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The old man prodded at the ground with his hoe,
trying to loosen the sun-baked dirt into something manageable.
Stopping for a rest, he removed a small handkerchief from his
back pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. Glaring up at the
setting sun, the man gave it a look as if he was daring it to do
its worst. Looking back down at the ground, he wondered if that
was possible.
For years, nothing had been able to grow in the valley where the
man lived. The hard, dry ground would hardly yield, even to the
strongest blows from a pick or hoe. Luckily enough, they
survived there, thanks to a well-traveled road that brought
trade from other towns more fortunate in farming than theirs.
Not a soul living there could remember a time when the valley
they called home was fertile, except one. The old man had moved
here untold years ago and often told others living in their
small town about the valleys past with an almost regretful
expression. “Once, long ago,” he’d say, “this valley was lush
and green. You could grow anything your heart desired!”
“What happened?” they’d ask, but he never told. Time and time
again they’d ask, but he’d always brush them off with a grunt or
a wave of his hand. When they asked why he didn’t leave, his
only reply was “Where else would I go?”
No one in that small town knew of the old man's past, though they asked enough.
Like the question about what happened to the valley, he'd simply brush them off
like an irritant gnat. He never revealed much about himself, but despite his
secrecy, he was as good and gentile a friend as any man.
Humming to himself, he hefted the hoe over his shoulder and
began the walk back to his home. As he approached the front
door, he noticed small form huddled beside it.
“Eh, who’s that?” the old man questioned. “C’mon, speak up you!”
he demanded, prodding the form with the end of his tool.
“Don’t hurt me!” the form cried, and bolted upright. Upon
inspection, the old man found that it was nothing more than a
small boy of about nine or ten years. “I’m sorry. I was tired
and I wanted to rest. I guess I fell asleep. I’ll be going now,
mister. Sorry.”
“Wait there little one, where are your parents?” questioned the
man, “and what are you doing so far out here? Town is quite a
long walk back for someone your size.”
“I dunno. I guess I got lost,” the boy mumbled, “I wander around
a lot.”
“Lost huh? Next time speak up, these old ears aren’t as sharp as
they used to be,” said the old man. “Why don’t you come inside
and have something to eat. It’ll be dark soon; the sun’ll hit
that mountain range over there and it’ll get real dark, real
fast. I’m sure your parents wont miss you, if you wander this
much. You’ll stay with me for the night.”
“My mom always tells me not to accept stuff from strangers, but
I don’t think this counts, really. I’ll stay,” said the boy.
“Come on inside, and mind the dirt on your shoes. I just swept
the floor,” stated the man. Pulling an extra chair from the
corner, the old man brought it over to a small table that sat
near one of the house’s windows. Reaching for a loaf of bread,
he set it on the table and walked over to the fireplace.
Lighting it, he returned to the table and fished out some jam
from a small cupboard near it.
“Go ahead and have some of that bread and jam while the fire
works itself up. There’ll be some hot meat, so don’t fill up
your belly too much.” Walking back towards the fireplace, he
stirred the fire with an iron poker, and then returned to the
table.
“So, boy, what is your name?” asked the man.
“Erick,” replied the boy, stuffing his mouth full of bread.
“Where are your parents?” he asked, “You’re much too young to be
out here all by yourself, even if you are just ‘wandering
around.’”
"Well my dad died when I was about five, and my mom is real sick. We moved here
a couple of years ago because some old sage told us that a kind of special
plant grew here that could help her. Since it's so dry now, it doesn't grow
anymore," the boy sighed, "An old lady from town takes care of her now, and she
doesn't want me to be around Mom too much, says that it's not good for her with
all of my rough-housing."
The old man sat looking at the boy with such a strange look; the
child swallowed the last piece of bread in his mouth and looked
down at the table, tracing the whorls in the wood with his
finger. Eventually, the man spoke again. “I want to tell you a
story,” he said. “I want to tell you how this valley became the
way it is.”
“Ok. Are you gonna cook the meat?” the boy asked.
“Yes, yes. It’s cooking,” the man replied. “May I start now?”
“Sure,” the boy said, propping his elbow on the table and
staring with childish intensity at the old man.
“Ok then. Long, long ago, in a place not very far from this
valley, the very valley that you and your mom moved to, the very
valley that you and I are sitting in lived a powerful wizard.”
“Really?!” Erick asked, excited.
“Yes, really. Are you going to let me finish, or not?”
“Sorry.”
“Where was I? Yes, wizard. Near this valley there lived a
powerful wizard. So powerful, that all other wizards bowed to
him. They called him ‘Galdamesh the Great,’ he was tall and
handsome, and carried a stout wooden staff that had great magic
powers just like he did. Maybe you’ve heard stories about him
before?”
“Oh yes!” the boy replied, “but I didn’t know he lived so close
to this place. Did his staff look that that one over there?” the
boy asked, pointing to a shadowy corner of the man’s house.
