Traveler's Tale

There is a world out there, that we cannot hope to see or reach. Perhaps that is to our benefit, for all the beauty it holds, there is just as much peril. I have walked that world’s lands, and escaped alive, but others have not. So, my friends, be satisfied with the tales I bring from those lands.

The first is of Dawn’s Garden, the place where many unwitting travelers appear. It is a land of growth, locked in an eternal bloom. Beware its beauty and peace traveler, for there is no garden without fertilizer.

There are many tales I could tell you of Dawn’s Garden, but the best to start with I think, would be of Mirza the Wonderer.

Mirza was a traveler, just like myself, though our paths like never have crossed had we not both found ourselves in the Garden. Mirza came from a strange land where the people twisted lightning itself to their bidding. He wore odd clothes that had clearly not been made for durability, and possessed a humble personality for one that clearly came from wealth.

But all that was irrelevant once in the Garden. I was content to enjoy the peace and beauty, but this story is not about me. Mirza was more cautious in his exploration than I, ready for any trick that might be pulled. In hindsight, Mirza was far wiser than I.

We both came through near a place called the Orchard Pavilion. It was a beautiful gazebo built from pure white marble. Inside, there were cushioned sofas any weary traveler could rest upon, and a tea kettle that never ran empty. And all around us stretched a forest of blossoming cherries, their sweet perfume scenting the air. The fair-faced creatures that tended the orchard lamented to me that for all the trees would bloom for an eternity, but the blossoms would never grow to be cherries.

While I lingered to help the keepers harvest blossoms to make teas, jellies, and chocolates, Mirza set off on his own to explore the rest of the Garden.

It took days of walking for Mirza to clear the orchard. Every time he grew hungry or thirsty, one of the keepers would appear to him bearing a cup of blossom tea, or a plate of scones. When he finally found the edge of the orchard, he crossed over into a vast hill of daffodils. At first, his only thought was to rejoice at the change in scenery and scent. For even the most beautiful of places can grow monotonous to some.

He had walked only a few paces onto the hill when another figure joined him. No taller than a child, and seemingly formed from frozen blue flame, they introduced themself as Snowmelt. Mirza did not resent the company, and the two continued for a ways in silence.

"Why did you leave the orchard?" Snowmelt asked, after many hours of walking. "Did it not please you?"

"The orchard was beautiful," Mirza answered them, "But I have never been one to stay."

"You should have stayed in the orchard, stranger." Snowmelt advised. "It's keepers are still bound by the pact, and would not harm one such as yourself."

When Mirza pressed Snowmelt about the pact, Snowmelt would tell him no more.

"Why do you follow me?" Mirza asked presently.

"The hill of daffodils can be a dangerous place." Snowmelt answered. "I must guide you from the beds that pose you danger."

"What danger could possibly lurk in a place like this?" Mirza asked.

"Daffodils are resilient flowers," Snowmelt said. "They say they cannot be killed by even the harshest conditions."

Mirza did not know what to think of Snowmelt's answer. Something about the sprite's words only deepened the vague sense of unease that Mirza had battled every step across the hill. But as far as Mirza looked, there was nothing but harmless yellow flowers, so he continued his journey.

When night fell, Mirza nestled into the daffodils, Snowmelt following suit nearby. As Mirza tried to fall asleep, he realized what he'd failed to notice the entire day: Snowmelt did not breathe. There was no even, steady exhalations to lull him to sleep. Nor to distract him from the distant weeping.

Mirza sat up, trying to find the source of the sound, only for it to disappear as he did. Mirza pressed his ear to the ground, once more listening, and there it was again. As if someone were trapped beneath the earth.

Surely it must have been Mirza's imagination. A phantom summoned by his tired mind, he decided as he fell asleep.

If only he had been right.

Days passed on the hill. Whenever Mirza hungered or thirsted, Snowmelt would produce food and drink. And whenever Mirza listened, he would notice the wrongness of the hill. There was no whisper of breeze caressing the flowers, no chattering of insects to be heard. But if one listened closely, they could hear other sounds... distant weeping when he pressed his ear to the ground. Faint cracking sounds that echoed the hill day and night. Dread footsteps passing unseen.

"Do not acknowledge it." Snowmelt urged Mirza. "It can only harm you if you let it."

"What would happen if I followed the footsteps?" Mirza asked.

Snowmelt only shook his head. "You don't won't to know."

This, my listeners, was when Mirza should have turned back, forgotten every detail of the hill, and ignored any abnormalities in the Garden. But Mirza was not such a character to shy away from mystery.

