Chapter 32: The End of Another

Miko:

Maleki stirred in front of me. Confusion was visible on his face as I stood above him.

“We made it? This is The Garden?” My brother said in an exhausted tone.

I was in that state as well when I first exited. The world felt irregular, like my body was rejecting its surroundings. I stretched my hand out to him, so he could find solid footing, as Nomen did to me when I first exited. Wobbly feet were a familiar feeling to me already, so I bore the disconnect less strongly. ”Yes, brother. This is The Garden of Need, in all her glory.”

His eyes cast downward, away from me. Was this shame?

“How…How long has it been?” Maleki asked with a solemn voice.

“It has been some time,” I spoke without confirmation. Now was not a good time for his mind to be assaulted, at least more than it already was.

“How long, Miko?” He spoke firmly this time and refused my helping hand.

“There is time later to discuss this. You should get your bearings first-“

Maleki interrupted my sentence with a beat of his fist into the ground. “How long was I asleep?” His head raised to me, and I saw eyes that pleaded for an answer. Who was to deny him if he wished to know so badly?

“You want the answer in months or years?” I said without emotion.

Maleki’s breaths were sharp, and he sat backward onto his heels and shins. His face was that of immense pain. I knew the answer would frustrate him, but it did not change what was.

I looked at Nomen, or whatever his name was. We would need to settle that issue soon, as it was getting too confusing to call him by both names. “A year and a half.”

Nomen butted in, ‘You should not tease him while his mind is fragile, Miko. ‘Years’ is quite unfair wording.

“It’s not technically wrong. It’s been more than a year.” I replied.

“Well, yes, but that makes it sound like so much more.”

“I figured I’d start high, so the real answer wasn’t so bad!” I bickered jokingly. “Expectations, ya know?”

“Dammit! Will one of you give me a straight answer?” Maleki angrily asked.

Nomen addressed him through the awkward tension, letting go of the humourous side I had seen of him over the last month. “It has been fifteen months, Maleki.”

His confusion and anger grew visibly. I knew him too well — knew those same feelings all too well.

I stepped over to him with one of my legs limping behind and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, brother. You are awake now, and that’s all that matters.”

He stuttered over himself, trying to formulate words before tears began to well at the edges of his eyes. Those were tears of anger that he let slide down his cheek as he released the cry of anger. “Fifteen months?” he said, gritting his teeth. “You’ve been without me for more than a year while I slept?”

“Well, it was only fair,” I said profoundly. “You did carry me for months while I slept.”

Nomen jumped in to help ease the tension since I was not doing a good enough job. “Time works differently here. Or, well, it used to.”

I looked at Nomen as I rubbed the sides of my forehead. “That was supposed to help him? That’s just more confusing.”

Nomen corrected himself, acknowledging the mistake. “The rest of the world has only experienced six months in your absence. Due to The Garden’s effects, time is dilated here, and you participated in additional time.”

Maleki processed our words for several moments before speaking. “I failed.” He paused. “Your leg is not working, which means the cycle continues.”

“No, Maleki — I failed.” I placed my hand underneath Maleki’s arm and gave enough force to signal an attempt to help him stand. “There wasn’t anything to heal.” I waved my hands around the side of my body, starting at the top of my head. “This is my body’s full potential. The Garden helped me realize what I was capable of already, whether intentionally or not. The added effects of infinite stamina and the quickening of the body's existing healing process were beneficial, but there was nothing in my body to be healed. I was getting worse because I willed it to be so.”

“You wanted to get worse?” Maleki questioned.

“No, I wanted to be normal, but I’m not. It’s equivalent to swimming against the current. The harder I resisted — the harder I obsessed over being like everyone else — the more I lost of myself.”

“I pushed you too hard, Miko.”

“It’s not always your burden to bear, Makeki.” I paused to reinforce my statement. “You remember Grandmother’s wispberry tea? She always told us it would fix our bellyaches, but there’s really no link to truth in that statement. We believed it because she told us. I simply believed that I was getting worse, and so I did. My recovery was not so simple, admittedly, but big brother, we have persevered. Rest for a few hours while the blurring from the process dissipates.”

