Chapter 1
There was once a hamlet old, next to the esteemed dwelling of royalty, where kings have ruled for ages. A breathtaking sight welcomed weary tramps, bards and those who came with goods. Lush gardens and green landscapes tucked up this quite a village, almost a town, named Cowtorn Town, because here, cows’ hides were torn off in the tanneries. In this colorful but yet dark place, lived a young lad named Gnievko, who had just turned twelve and a quarter. He was a brilliant youth with an unwavering spirit that could rival the most stubborn of souls.
On a night drenched in ethereal wonder, when the earth stood witness to the grandeur of the shortest night of the year, Gnievko sought silence far from the deafening clamor and oppressive heat of the fires. His heart ached for a sanctuary where his mind could roam untethered, carrying his thoughts upon the gentle breeze. Thus, he perched upon a branch, a mere spindly extension protruding from the gnarled limb of a nearby tree, as if reaching for the heavens themselves.
With wide eyes, he gazed upon the heavens, painted ink-black like velvet, adorned with an array of celestial bodies. Stars shimmered like droplets of silver, casting their soft light upon the alluring Moon. Its radiant glow pierced Gnievko’s chest with an intensity that stole his very breath, leaving him gasping for precious air. He grappled with the tempest of wild emotions that surged within him, a maelstrom of thoughts and desires threatening to consume his fragile psyche.
But in the profound stillness of the night, Gnievko relinquished himself to the silence, surrendering to the sway of his tumultuous thoughts. Gradually, a newfound tranquility began to emanate from his depths, soothing the storm that raged inside. With a sigh that seemed to resonate from the core of his being, he rose, resolute in his decision. ‘I will get there’ said he, ‘To the moon. By myself.’
In the very depths of Hell, where flames danced endlessly, the shortest night of the year was not forgotten. Although fires did not need to be kindled in this forsaken realm, for they burned relentlessly all year round, there existed a weariness that grasped hold of Maszkary the Devil himself. Overwhelmed by the incessant noise and raucous revelry, he yearned for respite from the cacophonous echoes of damnation. With a heavy heart, Maszkary resolved to seek solace and tranquility, if such a haven could be found amidst this hellish abyss.
But alas, tranquility did not exist within the boundaries of Hell. It was a realm of eternal torment, devoid of peace and serenity. Determined to escape the suffocating brightness of flames, Maszkary cast his gaze upon the Earth and set forth on journey. It had been far too long since he had laid eyes on the world above, and so he sought a quiet spot to look at heavens adorned with stars and a silvery-glowing moon. The night’s the time when any and every god hides himself from the dark ink of air and demons summoned by the wind. Let us go into the night then!
Perching himself upon a rugged rock, Maszkary directed his gaze toward the celestial canopy above. The ethereal radiance of the stars and the mesmerizing glow of the Moon, like liquid silver upon the night sky, pierced his tormented soul. A profound pang of longing and sorrow coursed through his being, seizing his breath and temporarily freeing him from his demonic essence. He found himself overcome by a depth of emotion he thought unimaginable within the confines of Hell.
Lost in contemplation, Maszkary began to ponder the inimitable beauty of the Moon. Lost in contemplation, Maszkary began to ponder the inimitable beauty of the Moon. ‘You are too far away, my friend of silvery’ said Maszkary ‘Too far away’.
In the dawn of a new day, when the sun began to cast its gentle rays upon the world, Gnievko awoke from his slumber before anyone else in his humble abode. His heart brimming with fervor, he hastily gathered the necessities for his voyage to the Moon. With a loaf of bread in hand and a wineskin filled with water, he embarked on his journey, striding purposefully on his feet.
Oh, how Gnievko pondered the best path to reach the Moon! Could it be that the mountains, with their majestic peaks piercing the very heavens, were the closest gateway to that ethereal realm? And so, he set forth towards the south, where the craggy summits dared to defy the fluffy clouds above. The mountaintops called to him, their beckoning allure impossible to resist. Fatigue, mere trifles to Gnievko, did naught to hinder his resolute steps, even as his shoes surrendered under the strain of the arduous trek.
As the third day of his expedition waned and the towering blades of rock loomed ever closer, Gnievko succumbed to a terrible weariness. Seeking respite, he placed his sack beneath his head and surrendered to the embrace of a deep slumber. Yet, his repose was destined to be short-lived. A chilling wind sticked to his sweaty body. Before his widened eyes, he witnessed sudden and intense bursts of light, from which emerged the spectral form of an angel with outstretched hand.
