The Wilting Ballad

6

Neania struggles to maintain a steadfast course after spending the whole morning walking. She estimated that she will reach the Neat Gate by sundown if she keeps her normal pace and did not pause for a breather.

She feels out of time and so she ignores the stiff aching of her feet, it felt like every single step she take was accompanied by thorns that pricked from inside her boots onto her heels, she wish nothing more than to be rid of it.

But if the whispers about what lies beyond the Neat Gate's were, indeed, true, she must be prepared to the best of her abilities, so she shuts off her brain to be protected from feeling her burning sole.

Never had she been this far from the city and thus haven't the slightest clue as to how vast Il-Zektes actually is, from the outstretched Neat Gate to the heart of the city, it was much more than her imagination dreamt of.

Her father had forbidden it to went farther than Cropping Fields, a seven-foot-high crop that spans for ten thousand yards, she has gone past that couple of hours back, back when she was enthusiastic about leaving home for the first time.

Now, she just wanted to remove her shoe, threw them over a cliff, and walk barefooted back to the plains where winged painted creatures of the sky flew blissfully ignorant. Brushing her skin, feeling the kiss of nature along with the Cropping Fields, she wanted to swim the river along with fishes of all kinds nudging her, she wanted to feel the mesmerizing tickles of the exact right temperature of river water dripping from her body as she elevated.

But most of all she desires to cupped her mother's face and wiped the tears off her face, she desires to hold her two brothers, make them lunch, trained them, and scolds them when they complain about reading. She wanted to share with them the pain they all felt, but maybe that's just her hypocrite self talking, maybe she left to let them deal with it in their own way like she did, maybe she wish them to be strong in her absence so they grow.

Or maybe that's only an excuse she told herself, maybe all she did was abandon them, maybe it's in her blood like her blood mother whom she hates, who abandons loved ones in search of something bigger, something more. Did she found it? Did she? She thought grievously because she knows, none is bigger.

She waddled on the paved forest road that screamed of dying insects and jovial ones, twigs crushed beneath her boots. She grimaced as annoying short-lived bite jolts up her legs and to the tip of her head.

She sighed, clutching the twenty-nine leaves she plucked from the Ballad tree. Stole it, in fact, only four for one person was the amount they were conceded to pluck for one year. That is if they are exceptionally gifted in the arts of Leafsinging.

Neania fathoms a single leaf would be quite ample for healing her foot but since the reality of what she may encounter on her journey to Moss Island is unknown, she cannot wager even half a leaf for the mere sting she gets from walking.

Thinking about what would transpire at home, she briefly had a notion of going back, her heart raced at the thought of it, back to her mother, back to her brothers, back to family, and familiar faces.

She stand still and look ahead, ahead towards the other side of the world, a world beyond the Neat Gate, and it was calling out to her, singing to her. She runs, ignoring the agony of her feet, ignoring all but what was ahead. She promised to reach the gate by sundown and that was creeping near. So she runs ahead, to where wondrous things await.

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The sun had gone down but the sky was still alighted. The Neat Gate was a white stone that was constructed during the first rule of the Faiyshal's to keep outsiders out. Impenetrable boulders upon boulders of mounting spell cast star-iron stand four hundred feet high. Neania marveled at it, Of course, the stories have lied yet again.

That's four hundred, not a thousand. She mused to herself, shaking her head. She long dreamt of this moment when she reach this bloody gate, what her feelings would be, would she go through with her plans, how will she survived out there. She brushed all this aside, now that it stands before her, she's more certain than ever, she cannot wait to be on the other side. She has but one wish, she wished the stories lied again.

She forward and halted, she lay her palms flat on the gate and spoke the word all Il-Zektis know to get it open, "Fellnor."

Silence. No night creatures singing and no winds howling. No door shall appear, the only hole under the earth. She ran through what her father had said while training. She scanned the grounds for signs and there she saw, on the slopes, touching the gate. A hole that shines below the earth. She glanced around ecstatically before she slowly slithers in, expecting to be witnessed by someone, or even birds or fireflies. But the rising moon that fades was her only companion.