Tale of the Week 276: The Path Within - VOTE THREAD
The Path Within
A section of the forest path of Carmen Sylva (Šetalište Carmen Sylve) also known as 'King Carol's Forest Trail' by Cwardell, (source). CC BY-SA 4.0
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Submission 1
Silvius, deciding that the hubbub of the camp was too much for him, stabled his horse and headed on foot for the woods. He was contemplating the fighting that had taken place recently, the push into Aquitanian lands in the south west by that fool of a commander Crassus would be the death of the army surely. That pompous prick is no general, dam patricius always meddling in real mens affairs. Nothing but contempt did Silvius hold for his commander, forgetting his own background.
Some time had passed, the echoes of the camp long forgotten, Silvius came upon an old wooden bench, battered with time, much like my face he jokingly mused to himself. He realized that a figure was behind him, who was dressed in a heavy cloak and hooded. Silvius spun around, hand on sword, and ordered the man to identify himself.
‘Hail Silvius! Steady yourself, your weapon can do me no harm! The man said in perfect latin.’
Silvius acknowledging that no man in this part of the world with a clear latin accent could be an enemy, relaxed. ‘I don’t recognize you, you must be one of the scouts? Only they would wear such a cloak on a clear day!’
‘If that is what you think. I’ve come to talk with you; we have some important matters to discuss.’
‘Can it not wait?’ Surely the commander could leave him alone for a single hour and here was this dratted scout come to hound him.
‘I’m afraid not Silvius. Come have a seat.’
The man sat down on the old bench, at once seeming to blend into it and yet not quite appearing to be ‘there’ at all. Silvius shook his head, the forest air must be getting to him. ‘So what do you want?’
‘Silvius, the expectation of the commander of an Alae is to be loyal to the general, and win battles in his honour and for the glory of Roma is this not so?’
‘It is what we all strive for.’ Annoyed at the mans tone, Silvius decided to humour him, as clearly rumours must be flying if a scout is commenting on his command.
‘Then why did you order your men away from the enemy cavalry and instead off to the fields to the right of the battle?’
‘because… because the cavalry was no true threat and I meant to threaten the enemys left flank if I found an opening’
‘which you did not find any opening for all four hours of the battle….’
‘that is not my fault!’
‘it is when you was ordered to engage the enemy cavalry and fail to do so, instead strengthening his resolve and allowing him to destroy half a cohort!’
At this point Silvius had enough, who was this fool thinking he was talking to? Some dam pleb?
With nothing but contempt he said ‘who the hell are you to question me?’
‘Your Death!’
and with that the ‘scout’ plunged a dagger deep into his chest.
Submission 2
Alexander’s Cure
His blood scalded his veins like burning oil, yet it felt like he was back in the freezing peaks of the Paropamisadae. His mind raced through excruciating memories. He saw disappointment in his father’s frowning eye; rage in Roxana’s wild stare and a deep, unbelievable contempt in Cleitus’ gaze as it became empty. Alexander tried to reach for memories of love, glory and contentment, but they were buried by death, frustration and failed expectations. Were the reminiscences of better days even true?
He clung to the soaked silk sheets. This couldn’t be his deathbed! There was still so much to strive for. If the stone walls didn’t surround him, he’d be able to contemplate the promise of the horizon. All around, there were rivers, seas and mountains. And beyond them, unseen worlds to be conquered.
The room and the bed became a distant reality. Perhaps an illusion… The only thing that seemed real was the physician that ran towards him, telling him that the only cure for his fever was to get his body colder.
Alexander grabbed the man, shouting that he should be taken to the sea and sent to its bottom, where freezing waters could refresh his boiling blood.
Servants and soldiers carried him to a ship in the Euphrates. The Mesopotamian landscape around him seemed to melt with his fever. He wondered if the river he was sailing in wasn’t the Styx itself. When they were out at sea, a strange contraption was hoisted to the vessel’s deck. It was made of glass with a metal skeleton to strengthen the structure. There were also lamps bound to it so that he could see in the depths.
