The Man With Golden Blood
The city’s grand clock struck twelve, a beggar sat on the side of the road, cheap cloth covering him from head to toe, he was extending his thin , pale arms above the empty cup in silence.
A hooded man approaches him. The beggar repeats his usual line:
“spare change?”
The hooded man sits on one knee and extends his right arm above the sick beggar’s head, as his left grips a knife .He makes a small cut in his wrist, and from the wound drops a single tear of golden blood.
The pale beggar leaped towards the golden drop and swallowed it.
In an instant, his skin turned light brown and his arms grew thick and sturdy. He rose to his knees before the gold-blooded man and clutched his hand in his.
“My lord!” He cried , “How come you share such gifts with me? How come you share your ailment mending golden blood?”
The beggar cried humility and gratitude , until crowds gathered around the two men. They saw the stranger’s golden blood dripping from his arm, and asked questions of where he came from and what was his name.
“I am but a traveler from afar” he answered.
“How come a far flung traveler shares his golden blood with the iron city’s people, whom he had never met?” They asked in return.
“For such is the purpose of my golden blood. It is a gift given to me long ago , and such is its meaning to be shared” He said unhesitantly.
The people gathered round and round , taking glimpses at his wounded arm.
“Alas , I have to take my leave and journey onwards” the traveler stood tall and covered his hand behind his hood, then went along the city’s road.
He saw a shop , its windows broken and the door slammed open. From it a masked thief fled with goods on his person.
“Someone! I’m being robbed!” a lady’s worried scream shortly followed.
Once more , the man slashed his arm , and the golden blood poured onto his legs , and gave him speed to match the fleeing thief. In a moment the thief was caught and the goods returned.
“Praise be to you, golden blooded sir” the lady bowed, clutching her red dress , “please , share your name with me so that I may remember you”
the man smiled and answered to her:”my name holds little value, for all that matters are your returned goods. No need to remember me, for I am but a fleeting traveler and will be on my way soon”. He dusted his cloak and went on his way. He walked around the city’s streets, glancing at signs and waypoints . For some time he wandered the city, catching the people’s attention.A young peasant man wearing a hat approached him, his green eyes stared at him with longing. He lowered his hat and spoke:
“Sir. Word has spread that there is a golden blooded man walking the iron city’s streets, that his blood can alleviate all troubles and cure all diseases. I beg you sir, could you heal my broken heart? For you see, the one I loved has chosen another, and I have little strength to go on living.”
The traveler heard his words of grief and again he brandished the knife. He slit his ear and the golden blood flowed from it. and so he heard the man and listened, and healed his wounded heart. The green eyed man bowed in show of reverence, but the traveler insisted:”No need to raise me so, for it is simply my blood’s purpose to be shared, and one of my desires”. As he was leaving, the weary traveler remembered his goal and wish, asking the peasant:“Say, young man, where would one find the city gate? I must continue to travel and I want to take my leave”.
The green eyed peasant looked around, eyes moving in circles. For a minute he hesitated, then reassuringly said:” Of course , good sir, I know where the gate is” He pointed to a street to the left of the man:”simply follow Flowers street until you come across a rotten tree. Then turn right and follow the path until you find the great gate.”
The traveler waved goodbye to the young man and went on his way as he was told. He followed Flowers street and found a rotten tree, the only tree he has seen so far.” It wouldn’t be for the good of this city to have its only tree dead and rotten” he thought, “it wouldn’t be much to drop a little more blood”. He extended his left arm and brushed it against the tree. He unsheathed the knife again and slit the appendage, once and the tree’s roots grew strong ,once again and the tree bore golden fruit . Crowds of people erupted from the buildings around, surrounding the reborn golden tree and the man behind its new life. Though the traveller knew his journey’s end lies in faraway lands and thus he left, ignoring the people’s whispers. He followed the path and found the gates. Tall, iron and rust filled walls surrounded the city , covered with spikes of metal so sharp , not a single bird could nest upon them.
He gave one look at the iron city and continued through the passage.
Behind the walls lay a field of trees rotten and crops withered. He walked a while before climbing a small hill. It was then that he heard a loud cacophony of calls and cries, coming from where he came.
“Golden blooded deliverer, please, we beg of you, allow us more of your golden blessing, just a drop” The city’s people marched towards him, swarming around and gathering upon that hill on which he stood.
