by Eternal » Sat Aug 30, 2003 3:30 am
The night had reached its zenith, the long trek to dawn had begun, the long lonely hours that seem to stretch on longer than the last breath of a man. Time was of no importance to the visitor, he was on a path that began in the dark and would eventually, undoubtable finish in the dark. He had moved through the ram shackled hut with respect, touching that which constituted the hosts existence, his memories and life all collected within the one abode. He had replaced the stub of a candle what seemed merely an hour ago, not out of personal need, but for comfort to the host should he stir yet again before the dawn. Darkness and the visitor travelled hand in hand, as close as any companions may come. He had returned to the stool to watch over the host, his old life ticking away with the minutes, his breath rasping, straining for each individual minute.
What seemed an infinity of breaths, what seemed like one since the last, the host opened his eyes again.
His eyes near luminous, locked on to the eternal dark pools of molasses of the guests, "not long now."
The guest nodded, "I shall stay with you if you wish."
Once again, the host blinked for eternity, "your eyes tell me stories of times beyond even my reckoning, supplicate and old man in his final hours, pass the time with a tale."
The guest did not baulk at the request, after all, upon his own death bed perhaps the favour would be returned, allowing him to slip into the shadows quietly and in dignity.
And so the guest told his tale.
When time began, before civilisations became civilised, when the nomads of many tribes strived for meagre existence, there was only one law to abide by. Survival. Those that could wield steel did so and with extreme prejudice. Blood and death was the answer to those who sought power, and those that lived by the sword, generally expired by it. Those that could gather steel to them through show of strength existed longer than those with little backing. At the end of the day, the steel was stronger than the flesh, and those of flesh expired into dust, to be followed by others that would live by steel, and follow their predecessors into dust as well. Not everyone lived by steel, there were those that sought their enlightenment through knowledge and spiritualism. These creatures would wander the plains, the desserts and the mountains, starving themselves, subjecting themselves to the extremes in the name of knowledge. Many would wander into camps of the steel wielders, uttering madness and insanity. Many were slain by those of less superstitious nature, or driven out by those fearful of the unknown spirits of the world. Fear was a powerful force, greater even than that fear of the sword was that of the unknown.
Eventually, those who wielded the steel realised that they were second only to that which could not be explained, events that were excluded from explanation, and thus they were enlightened. Less did they wield the steel to conquer those they chose to lead, and more so they took the wandering heretics and soothsayers as allies to instil the greater fear behind the stroke of the steel. Thus deities began to breed, each more able to smit thine enemy greater than the other, each able to cast down bolts of lightning, make the thunder growl louder, hide the sun behind the moon. The words Creator and God were come popular, in a day and age where language failed in most categories, yet these words still filled the peasants with fear, awe and suspicion. In the beginning there were many, yet as the tribes grew together, pulled together under same banners, same symbols, same Gods, they became few. These few Gods were given names, sacrifices were made to appease, to encourage favour in crops, wars, children to be born. And yet, no proof existed for any of these deities that ruled tribes, stole their crops, cattle and family under the same ideology, Power.
One great tribe, that stretched over lands that could not be covered by the suns touch all at once was caught in a crux. There was belief of two gods within the culture, one believed in a Bull, depicted as gold in colour with steel clad hoofs, and flames from its nose, and the other, a great Dragon, pious and forgiving. The leaders of this clan strongly believed in the Bull, sacrificing and worshiped in hope of its favour. All wondrous creations and achievements and accomplishments were attributed to the deity, all sacrificing, taxes and strong-arm movements were as this deity demanded. Yet in truth, none could prove the existence of this favoured God. The few that followed the Dragon were reviled, yet looked down upon as inferior, weaker and unfavourable companions. There was no proof of the existence of the Dragon God, and therefor, inferior to their own belief.
The visitor took a moment to replace the candle that had burned down to a dribbled stub, the host awake only proven by the glimmer of the candle light upon his half lidded eyes. The visitor took up his tale once more.
One day, a nomad and his family rode into town, the female nomad heavy with child and the donkey heavy with passenger. They took up residence on the outskirts of the town where the male nomad plied his trade as a potter, making durable and practical earthenware's, that provided enough coin for them to survive. The female gave birth to healthy boy, no complications during the birth, and over the years generally no complications raising him. The child grew to be a considerate and thoughtful child, and was trained in his father's trade. Like all growing children, this one was ambitious from an early age, learning what he could from other children, customers and friends of his parents alike. He took to sitting near the wise men, the soothsayers and the heretics as they plied their knowledge onto others. Sitting with these men he learned of the existence of greater beings other than man, the pleasures bestowed upon those who believe, and the woes that may befall those who disbelieve. He listened with intrigue, forming his own opinions and beliefs, and formulated a strategy to best further his interests and his life. He realised, that though tales were numerous of the deities, there was no actual physical proof of their existence or no-existence, and if proof were offered there would be no argument for its authenticity. Also, if challenged, then the belief the challenge could possibly be directly against the God would deter many. Thus the charade began.
From the early age of five, the boy pretended to be a messenger directly from the Dragon god. Reciting stories he had heard, creating favourable tales that portrayed the Dragon god as a favourable, he developed a following of people willing to listen, willing to see hope where no hope existed. It wasn't just children he encouraged to embrace the Dragon god, but through his sincerity and articulation he was able to ensnare the hopeful, the downtrodden, the weak and the tormented. Like a rolling stone tumbling down a mountain, more followed until more than a rabble of miscreants, the Dragon god was nearly as recognised as the mighty Bull.
The visitor looked outside, seeing the blood red rays of the sun searching over the tops of the hill that surrounded the dilapidated hut village, the dawn was upon them. He looked down upon the host, the old mans face more ashen than the ash within the disused fireplace, his breathes short and shallow.
"Go on," he breathed "time is short", he added encouraging the visitor to finish before he expired.
The visitor sighed deeply, and resumed.
As with many tales, the tale is about power and fear, and over the many years the child grew to be a man and the leader of this great tribe began to fear this man with charisma and a small army within his own people. His Bull god had shown nothing in the way of signs to put down this uprising, and fearing losing control of his loyal, yet swaying followers, decided that he would speak where his Bull god would not. He bribed one of the Dragon prophets' followers to betray his location and incarcerated him. Such a simple solution to such a large problem. Yet the stones were already tumbling down the mountain, and to remove the one that started it would not stop the avalanche had been unleashed. Still fearing the mans power over his followers, even bound in chains, he had the man executed.
"Do you believe the Bull god manoeuvred the leader to execute his rival, or do you believe it was the man's own fear of his own mortality and leadership that swayed his hand?" the host whispered quizzically.
The visitor stopped his tale and looked down, "before all, man is mortal and follows his own trembling heart", he answered.
"So who sways your heart old one", the host asked, "the Bull god or the Dragon?"
"Neither father, for I have no fear of my mortality," the visitor answered look back down from the sunrise to the host," and who is it that you seeks on the hour the shadow of death covers your soul?" he retorted.
Yet there was no response, and nor would there be ever, for the host had started his travels within what ever realm he chose to start rocks rolling.
The visitor pulled the rags that constituted curtains across the window, casting darkness across the room once again. He extinguished the candle and moments later all that remained in the room were two cold motionless forms.
Time...
Time is too slow for those who wait
...too swift for those who fear
...too long for those who grieve
...too short for those who rejoice
...but for those that love
time is eternity