Alexander was placed in its bowels and lowered to the waves with ropes. As he descended to the bottom of the sea, he found himself surrounded by fish. The bigger and stronger ate the smaller and weaker. And, Like above, no matter how deep or how far he went, that was the law.
Were the new worlds beyond the horizon really that different from what he knew?
He wasn’t getting colder and signaled his men to lift him back to the ship.
The freezing depths couldn’t help him, so he decided to try the cold winds in the sky. Two griffons were captured and tamed for the purpose. Riding a chariot bound to the creatures, Alexander was raised into the air.
There were no clouds and he could see the whole world from the heavens. He recognized what he knew and ruled, and tried to make out the lands he’d never seen. As the winds failed to relieve him and he felt his life being taken from him, he realized in horror that the continents formed the shape of a man, his own shape.
All the pain he suffered and inflicted had been for nothing. Alexander had been running in circles, searching but never finding all that he could ever hope to conquer but never did – himself.
Submission 3
It was the late afternoon. We all have expectations and the sun is probably no exception. The sun was still above the mountains west of the city but looking impatiant to end this warm day. I was walking toward a transit stop where I met a younger man. He was well groomed and seated on a bench. He had been obviously drinking a bit and was waiting on the quiet residential lane for the scheduled public transit. We struck up a friendly conversation as strangers do to pass a few moments while waiting for the bus to arrive. The bus was running late. It usually does arrive a bit late. This was just before the evening rush hour. Most buses whisk workers away from employers and send them to more private pursuits. The bus we were waiting for was headed toward the city center, perhaps to leave the city as the rush was ending with the last of the workers.
After a bit of idle chatting, he asked me for my age. I never like to reveal much to strangers, so I gave up little personal information that was true.
He then responded, "You are older than the age of my father. I am only 39." He then continued on with the conversation that I had not been following with care, "I have made so many mistakes. I do not know how to proceed."
I responded, but uncertain how to proceed, "We all make mistakes. It is part of living. I do not know what your problems are, but I am quite certain that year for year, that I have made my share of mistakes just like you. After so many years, the tally has grown quite large, but we must strive to make the best of circumstances. That is the nature of life"
The younger man paused and then said, "I have no expectation of reward for what I have done with my life. I have nothing but contempt for those I work with. I am simply following a path with no real beginning and no known ending. It is all routine without purpose. It is all without meaning. Much like the bus we are waiting for as it loops on a route not of its own making."
"Well...", I said. "We should follow some path towards goals. It has to come from within you though. The path is never well marked as a well worn forested park path. Others cannot set your goals for you. If you are working for a goal, you will often strengthen your own internal resolve. You give your life purpose by moving forward beyond mistakes to finish what you have set to accomplish."
The bus arrives. We board in silence as is the usual at most bus stops. We pay our fares. I thank the bus driver and ask for a transfer slip. Nothing more is said between the stranger and myself. We were just two strangers that chatted to pass the time.
Submission 4
The Shame
The Faerie Fort had been obvious enough identify, it was true to any who had spent some time in the study of such phenomenon. All knew to avoid it.
Seamus Finnigan finished his pint and refused the suggestions of his friends to refresh it. He did not strive to benefit from the strife of his station, he wore his customary smile. His expectationsfor the evening, as ever, were satisfied.
“What a shame,” Colin ventured “Such a man shouldn’t be relegated to our card games.” For Colin held a degree of sympathy for the cripple, but as did they all, their expectations exceeded Finnigan’s calling. He always behaved fairly in the games, and he had earned the respect of his fellows.
Seamus laid his final hand down, a winning hand. “Shouldn’t this be the end of it?” He asked with a smile. It was a moderate win on a final hand in a game which had lasted for hours...It would be easily made up for the next night...
