His final steps were filled with deep emotions. On the one hand, the journey was at an end … and there is something to be said for the relief of knowing that a long, emotional journey is finally complete. But the regret. There was so much more that he had wanted to accomplish – to see, to do, to feel. So many words to have been said, memories to have been built, lives to have been lived.
There was a time when the world was filled with possibilities, like an epic Spring in which the flowers were promised to be in bloom forever. As with all things, promise ripened to Summer’s fulfillment. But the march of time cannot be slowed and, following Autumn, when the fruits and harvests of Spring and Summer come due, there are the inevitable tests of one’s faith in the promise of Spring and Summer to follow the deadwoods of Winter.
And Firion had failed.
Firion’s footfalls echoed through the wood. It was the dead of night and the Village would be deep within its slumbers. There would be a guard at the gate, but Firion was a son of the Village and he would be allowed to rejoin without question or confrontation. The real trials – the ones deep within himself – were yet to come as he would, finally, have to confront the ledger of his journey. The glorious triumphs tinged with the regrets and sadness at missed opportunities, at failing the test of faith in the promise of paradise. So Firion lay down upon leaves and looked upward at the sky.
*****
Deep within himself, Firion knew that he did not regret his journey. Nor did he regret the sheer happiness and joy he had once felt. He had been alive in ways he could never have imagined. No, this was more about his cowardice, his inability to make a stand for what he knew to be the true path before him.
And in the world of Andira, your convictions meant everything. The deeply spiritual nature of the world requires a leap of faith in order for visions and promises to come to fruition.
For Firion, his vision occurred quite accidentally – at least, that is how it seemed to him at the time. In truth, the happiness he sought – a life of purpose and, yes, even of adventure – had been long been waiting for him. On that night, he merely opened his eyes wide enough to see it.
Firion had long stopped living. The life in his Village was, by all accounts, safe, comfortable, simple. But life in the Village did necessarily mean that he was alive. And Firion wanted to be alive – to experience the full rush of life with every passing moment.
As he set out on the hunt, he wandered the same paths he had always taken – a sleepwalk from emptiness into nothingness. But on this night, finally, he noticed what had been there for quite some time: A star, hovering just off the crescent moon. Its light and shimmer entranced him and, more importantly, it ignited the long dormant embers within his soul.
Starlight has that effect sometimes. Some legends in Andira say that the stars are shafts of lightning, frozen in time, holding more true and steady after the world-changing bolts flash through the heavens. Other legends say they are the fount of lightning. Either way, Starlight, like lightning, illuminates the darkness and kindles the fires within the souls of the world. So it was for Firion who saw the Star of Anaria, the blue-white fires of her essence reaching across the emptiness, linking their lives, their consciousness and their souls.
The gift of Starlight is truly one of the great treasures of Andira. And in that moment, Firion didn’t just believe – he knew that his gift could guide him to the places he wanted to go. He knew that the Starlight needed him as much as he needed it. In his mind he saw a new world, filled with great ancient mystery and cups overflowing with the meads of fulfillment.
In his mind he saw the path of his journey, a troubled, twisted and peril-filled trek through the world of Andira. He also saw the star’s accompaniment with him throughout it all. And he saw the brilliance of his eventual goal.
Once you receive the gift of Starlight, it is yours until you blink. Once you do, however, the Starlight is under no obligation to reappear, to return its gifts, and only the very few, the very lucky ever get a second chance.
Firion blinked.
Firion did not blink right away. He began his journey filled with the hope and promise of Spring. There were the sheer escarpments, the crumbled rocky terrain, the storms and droughts, the quiet nights of moonlight, the sweet scent of early morning dew, the blazing miracle of dawn and always, always, the Stars.
Firion had always wanted to feel alive, to truly live. And through his journey, he began to understand. Firion knew that he had to embark on this path. He knew that at its end was a place filled with enough Starlight, the secrets of ancient wisdom, love, spirit, music, and union, to illuminate a sleeping and shadowed world – not only his own world, but that of Andira, as well.
If only he’d had the faith and courage to follow the path of Starlight. Despite his joy, his feelings of purpose, the greatest of tests were still before him and though Firion felt alive, strong, vibrant, he was, afterall, merely human.
The animals of Andira have one great advantage over humanity: Their instincts, their connections to Andira grant them the ability to find the right balance between their desires and their determination. True, in the cycle of life, animals often perish before their time – but this is never because an animal has lost its resolve. Such is one consequence of the power of choice. Especially when one does not fully embrace that power.
As Firion forged ahead, he began to question himself, his convictions, his worthiness in the eyes of Anaria. He knew that what awaited him would be special, would benefit the whole of Andira. There were legends and myths, prophecies, that the world needed to know about. Such knowledge was the key to the future of Andira. It could, and would, illuminate the world. But when he faced the long abyss, when he faced the greatest challenge yet to his quest, Firion lost his resolve.
Firion lost his resolve not just because Andira posed questions and challenges to his quest, but because of his own inner fatigue and weakness.
By all accounts, Firion had accomplished much on his journey. He had surmounted obstacles he had never believed he could overcome. Indeed, he was beginning to live the life of his dreams. But the sudden appearance of the abyss, of the ravine, would prove to be his undoing. The canyon split Andira in two: the fertile plains on the other side, the pathworn plains behind him. And down the middle was the bright, vibrant blue of a young river.
After climbing down the escarpment, after surviving its tenuous heights, Firion drifted along the stream, maintaining his views of both plains. He stared at the two cliffs on either side and, finally, Firion’s spirit gave way. His path seemed split, the current bore him forward. And in his fatigue, his weakness – his inner cowardness – he finally succumbed to doubt. He could have chosen the past, he could have chosen the future. But he chose hesitation.
And Firion failed.
For a time, he drifted aimless upon the river, content to let it carry him onward. Such was his choice. But the decision he mulled was illusory. He had chosen indecision. He had chosen the river. And, despite it all, he would be carried to the open ocean – there to either be adrift forever upon the seas or to attempt to swim ashore.
But for Firion, the only shore on which he could ascend was that of his past. Behind sheer cliffs, the fertile plains, the light of Anaria, were now closed to him, lost in mists and shadows. He had turned away from his quest and now his quest was closed to him. And even as Firion turned his face to the sky, he watched Anaria’s light fade. Slowly and somberly, he returned to his village. There would be the river. There would be the Village. But never again would there be Starlight. Or Spring.
Not without Providence.
Such was his choice. Such was his destiny.
*****
And so it was, with the Village sleeping behind him, with the sentry silently pacing his ineffectual steps, Firion stared longingly into the blackness of the heavens. There were stars. There was light.
But no longer was there Starlight.
Firion had blinked. He had forsaken his gift. Come the morning, he would enter the Village and his long slumber would resume. And yet his eyes still searched the sky – as they would every evening thereafter – and hope. Hope for a sign. Hope for salvation. Hope for redemption. He knew that second chances were rarer than first chances. He would be ready. He would not fail again.
Or so he hoped.
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