“The blurring?” he questioned.

“Answers will come in time.” Nomen butted in. “Roam The Garden. I know you are not one to rest idly. Just pace yourself carefully, please. Your body is indeed quite delicate right now.”

Maleki struggled to his feet like a baby deer finding its footing. His eyes were dreary, and I could sense more conflict warring within him. He yearned for information like I do with a book in my hands. Of all his many talents, he’s hardly ever been good at receiving large spouts of information, much less life-shattering ones.

I started to walk with him, but Nomen grabbed me by the shoulder, signaling an unspoken statement that meant, “Let him go on his own.”

Nomen had been more communicative over the last month. Quite shockingly as well. Compared to when we first met him, this new version of him was almost an entirely separate person. Emotions that would have been scarce on him before now flowed more openly. That mostly could be explained by his reunion with Ananke, though. They spent most of their time together to the point that even prying him away for moments like these became difficult. Nomen, or Kronos, rather—that name still rang weird to my own internal voice—made time in his busy schedule to speak with me while I waited on Maleki. Despite his secretive and unhelpful hand in the trials, he has been more open since I left the tree. Maleki’s absence and the uncertainty that rose within me during the wait certainly didn’t go unnoticed by him or Ananke. They have both spent time with me, and although I enjoyed their company, I couldn’t leave my position here at the foot of this new Leviathan tree. The decision I made came with no certainty about my brother’s fate. My fears of failure persisted while I waited and hoped for something, anything, to happen. But now I feel lighter, and somewhat empty, like when adrenaline that fills from an injury begins to pass. I had been pushing so hard for so long for one goal, and that clouded my heart for some time, but now, now my brother has returned to me. He is not burdened by my curse. I should be its only victim.

Maleki:

I walked for an unknown amount of time. I could barely think, much less count the seconds. My memories were blurry; everything was blurry except my emotions. I should feel whole with our journey complete. I should rejoice. Why, then, can I only summon grief? It feels as if I lost something dear to me. My mind feels fractured, and my body is like that of a cracked statue. I barely felt alive for so long…Is that how Miko felt all the time?

Every step through The Garden brings phantom pain that rises up my heels and through my shins. I felt my legs, but no pain truly meddled there. No, it must all be in my head, I thought. How long had it been since I walked? I felt light, but at the same time, heavier than ever, as if one of Miko rested on each of my shoulders.

‘A year and a half.’ Miko’s voice echoed in my mind.

The voice was painful. I fell to my knees and grabbed at my head with both hands as a searing headache burned in my eyelids. I kept walking, hoping things would return to normal, but nothing felt normal now. Too much time had been lost.

Price, a familiar and comforting voice, hummed within me.

What price did I pay? I asked myself. And for what? It changed nothing ultimately. My brother is still fatigued with some vague illness.

Strength

Strength? You want me to be strong? My body aches, and my head won’t stop screaming at me. What happened to me? What did I give up in those trials? Why can’t I remember? I pleaded internally. Tears began to slide down the sides of my cheeks, but I did not call upon them. I felt no sadness, nor anger, just confusion. My chest heaved as I began to sob with wide-open eyes. I was crying, but I was not sure why.

“I cannot be strong anymore. I have failed at my only mission.” The tears clouded my emotions, and I began to accept the cry as I let out whimpered words. “Why couldn’t I have just died with peace, knowing I had tried and with a belief that it was all worth it?”

My eyes began to unblur, and before me was a large figure that kneeled over a large stone disc, beset by an array of trees, which separated themselves equally from each other. Roots from each tree strode out in a perfectly straight line and touched the stone disc, which was engraved with a hundred lines, forming the detailed shape of another circular image. As my eyes began to sharpen more, I noticed the figure’s odd stance. He held one shin to the ground, with his other heel flat to the ground. One hand was held up above his shoulder blade, fingers stretched to a line like he was holding a large dinner plate — his other was flat against the ground. His muscles were tense, but his face was empty of any strain. I couldn’t make out his face as it was slightly bowed. His hair was red and flowed over his wide shoulders. He looked only eighteen or nineteen, but he was larger than my father. He looked like the hero from Father’s stories.