“What are we to do?” Inquired Patrick. “Best to let things sit where they rest!” And so Seamus’ fiddling passed the strictures of the dance master, and he fiddled into the dark night after his capitulation. He was often cast the sideways glance from the tavern proprietor - in the event Seamus had an eye to deviate from the arrangement..
And so it was, until Seamus made his way back home, hobbling all the way. He had fiddled until well past midnight, indicating that he had provided adequate entertainment. The path was so dark that he strayed - was it this left that led him to the high street, or to Callum’s fields? Either way, he knew his way home…
So bent was he that he was unable to distinguish his route effectively and soon he found himself tangled within a realm of the fairies. A faint music had guided his way.
He bumbled into a fort; it was a bramble if truth be told. The thorns tore into his skin, drawing blood. Upon entry he found himself staring down the eyes of dozens of fairies. Their contempt for him was palpable. He staggered, stuttered, and attempted to compose himself. He strenghtened his resolve, all the while doubting his abilities.
The brilliance which greeted him was a cause for silence, for awe. His petty criminality was abandoned, and a confrontation with his religion curtailed his actions forever.
The King of the Fairies was an elven figure, he rose from his throne in absolute silence as he regarded his guest. He thanked the guest for his services and presently returned to his throne.
Seamus awoke in a field.
Submission 5
Arturio climbed the hill and moved silently onto the path. The small bench that was there designated meeting location was cool and draped in shade. He clasped his hands and waited, strengthening his resolve. When he waited for her he often felt uneasy and anxious. Had her mother finally found out about their clandestine affair? After all, it was her contempt for him that drove them to meet here in this remote location.
As the late afternoon shadows moved slowly through the trees, he began to wonder if their affair had been revealed. He arose and began to pace back in forth in front of the stone bench, which had in the past, given him so much comfort. It was here he had held her firmly in his arms and whispered words of true love. As much as he loved her, he had also begun to love this spot. He was an addict, an addict for her love and an addict for the bliss and solitude of this park. And as the shadows lengthened and the sun fell lower in the sky, his pain began anew.
Where was she? He walked to the end of the path to observe the trail as it moved up through the woods. No sign of her. Now she was very late and he knew, deep in his heart, that they had been discovered. With this knowledge the pain that lanced through him was like a cold knife.
The moon was the only light now, bathing the trail in a dabbling of blue and silver. Only the sounds of the forest. He felt cold, colder than he had ever felt. But he knew now no warmth would ever return to him. Without her he was lost, a fire without an ember. He took the small vial from his pocket. Slowly he removed the cork. “Oh Julie, he wept, what foul deed keeps us apart?”. Will I ever view your beautiful face again? I think that we are at an end. But I cannot leave you”. He drank from the vial and quickly realized how potent the mixture was. He stumbled over to the bench and sat hard on its cold stone surface. As his eyes glazed over he curiously watched a light coming up the path to the bench.
The moon kept watch over her as she quickly ascended to the pathway. She had strove to get here sooner but had been delayed by her mother, who obviously suspected something.
When she arrived at the bench she observed the huddled figure laying on the ground. She knelt over and felt his face. It was as cold as the stone of the bench. She removed the small vial from his hands.
She leaned over and kissed his lips. “Still warm my love”. She tasted the bitter mixture that lay upon him. Her eyes began to glaze over. "So here, my love, we shall rest". Her final embrace was warm. It was what she had expected.
Neither is this the dawn from the east, nor is a dragon flying above, nor are the gables of this hall aflame. Nay, mortal enemies approach in ready armour. Ravens are calling, wolves are howling, spear clashes and shield answers
Re: Tale of the Week 276: The Path Within - VOTE THREAD
Voted, best of luck to the submission I voted for! It always tickles me how I am able to vote for a story I actually consider better than my own quite easily
Tale of the Week 276: The Path Within - VOTE THREAD
Pillaging and Plundering since 2006
