How much farther?
“How much farther?” cried the wanderer to the empty skies and barren heavens; the only audience to whom the stage had been set for days past.
“Who knows? The road walked alone is long and arduous. Who knows where it leads, but to solace or sorrow? Yet it is by choice that one walks such a road. For in pursuit of fulfillment, one must learn to throw away himself, and grasp the gift that is due him.”
His breath grew heavier by the second as the scorching sun embraced the sands beneath his feet, though his eyes never so much as blinked and his mouth never so much as complained.
No, he simply looked forward, in search of that which would give the journey meaning.
As the sun had reached its peak, a figure emerged on the horizon; His face obscured by the distance between them, and the cloak that hid his demeanor.
The wanderer stopped, and called out to the other, “How much farther?”
There was a pause as wind swept through the land. Like a furnace that had been brought to life, it roared across the desert, yet both the wanderer and the one who stood before him remained still.
“To where are you headed, my dear wanderer?” asked the cloaked man.
“Home, where I await. Are you the one to take me where no one has before?”
“If I were to be your companion, your journey might as well end soon enough.”
“What makes you so sure? I have walked this path since the day I was brought to this earth. Many have tried to guide me, though they always lost their way.”
“Aimless as we both walk, I too, desire to head home. I have not lost sight of that ambition, and I too ask you, how much farther?”
The wanderer’s eyes grew, and his lips that were once frozen had warmed into a smile.
“Let us find out, my dear brother.”
He gripped the iron strapped to his back, raising it to the sky; Dulled yet undeterred, it shimmered brightly like the man that held it.
“Indeed, may one of us reach our heaven”, the figure responded as he revealed a blade that mirrored his own.
The winds died down.
They were silent.
They watched, in bated breath, who would find their way home?
Swiftly yet surely, the wanderer traversed the sand as though it were a gentle stream, in contrast to the figure who simply waited where he stood.
Was he a man of confidence, or a fool that awaited death? The wanderer knew not, but there was no turning back.
The distance between them was now but a step away, as with a mighty swing he swung his blade, only to find itself short by a hair’s width.
“Why is there hesitation in your swing?”, the cloaked man asked as he returned with a strike of his own.
The sound of clashing iron rang through the desert, heard only by the kindred spirits.
The wanderer did not answer.
He had none.
He was certain he would land, but something his eyes told him had caused a moment of uncertainty.
It was brief, but the figure’s face revealed itself to him. It was familiar. One that he had seen before, but he could not remember.
“You sense incorrectly my friend. Direct your attention to nothing but the rhythm of battle, or you might find yourself dancing to a song of my own”, he announced, dismissing the thoughts that had plagued his head.
The battle continued until the Moon had taken her brother’s throne. Both men had none more to give, but had all to take.
Fate had already ordained it so, however, that one man meet his end.
For once throughout their unending exchange did a blade finally meet its partner. The silent desert heard no cries. Only the sound of victory not celebrated, in the form of flesh pierced.
The cloaked figure dropped to his knees, only this time, his cloak no longer kept him a mystery.
The victor stood amazed as he looked at the man’s face.
It was as if he stood before a mirror reflecting the very essence of his being- a reflection that he had long looked for, from a man he never knew it would belong to.
In his dying eyes seemingly played the story of his struggles and triumphs; the things he wished to forget, and the things he could not help but remember.
Though all stories find themselves an end, as the man at the other end of the blade saw his.
The wanderer sat down.
His head held high as the shoulders that seemingly carried the world’s weight finally learned how to breathe.
“How much farther?”, he asked one last time. Tears poured from his eyes, and words struggled to form in his mouth, but his heart had nothing but peace.
“I made it.”