As I inspected him, his head began to rise without his arms and legs moving even a little. His eyes flicked open softly, revealing light gray irises, and then he spoke with a gruff voice. “What purpose earns strength? Is it not the pursuit of a worthy goal that earns its spending despite the outcome?”

His words struck me like lightning, stunning me without the ability to speak. Who was this man? Nomen never mentioned anyone living here.

The man stood, revealing a strengthened body that appeared almost swollen. A memory flooded my mind. He looked like I did after I climbed the mountain.

He strode over to me, kneeling down to my level, and then he placed a calloused hand on my shoulder.

“You can be strong and fail, little one. For what is sacrifice if we do not believe the world will be all the better for it? Ask yourself that question when you stumble, when the cracks begin to form. Did you save someone that mattered to you? Was the price of your pain worth it? The weight of it can be so heavy at times, but when we begin to crumble, and the tears begin to escape, and you feel like the whole world burdens your shoulders — breathe a breath so deep it silences your fears, answer the question, and stand again as a better man.”

I stumbled over my words in an attempt to speak, but all I could see were those bright grayish eyes. They screamed in immense pain, yet he showed none on his body. No scars etched his skin.

The man’s eyes, like foggy pearls, looked down upon me as he spoke in a strained voice, “Come and sit.”

I did as he spoke, not out of fear despite the man’s stature, but out of respect; his calm demeanour and voice were like a soft wind that made me eagerly grow closer to his ear.

I sat in the grass next to him, mimicking his direction.

“Sit straight with your spine like a tower to the ground. Breathe. What do you feel?”

I took a deep breath, letting the air fill my lungs, and exhaled slowly. “I feel a creeping panic. A darkness on the edge of my vision that isn’t there physically, but mentally. I can never quite chase it, but it feels heavy.”

“Not in your mind, child. What do you feel here?” His head leaned towards the ground, where his palm was flat against the grass with fingers arched ever so slightly as if pushing against the dirt.

I focused on my surroundings. “I feel the grass, it is rigid and also soft. I am crushing it with my weight, but all of it together holds me without ever reaching the soil. I feel the air, it is neither cold nor warm, but is soft against my ears and cheeks.”

“Good. Now, where does your heart lie?”

I scrunched the soil into my hands, and I felt my heartbeat in my chest. “I feel clouds. Not the ones above us. But fleeting. They cover my thoughts. They blur my vision. They mask my heart.”

“Yes, but there is much similarity between both the clouds above us and the ones you are feeling. But straighten your spine, tall and patient like the mountains, and the clouds will pass like the tides.”

I breathed in deeper and forced my spine even straighter, and for a moment I felt calm. I felt like I did before we set out on the journey in the first place. Just me and the ground. After a few breaths, the thoughts rolled back in. Everything I had pushed away to make it here. My body had healed, but my mind was still struggling to find its place in the rhythm of my return. I was finding it difficult to stay in reality; the clouds in my mind were akin to the visions in my sleep.

“They returned, yes? I sense your lack of stillness.”

“I tried to push them away, but I couldn’t.”

“Therein the issue lies.” He paused, and I half expected him not to return to speaking. “You are expecting silence, but how long have you known it. The quiet is the outlier for most; you must learn to live in the storm, else it will sweep you away.”

“How do you do it? I’m not sure what I’m even trying to accept right now. There’s just a looming unknown in every part of me.”

“Unfocus from yourself. Dissipate. What is the world without you right now? What happens while you are gone?”

I gave myself pause to see the world the way his question demanded, and then began to speak the world I saw without myself here. “The animals would move along the valley and through the trees. The streams would flow. The plants would grow. The wind would blow. Somewhere far from here, the villages would still be breathing through their chimneys.” I hesitated, feeling I had spoken too literally. “That’s not what you’re asking, though. I oversimplified it, didn’t I?”

