock that Gen and Jovin were standing on and caused a deep fracture that ran all the way to the edge.
Gen lost his balance when the ground beneath his right foot caved in, sending pieces of rock and snow, and him over the edge. Just moments before he plummeted beyond rescue into the ravenous jaws of the gorge, Jovin caught his flailing arm. Giddy with the rush of adrenaline and fright, his heart pounded wildly against his ribcage and the tips of his fingers and toes felt all tingly. There he hung and watched the world fall apart around him.
Jovin, lying flat on his stomach precariously close to the crumbling edge, couldn’t care less about the stability of the rock as he grappled with gravity trying to pull his friend up. Gen struggled to keep the weight of his rucksack from dragging him down further. His coat, slippery with snow, and his dangling posture caused the bag to dance unsteadily on one shoulder and bicep. Finally, he watched helplessly as it slipped off his shoulder and disappeared into the fog after he failed to catch it on its way down. The loss of weight made it significantly easier on Jovin and with some clawing on Gen’s part, he was pulled to safety.
Jovin, panting and out of breath, asked if he was okay. But Gen found his voice, thrown to the wind in the harrowing moments before, empty and his jaw stiff and painfully locked. Lightning continued streaking down from the sky all throughout the range, but it never hit anywhere near them again.
“The food...it’s all gone…” Gen said when Jovin helped him up. The majority of their staples and supplies were in his rucksack that plunged off the crag. He almost wept bitterly at the odds of losing what held the biggest piece of their hope - it was mockery. The cruelty of having to create new hope from what little was left was almost greater than if he had just plunged altogether with it. Gen’s canvas bag containing his personal belongings and navigation was thankfully still intact because he’d worn his coat over it. But that offered little consolation.
“I have a few slices of bread left,” Jovin replied, gesturing to his rucksack. But they were well aware that a few slices were hardly enough. Whatever food they had since the beginning of the climb was already spread thin in a bid to last them longer, and a meal a day was all they had survived on for the past week or two. Moving about on an empty stomach for much of the time only exacerbated the cold and caused their energy levels to fall drastically. This in turn prolonged the whole journey.
To say they were underprepared was an understatement. Time had lost its meaning altogether; there was no way of knowing how far behind the darkness was and what had happened to their friends. The mountain range was a realm of its own, its mysteries (and wonders) nonpareil.
Still, they kept going. Till physical weakness caught up with them and their limbs became leaden. They then found shelter in another hollow where they lay unmoving on ice and rock for some time.
The only thing they could do to conserve energy was not move. Even so, the temperature took a toll on their bodies and drained whatever it could. The elephant in the room was the quandary - they couldn’t last a day longer if they didn’t eat; yet if they ate now, there wouldn’t be enough food to last the days ahead. It seemed it would all end the same, only sooner or later.
“We gotta eat…if we don’t, we won’t even stand a chance. I’d rather have gone the furthest I could and go knowing I’ve reached the limit.”
Jovin agreed, and pulled out the last two slices of bread from his rucksack. He handed one to Gen, “This is it.”
Gen cradled the last of their sustenance in his cloth-wrapped hands, stomach groaning in want. Nothing could be more precious in that moment than to slowly savour the sweet reward of having come so far and lasted so long. This was where their security of having enough - leftovers for later, ended. If truly they’d reached the end of their means, then it was time to let go and face the dwindling hours.
Closing his eyes, he found himself being grateful. The bitterness towards their earlier misfortune had gone on away. He was grateful that he had not perished along with his rucksack and that his life had been held and preserved till this very moment. He was grateful for even this last slice of bread.
Jovin was no stranger to hunger. But that was back in the land of golden sun where one was bound to eventually find seeds, edible plants and wild animals hiding in shrubs and burrows. Still, he’d never had the privilege of enjoying fragrant bread (or baked-anything really) so this - this dry and porous final meal was a touch of bliss, a sweet finishing note to his life should it all end right after.
With that, they ate. And ate. And ate. Until they were satisfyingly full.
“I feel as if I’ve had seven slices of bread,” Gen exclaimed, colour returning to his once pallid cheeks.
“I feel as if I’ve had eight,” Jovin chimed in, “...It’s magic.”
“No…, it’s a miracle.”
Miracle. How unexpected that the first mention of this word in the whole journey, would be in such an unlikely environment and after a series of misfortunes. Unearthed from deep snow, sparkling white as it rises, this miracle wouldn’t be their last.
They smiled and they laughed, full not just from the miracle bread but of genuine joy and hope. While their faces were once red and raw from the biting cold, they were now flushed and rosy with life.
