The City

------------------------------------------------------The City-------------------------------------------------------

Streaks of white light began to dance upon the night sky. He hurried his steps and pushed up the mountainside. The city quivered behind him, a thousand tiny candles in the wind and a dieing notion. He turned for a moment and could almost make out where the city stopped and the empty air began, but quickly turned back. It pained him to look.

From the great abyss that encircled the city came another roar as a torrent of empty wind crashed upon the buildings. It rolled up the mountain slope till it shook the very leaves of the Tree itself. In its wake, all sound fled. The world was silent. The only sound was the soft rhythm of his thudding steps.

The sky continued to shimmer, casting down it’s pale light. He looked up the hill but found his view still obscured by the frail canopy of trees. The night was cold, yet it was not the cold he had once known. It was the cold of the city, where water never froze and grass never grew. The city. He wanted to laugh but instead shivered.

Another blast of wind from the abyss flew at his back, this time cracking branches and stripping leaves from trees. And then again, the silence followed. Stopping for a moment, he came to rest upon the cool rock. Unconsciously, he reached for the pendant that hung from his neck. His white knuckles wrapped hard around it. Moving towards a small patch of rock, he removed an odd stone and lifted out a small bundle. He carefully tucked it into his belt. There was a flash of light from another tear in the sky. He moved on.

There was a time when the people of the city had revered the Tree. The Great Mother, they had called it. The Great Mother that gave life, sustained life and saw it fade away. Once the Tree had grown strong atop the mountain, its great branches visible even from the farthest reaches. Grass had flourished around its base, along with all manner of plant and flower. But that was long ago. Now the mountain was little more than rock and stone. And whether the people forgot the Tree and let it fade or whether the people forgot the Tree because it faded, none could say. Regardless, it had happened. Now the Tree sat alone atop the cold mountain, forgotten but held prisoner by the encircling city.

He stopped again by another patch of rock. He lifted another small slab of rock and removed a second bundle. Another gust of wind rocked the trees. His bony fingers began to carefully unwrap both packages, pulling apart the old string and unraveling the paper. From the first he pulled a small hilt and from the second, a blade of a dagger. He locked the blade into the hilt and pressed it several times against the ground to make sure it was secure. Tucking the dagger into his belt, he set off towards the Tree. He could no longer stop himself from shivering.

And at the base of the Tree, sat the stranger. As always, he was perched upon one of the Tree’s roots, surrounded by the brittle forest. He watched silently as the luminescence played across the dark sky and the abyss howled. He watched as the lights of the city began to wink out and as the wind stripped the leaves from the forest.

He watched as the first man clambered into view.

“Stranger,” called the man, “this is your doing. I know it in my heart.”

There were a few moments of silence in which the stranger did not move. His face, shadowed by a dark hood, gave no hint that he had heard. The other man continued to glare with fiery eyes. Finally, the stranger broke the silence:

“You bring an instrument of death. Do you intend to use it?” His voice was hollow but clear.

“I will…” He stuttered. “I will do what must be done.”

The stranger glanced again into the dark of the abyss. He spoke slowly with an air of weariness that matched his tattered robes. “There is nothing that can be done. The Tree is dieing.”

The man removed the dagger from his belt. “I am not afraid to bring you death.”

The stranger exhaled deeply and gazed past the man. “Long ago your people denounced weapons and I had hope. You destroyed all that you believed would do harm. But the efforts fell short. No matter how hard you tried, you could not denounce the twin swords of Hate and Greed. They are buried too far within your heart to be discarded.” Another tear crossed the sky, pouring down more stale light. “You have given the Tree mortality,” continued the stranger, “Its roots have leached the cold from your hearts and now the Tree returns the gift to you.” He paused. “Do you think my death shall change anything?”

The man slowly began to move at the stranger, his steps unsure. “Tell me what can be done, or I shall have little choice-” But he stopped in mid-stride. The dagger had disappeared from his hand. It now rested in the grasp of the stranger.

“You have hidden away your weapons but you have not forgotten them. Look-” He took the blade and began to slice away the bark of the Tree. Beneath it lay black wood, brittle and burnt. “It is an ancient dagger that rests within the Tree’s heart. It is too late to heal the wound.”

“Can nothing be done?”

“The Tree will die. There is little that can be done to slow it. Yet for you, there is still hope.” The man took a step back as a pair of wings began to grow from the back of the stranger. They shimmered with an ethereal light, much the same as the light that poured from the sky. The stranger began to float in the air; then with a sudden burst, he soared to the highest reaches of the Tree. There, out of sight of the other man, he picked a single red apple that hung from the Tree. He returned again to the ground.

“When the Tree dies, much shall change. The world shall become a different place. Yet not all will be lost. A new world shall be born from the ashes.” He handed him the crimson apple. “And not all shall be forgotten. Take this to your wife. Split it between the two of you. It is the last remembrance of the Tree.” The stranger sighed, as another blast from the abyss shook the forest. “Now go Adam; you and your wife shall be safe.”

Adam looked up at the stranger. He didn’t want to leave; he wanted to stay, to protest, to say anything, but instead, found himself walking away down the desolate mountain slope. The stranger sighed a second time as Adam passed out of sight. Once again, he perched himself at the foot of the great tree. How tired he had become.

No morning came to end that night. The wind from the abyss grew more steady, till it was nothing short of a torrent. A symphony of light shattered the sky and poured down upon the land. The rocks began to crumble and the world began to fall. And as the last breath of life drained from the Tree, the stranger was gone.