“No, how you understand it is all that matters. It is all a matter of simplicity. It is a foundational concept that all the things you listed have in common. The world moved on with us and without us.”

“And that helps you?” I questioned.

“Yes.” He let out a controlled laugh that was more of a smile. “The version that helps me is to understand that in this vast planet, even though I am standing still, the world is spinning so quickly. Forces are pressing down on this entire world that keep us from floating away toward the moons. Those very forces apply to every creature, small and large, and yet that weight is distributed to us all. We are but specks whose problems are infinitesimal in the scale of the universe.”

I straightened my back again, breathing deep into my diaphragm. Slowly, I reached for my heart, and I felt the beat normalize. Then I reached for my mind, and the clouds blurred my thoughts and sent out a thousand tendrils of worry. How long had I spent on that edge of despair? Then I thought of his words, my place in these systems, and in this world. Everything moves without me, I thought. I imagined myself and then began to slowly zoom out. First above the tree, then above the clouds. Everything below me was wide and continuous. Then I zoomed further out, to where I found myself in that vision in the tree, where the planet was in my palm, and I was like one of its moons. This perspective befuddled me, and yet it also made everything else seem insignificant. I was less than an ant to our planet. I was less than a grain of sand on the largest beach. I was…

My heart was calm. My mind, for once in a long time, was cold. I closed my eyes and felt not darkness or my mind wandering, but a soft white that grew as my breath slowed to that of a sleeping bear. The mind of my soul was like that of the void.

“Good, little Orbis. You have assimilated your brain to the inner desires of your soul. Your lack of movement mentally and spiritually is more evident with eyes like mine.”

That word he thrust upon me as if he had known me for a lifetime eluded my known vocabulary, and he spoke in riddles as if they were simple things. This way of speaking was less like Nomen’s but similar. He spoke as if he were describing a colour I had no ability to see, but I held onto the comfort I found in this position through the awkwardness of this speech.

“What is it that plagues your soul that you found rest in a place like this?” The bouldering figure said through red tendrils of hair that cascaded over his forehead. Beads of sweat trailed down the veins of his forearm.

“We came here to heal my brother, but it appears that was in vain. He is still cursed with the affliction he arrived here with.”

“I see, then you have much to be proud of. This is a journey not even gods can muster the strength for.”

“Well, it was for naught anyway. This place couldn’t even heal him. And he’s pretending like he’s not even cursed.”

“It sounds like he’s found closure in a shortcoming. The shepherd does not count the wolves in the distance; he takes tally of his flock.”

I eyed him in confusion, and he sensed my train of thought as he shifted in the grass.

“You must count your blessings, not your curses.” His voice was more direct, less impartial, as if he were adjusting to this form of speech. “But that is your brother’s journey to this place, just as he has found sanctuary in the shade of his thoughts, you too must conquer your darkness and find tranquility. Practice your breathing, shut your senses off from the world, and when your doubt is stronger than the void, ask yourself again, ‘Have I made my world better?’”

That question scrambled my brain and crackled through my memories like lightning flickering across the open sky. Had I made my world better? All that mattered to me was Miko, but he’s not better…

Is he not? My own voice asked deep within me. He was happy earlier; more than that, he seemed stronger than before, more resilient. He’s better now, better than when we began, at least. I thought to myself. Where did my optimism go? Did it die with my final step at the wall of The Garden? Why do I grieve a brother that breathes?

He breathes, my mind demanded. He possesses one more limb than when we started this journey, and he looks so happy now. My brother is content. Why then do I feel sorrow for someone who does not? My brother is happy and he breathes. My sacrifice was not a failure then, I thought with a final but bitter release.

“It was a selfish sacrifice in the scope of bettering the world, I suppose. I sacrificed myself for my brother.”

“That is your world, and you have bettered it and him for it.” The man said while standing, before turning away from me and looking up to the sky. A maroon moon pierced the wispy yellowish blue veil beyond us.

“What did you sacrifice?” I asked aloud.

“Sacrifice? Little one – that is not of importance to me. I ask myself instead, ‘What did I save?’”