When they emerged from the hollow the following morning and checked their whereabouts against Fredin’s map, they were surprised to find they had cleared nineteen of the twenty-two waymarks.
“I thought we were only halfway through,” Jovin remarked, looking towards the graciously clear, cloudless sky. The sun was shining brilliantly in the East and as they moved respective to the mountain walls, flares peeked out from around the corners. The gloomy terrain had met the promise of spring and there was a gentle warmth upon their cheeks. The hail was no more, and so were the severe winds. Were things finally looking up for them from here on?
The route on the Eastern end of the range was incomplete on Fredin’s map. That part seemed to have been patched over and over but still the surface had been abraded beyond repair. Gen retrieved his compass from his bag when they reached a crossroad, only to find that it had completely frozen over. He shook it and tried to warm it with his hands but the needle was encased by a layer of ice crystals. The sun was now sitting behind a jagged cliff and offered the boys little navigational help.
Then as if by divine intervention (it certainly was, in hindsight), puffs of cloud began to gather at a singular spot in the vibrant sky, forming something like a pillar. Gen looked to Jovin to confirm that he was also witnessing the empyrean phenomenon.
This time, there was no need for a screeching reminder from an eagle to follow. They naturally did. And the pillar of cloud by day became a constant as they traversed the last parts of Malaban.
At the same time, the nights became especially dark and the stars reduced to a few. But a beacon of fire, glowing and blazing yet never smoking, would always appear in the distance, guiding them through the range.
A few more days passed and they were almost at the end. The pillar of cloud had stopped moving, hovering in place over what must be the exit. As they got closer and rounded a bend, they were dismayed to find that part of the mountain wall had collapsed onto the path, forming a giant obstruction that was impossible for them to move. To make matters worse, there was no alternative path forward.
“No, no, no...we’re so close! I can already see where this all ends!” Gen cried out in frustration, kicking a small pebble off the cliffside and sitting down on a protrusion of rock in defeat. Holding his head in his hands and running his fingers through his hair less than gently, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of hopelessness wash over him, again. Jovin was also trying very hard to mask his disappointment. He stood brooding at the far end of the ridge, a fist punched into the cliff wall. The highs experienced from the multiplication of food and the appearance of their celestial guides had subsided all too abruptly.
“One more miracle, just one more...please,” Gen muttered under his breath in desperation, to no one in particular.
At wit’s end. No movement in their surroundings. The pillar of cloud was still as ever; even the subtle breeze had ceased.
Getting increasingly desperate, Gen reasoned that he had nothing to lose. If nothing was going to move, then he was going to have to. Turning his head to face the huge pile of rock blocking their only way forward, he got up and walked towards it.
It all seemed crazy in his head but it was the only thing he thought of to do. He wasn’t entirely certain, no, in fact his resolve flickered between his steps, dwindling and rising. But even as it dwindled, there was a certain baseline that remained untouched, beneath all the doubt and questioning - a faith that however miniscule, would prove greater than one could imagine.
“Move.”
He only said it once. And once was all the mountain needed to obey.
Gen was as surprised as Jovin was when the obstacle moved on command, shaking the ledge with a powerful roar. It cleared the path completely and instantly, and they could now see all the way to the very end of the range, right where the pillar of cloud was waiting for them.
“What did you do?” Jovin asked, astounded and awed.
“I..told it...to move…,” Gen stuttered, still dumbfounded. It wasn’t as much disbelief as it was wonder; the reality of what a single word, uttered by faith, had set in motion sinking in.
Suddenly realising that his left fist was clenched, he brought it before his face and opened it. In his palm lay a mustard seed.
He looked around on instinct. Plants rarely ever grow on the slopes of Malaban due to its harsh climate. There was no green anywhere, not even blades peeking out from beneath the snowpack, let alone yellow mustard flowers.
He slipped the seed into his coat pocket, half expecting it to be lost somewhere along the way because it was so small. However, something about its very appearance in the palm of his hand in a land this barren and cold changed his mind.
Jovin was way ahead of him, already on the move towards Malaban’s end. Whether he was anxious to leave this perilous place or was riding on the waves of inspiration, Gen was certain that something had shifted in their spirit after these miraculous encounters.
As they left the miracle mountains behind and stood right at the edge of the range, the boys breathed deep, looked back one last time at the snow-covered paths, and took their first step into the East Lands.
Author's note: Thus concludes the first half of TRT! We've finally crossed over to the East Lands. This is my longest chapter yet and though I'm 2 weeks past my personal deadline (huehuehue), I had a rush of (divine) inspiration as I finished it and I would say I'm q satisfied!
Did I live up to my promise and deliver an ePIC chapter?
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