“spare me but a drop-” a sickly man weeped,
“save my wounded soul ,o hero-” the green eyed man begged,
“a little golden blood-” a young girl wished,
“for my kids-” a mother held her sickly family,
“Be kind to us-” a little boy pleaded,
“for me a little more-” the woman in the red dress spoke out,
“Just this once-” another woman held his hand,
“I need just a little more,” the beggar kneeled.
They grabbed and ripped his cloak, their hands poking and scratching at his wounds
“just a little golden blood” they begged and cried.
Soldiers came and brought upon their backs a poll, carved of dying wood and hammered with nails rusty and crooked. They lifted it and stabbed it into the ground. The traveller looked around, and heard the people.
“Share with us your golden blood-”
“we beg, savior, do not leave-”
“We ask for a little more golden blood, not a lot-”
“But my body is tired and aching, for the blood I’ve spilled for you is great and plenty” the traveler replied.
“its our last ask, we promise-” they continued to beg
They handed him ropes, and he tied his naked arms and legs, his chest and neck , until he could tie no longer.
He heard a loud thump and grunted from sudden pain. The men took their hammers and nails, and stabbed his arms and legs. Each swing, he endured and kept quiet. His ordeal continued, until his body was as the pole itself.
“Was it not you who said that your purpose is to share your golden blood?” they asked, “then golden blood you shall share, oh deliverer”
the beaten man lifted his head as much as he could to see the people’s eyes,”That is my purpose, to see all saved and satiated ,but i ask to release me after I give you the golden blood you seek”
“of course , lord , for only a little more blood will suffice”.
Upon the hill he was nailed to that tall wooden pole. And the people came, and danced in joy and stabbed him again and again and sang his praises and songs and drank his golden blood. “Our deliverer”, they sang, “our hero” , “his golden blood shall make our lives great” . The blood that fell from him nurtured the ground and golden trees sprung up from it, his eyes cried from pain, and his tears brought gentle rain. People came and sang of his golden blood and thanked him and praised him, and their ballads attracted beautiful birds to the hill. The ground turned green and gold and the people came in sun and rain, all requesting golden blood, all are granted. One day the ropes loosened and were weak with age, so they gave him new ones, and he would tie himself again. He grunted from pain, yet each slice he endured. He closed his eyes and dreamt of distant mountains and seas, of other cities and people, for one day he could fulfil that one desire.
“for that is the purpose of my golden blood, to be shared ... .But must I be jailed by it?”.
For a long time he was on that bloodied pole, and the beaten and scarred traveler began to feel faint and weak. He gave a look ,and saw that his golden blood that ran through his cut veins began to run out.
“I must rest a while” , he thought.
The people came that day and begged again, yet his answer deferred:
“my golden blood is running dry, and I must rest a little to give you what you seek”
“Running dry?!” the mob screamed in awe and fear, “This cannot be, we need your golden blood to live and thrive”.
He nodded:”Allow me to be on my way to travel. I promise that after I fulfil my only wish I shall return rested ,and grant you my blood”
The angry mob whispered amongst themselves for a while, until four people stepped forth. They grasped at rusted knives , saying to the stacked man:”You say your blood is running dry, which means there is still some blood left within you that is golden” They surrounded the man and began to cut and slit and open his wounds, from them dropped that golden ichor. The crowd would join them soon and they shall all feast again.
That pain, the pain of wounds that cannot heal and the constant bruising and cutting , the pain he kept hidden for so long, no longer could he keep. He felt his body burst into flames, he felt each wound ,each cut, each drop of blood, and cried and screamed and moaned of agony.
“Why must you take more of my blood?After all this time, why could you not make the golden blood with your own hands?”
The people were deaf to his pleas , they rattled and gathered and swarmed him. They climbed and trampled each other as they screamed for more ichor. He could feel his golden blood disappearing, it being drained to its entirety, but he, in his inability , could only stare and pray, that his golden blood lasts a little longer , that he might ,at last, satisfy the iron city’s people.
A long while they surrounded the man, their knives cutting deeper and deeper into his flesh, until .... With the blood of gold came drops of something dark and cold, with a smell of charred coal. With each new wound, the blood that spilled became blacker and darker, each cup now filled with that black ink.