"You are a guide, aren't you?" Mirza asked. "What does that actually mean?"

"I am to guide travelers over the hill." Snowmelt answered. "It is what I was created for."

"If I asked you to guide me to a place that would explain the mystery of the hill, would you?" Mirza asked.

"If that is truly what you wanted." Snowmelt said. "But you don't."

"I must know." Mirza said.

"Very well, human." Snowmelt said. "I hope you will not regret this."

At the time, Mirza only scoffed.

That evening, Mirza stopped to look back the way he had come. While walking, it had not seemed a steep climb, but now, almost to the top of the hill, it seemed impossible to climb back down.

"Come along." Snowmelt said, with such trepidation Mirza had never heard.

"We aren't stopping for the night?" Mirza asked.

"You wanted to know the truth." Snowmelt said. "You shall know it. If we wait for nightfall, then we will hold no hope of outrunning them."

So Mirza followed Snowmelt up the crest of the hill. At the top, he could see a river, and fields of colorful flowers beyond. For a moment, he forgot Snowmelt's ominous words, and paused to marvel at the beauty.

"Come." Snowmelt reminded him.

Mirza trotted to catch up with Snowmelt. The weeping was louder here. Loud enough that he did not have to press his ear to the ground to hear. Loud enough that he could hear distinct words. No, not just words, pleas.

Mirza froze in place. Where were they coming from? He jumped as Snowmelt slipped his cold hand into Mirza's.

"We cannot stop here." Snowmelt said. "And you wanted to see."

Snowmelt towed him forward, to a tear in the ground that had been concealed by rows and rows of daffodils.

"Do not stray too close to the edge." Snowmelt warned, averting his eyes.

Mirza leaned forward, his heart pounding in his chest.

Flashes of white. Twists of green. A sudden cacophony of begging screams.

Mirza stumbled backwards, clapping his hands to his ears.

"Are you satisfied?" Snowmelt asked.

"What... What was that?" Mirza gasped.

But there was no answer from Snowmelt.

Mirza stepped forward to take another look. Snowmelt tried to pull him away, but Mirza's strength was greater.

This time, he did not just look. He perceived.

There were people in the pit. Hundreds. No, thousands. In lines that stretched for as far as the eye could see. Mirza knew there had to be even more further into the hole. They did not stand. They hung limply, pierced through by hundreds of vines. Maggots the size of seals oozed around the tortured. Some latched on to the flesh of the poor souls, creating glowing, pulsing rings where they sucked. Those victims screamed the loudest...

Then Mirza was retching. Every maggot close enough to hear jerked in his direction, opening beady eyes the same color as the blood of the damned. Snowmelt yanked Mirza back.

"They saw you, you must flee!" Snowmelt cried, pulling Mirza along behind him.

All Mirza could do was continue retching as he ran.

"The pact that binds them is different, dear human!" Snowmelt explained.

Mirza glanced over his shoulder, and saw vast white maggots oozing towards him, crushing any flower in their path. The flowers instantly sprang back up as they passed.

"If they catch you, they will suck the soul straight from your blood just like the damned!" Snowmelt cried. Mirza quickened his pace.

"What did they do to deserve... that?" Mirza pleaded.

"Those that defy the Dawn Lady are banished here, to the Hill of the Damned for the rest of their lives." Snowmelt said. "And any that her guards catch will meet the same fate."

Snowmelt was right. Mirza should not have looked. But now that he had seen, he could not go back to his everyday life. Pretending he had not seen was not an option.

Another glance over his shoulder told him that the maggots were gaining on them.

Snowmelt shoved Mirza to the ground, and suddenly he was rolling. The hill was far steeper than he had realized. As he tumbled, he thought he heard the pleas again, but this time, the words were different.

"Flee!"

"Go!"

"Escape when we could not!"

All resistance was gone. Mirza tumbled on a straight downward slope. Somehow, he had missed the dumps and dips that were now slowing the guards.

The rows of flowers ended, withering before Mirza. He watched as the field of daffodils rotted before his eyes, jaw hanging open.

"Get up!" Snowmelt called, tugging at his arm.

Snowmelt hurried him into a boat moored on the bank of the still river that Mirza had not noticed. Snowmelt pushed it off, slicing through it's tether with a clawed finger, and dove into the water.

"FLOOD!" the sprite cried. "FLOOD WITH THE FORCE OF THE SPRING SNOWMELTS! BURST THY BANKS AND SWELL WITH SPRING'S FURY!"

A torrent of water rose around Mirza, propelling the little boat forward. Carrying him away from the Hill of the Damned, and the pursuing guards.