In that moment, Gnievko was consumed by a sense of calm, trusting in the angel’s benevolence. Resolute, he reached out his own hand in kind. Yet, the angel’s grip tightened with a ravenous greed, yanking Gnievko towards its sinister presence. With ferocious cruelty and unrelenting coldness, the angel thrust its hand into Gniewko’s trembling chest, tearing out his tender and fearful heart in a savage act. Bewildered and overwhelmed by agony, Gnievko’s eyes widened in despair. Ah, how cruel fate can be, whatever shines the brightest, shall burn thee the worst, know it, Gnievko! His broken soul crumbled to the ground, unleashing a torrent of anguished sobs. A hum resonated through the air, followed by a deafening roar. In an instant, the angel vanished, leaving Gnievko to grapple with the reality of his shattered existence.
In hours of this melancholy, when Maszkary the Devil found himself immersed in the splendor of the world’s wonders, a sudden pain gripped his insides with a vice-like grip. Desperate and famished, he resolved to return to the depths of Hell, where this incessant hunger could be quelled and his stomach’s lamentations silenced. As he made his way through the somber forest, his eyes caught sight of a young lad sprawled across the path, his breath fleeting as if life itself was fleeing him along the gusts of the tempestuous Halny, the notorious mountain wind.
Gnievko was the lad Maszkary saw. Had his very heart savagely rent asunder, barely able he was to gulp down the scarce breaths offered him by his trembling lungs, he lay there, teetering on the precipice of eternity. It was then, in that fleeting moment, that Maszkary the Devil unravelled the truth of the tragedy that had befallen young Gnievko. Compelled by a newfound empathy, he gathered the tattered fragments of Gnievko’s heart, clasping them gingerly within his hands. Drawing near to the ailing boy, Maszkary spoke with gentle determination, saying, “This heart must be seamed together once more, though it will weep in pain and bear scars upon its flesh, it shall pulsate with life.”
Thus, with a needle and thread that he carried for such dire circumstances, Gnievko stitched his heart with a delicate precision known only to those who dare defy the hands of fate. Carefully, he nestled the reassembled heart back into its sanctuary within his chest. And so, it came to pass, a searing pain coursed through his being, yet the palpitations of his heart proved robust and resolute.
With gratitude overflowing from his lips, Gnievko turned to Maszkary, his newfound companion, and said, ‘I extend my deepest thanks, dear friend, for your invaluable guidance. My heart beats with fortitude once more, marred and bruised, yet pulsating with vibrant life. Now, I shall endeavor to tread the path towards the Moon, for its celestial beauty has bewitched me beyond reason. I shall venture forth alone, for the journey is but a short distance from these craggy mountains.’
’To the Moon? A daring lad, art thou? But ‘tis an impossible feat! Nay hath anyone ventured to the celestial orb, and nay shall anyone ever succeed! Even if one were to embark on such an endeavor, they would find naught but a lifeless atmosphere, where naught but misery would befall any living creature, be it beast or man!’
Gnievko’s heart sank, shattered by those very words. In sorrowful despair, he covered his head, burdened by the weight of his shattered dreams, and tears welled up, flowing down his cheeks like a forlorn stream. Witnessing this dismal sight, Maszkary, the Devil himself, approached the crestfallen boy. With a gentle touch from his hairy hand, he attempted to console the lad.
’Yet behold, brave little wanderer, feast thine eyes upon this splendour!” Maszkary declared, gesturing towards the enchanting vista that enveloped them. The mountaintops loomed majestically, both threatening and awe-inspiring, while the heavens, adorned in a bittersweet shade of azure, pained the soul. ‘For nowhere else but our melancholic earthly abode can the Moon graciously reveal itself in such exquisite fashion, posing gallantly before us!’
Gnievko gazed upwards, the icy peaks of the mountains gleaming in majestic splendor against the expanse of the sapphire sky. The wind, born of twilight’s embrace, tenderly embraced those lofty summits, hauntingly chilling his very nerves. Yet, strange as it may seem, the shivers that wracked his body were not fearsome but rather a delightful ecstasy, coursing through the core of his being. In this frozen tableau, they lingered, transfixed, awaiting the spectacle reserved for the onset of nightfall. And as the first twinkling stars emerged, adorning the heavens with their celestial brilliance, the Moon, in all its silvery.