The people tasted the blood they spilled, its taste was so bitter and foul that they threw their cups onto the man in rage.
“What is this?!” they asked , as if this black mud that filled their cups was an insult of some kind,”You give us blackened blood of charcoal? We asked for golden nectar, not black mud”
The man did not talk, he stood motionless , scarred, even his face and ears no longer bore their shape. His eyes filled with tears.
“I failed,” he whispered, “I could not give you enough blood to satisfy you”
“The golden blood ran out?” the crowd whimpered
“how could that be-”
“but you’re our only deliverer, our only source of this blessing-”, they screamed and cried. Their tears washed out the green and fertile soil, and their weeps scarred all the birds away.
the traveler raised his head. The people’s screams and tears screeched in his ears, a maddening disharmony of whimpers , that melody, he could not bear to hear. His eyes contorted into a shape that they have never bore before, anger. “I asked, I begged , to be left alone for a little while, and even when you refused and still kept suckling on my blood , I stealed myself and suffered , all to satisfy your wishes. But why? Why would none here bear golden blood themselves?!” He spoke , he screamed and yelled , and his black blood poured all around, covering the golden hill in mud. “I gave you all of my blood, yet no one here shared my will to give , to suffer and give their blood to others. You all had the golden blood, you could all share it, and you did not!”
His dark blood stained the people’s boots and coats, their dresses , flowers , trees , food and drink, his blood flowed to the city gates , and covered the streets in black. The people, covered in that blackness, did not speak to him , and did not argue with his words, they left .One by one, they returned to their homes and shops, until no one was standing on that blood covered hill, but the crucified man. Winter came, and the snow and ice raptured the ropes. The man fell onto the white ground. After an effort he remembered how to stand.
“my wish..” He recalled that which he wished for, to travel and see the world, “I must go”.
He went along the path , turning each couple of steps to see the iron city’s wall, and what remained of that hill ,as it was all slowly fading from view. Soon enough he saw only the blood stained snow beneath his feet. With time, a freezing cold creeped into his bones. Shivering, he sought out shelter. Eventually he hid under the cracked roof of an old , wooden shack, covering his naked form in what was left of his old cloak. For a long time he laid beneath that tree, gripping himself and breathing heavily.
“I failed” he whispered , “I could not satisfy the people , and now I have no golden blood left even to warm myself” and only crows were his listeners.
He heard footsteps, and from the fog of winter appeared a man, wearing a white hood and heavy boots. He stood before the shivering man and extended his hand, while his other, bore a knife.
The white cloaked man slit his hand, and a small drop of golden dew fell into the traveler’s arms. In moments, the cold dissipated and the man felt warm and rested, his wounds healed and clothes restored.
“why?” he asked , “why would you share your golden blood with me?”
the cloaked man dropped the knife aside and unmasked himself, he bore a smile and eyes the color of gold,
“for that is the purpose of this golden blood, to be shared”
The traveler loved that warmth, that kindness he was given. And so he ask for more:”if that is so, than please lend me a little more blood, for my way is still long and I have failed to sustain mine”
the man before him stepped back up and weared his hood again,
“No, for I have already given you enough to heal your wounds and keep you warm a while. If i give more than that, i might go cold myself”
The hooded man then left, his heavy boots leaving a long trail in the white snow, until the traveler heard his footsteps no longer, and the crows on that shack’s roof flew away as well.
In silence , he remembered the cries of those people, of those he failed to save, those screeching noises of sorrow and he could not bear to hear.
“I gave all of my golden blood away, and now I must live without it. I could not save the iron city’s people, and my blood turned into this accursed mud. How can it be that a man of golden blood refuses to share his blood? Could I have done the same? These screams, oh the screams, how they weeped at the sight of my black blood, I hate it, I hate myself, I cannot be like this, this guilt…is far to great”
He noticed that the gold eyed man’s knife lay still on the floor.
With his final will, he picked the knife in both his arms, pointed it to his chest, and carved out his heart.
From then on, no guilt came to the man, and no cold shook him. For there was no more blood of gold or coal within him, and no more will guided him. He did not wish to travel, nor to save anyone, as he wandered endlessly. No more blood spilled from that man’s hands, and no more did the cries haunt him.