“He did. He did, and yes, it looked like that one,” the old man
said softly, gazing off out the window for a moment. Clearing
his throat, he continued. “The wizard was powerful, yes, but one
other wizard refused to acknowledge this, and sought to destroy
him. This wizard was evil, and used his magical powers only for
his own greed. Galdamesh knew of this evil wizard, for they were
bitter enemies.”
“What does this have to do with our valley being so dry?” asked
the boy, curious.
“Now I’m getting to that. Let me finish,” scolded the old man.
“Many times had the two wizards met and fought great magical
battles; often times leaving their meeting place a smoldering
ruin. They had fought for what seemed like years, until one day
they met for the final time. As it so happens, their final
meeting place was not far from here or the wizard’s home, for
the evil wizard had tracked Galdamesh to his very home. Deep in
the mountains near here, where there ran an ancient and
swift-flowing waterfall, they met. The awesome power of their
arcane battle could be seen for miles around. Bright flashes and
thundering booms shook the area. When at last the battle was
over, the evil wizard was dead.”
“What happened to Galdamesh?” piped the boy.
“Stop interrupting me, I’ll tell you,” replied the man.
“The town sent out a party to investigate the area where they
fought, to see what had happened. When they arrived, they found
the evil wizard’s body, but could find no trace of Galdamesh.
They also noted, on inspection of the area, that their battle
had caused an avalanche, knocking several giant rocks loose. The
rocks had covered the point where the water fell over the cliff,
cutting off the valley from their much-needed resource. And
that, my dear boy, is how the valley became so dry.”
“Wow. How long ago was that?” asked Erick. “Must’ve been a long
time ago, ‘cause no one else around here remembers it.”
“Aye, it was a long time ago. Ah, the meat is done. Hungry?” he
asked.
“Yes,” replied the boy, “thank you. Why didn’t the wizard move
the rocks? Where did he go?”
Walking to the fire, the man removed several smoking strips of
meat and placed them into a cloth napkin. He looked up, “No one
knows, except maybe himself. Perhaps the last battle took all
the magic that he had left in him. I suppose if he were alive
today,” the man mused “that he might have some magic left in his
old bones.”
Lapsing into a moment of thought, the old man sat quietly for
several moments before he spoke again. “As for the rocks, they
were simply too large for anyone else to move. Trust me, they’ve
tried. Now, eat up.”
The boy and old man ate in silence. When the boy looked up at
the man again, hoping that he might tell him another story
before going to bed, he saw the old man staring out the window
once more, towards the dark horizon.
“What are you looking for?” asked Erick.
“Nothing, boy. You’d better get to sleep; we have to find your
mom in the morning. See if we can’t find a fix for her illness,”
he said softly.
“Really!?” the boy shrieked, “We’re going to help my mom? How?”
“You leave that to me. Now get some sleep,” the old man told
him, motioning towards the bed in the corner.
The next morning, the boy awoke to find himself alone in the
man’s house. Yawning, he sat up in the bed and tossed off the
fur blanket. Wandering around, he picked up some bread from the
previous night and munched on it as he opened the door and
walked outside.
Breathing in a breath of fresh air, the boy ducked back into the
house and, finding a quill and a pot of ink, scribbled a quick
thank-you note to the old man. Dashing back outside, he whistled
a trail song his mother taught him, as he ventured back home.
A little over an hour later, the boy arrived back in town to
find the place in a state of chaos. The blacksmith ran by in
excitement screaming “It’s back! It’s back!” while the baker
approached the tailor and asked in excited tones “Have you
heard? The river is flowing again!”
Tugging on a woman’s sleeve, the boy asked her what was
happening.
“Why, silly child, the river began to flow again last night! Yes
sir, this place will be back like it was in the old days again!
What we used to haul up from the well doesn’t even compare to
the water in that old river bed!” she cried.
Hearing that there was a group of the town’s men going up to
investigate, the boy tagged along to see what happened. Reaching
the point of the waterfall, the men all stared around baffled,
for the giant rocks that had sat blocking the water for years
had been seemingly moved from their resting place and placed
nearby. Where they had once been, crystal clear water flowed
down a steep cliff, splashing into the once-dry river bed.
Looking around, the boy stared at the waterfall in amazement.
Suddenly he realized that since the water was flowing again, the
wild herb that his mother needed would grow once more. Giving a
wild cry of joy, Erick grabbed onto one of the men and hugged
him fiercely, sobbing.
“Eh? What’s come over you, boy?” the stranger asked. “You-
what’s this?” he asked, suddenly puzzled. “Now how did that get
there?”
Releasing the stranger, the boy wiped his eyes and looked in the
direction that the man had pointed. He froze and stared at the
object in wonder.
There, leaning against one of the giant rocks, was a stout,
wooden staff.
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