The Journey -- David Allen

The Journey by David Allen

One: The Hill

Since the day I could walk my parents had warned me about the hill. "Never go up there," they would say. And when I asked why, they would tell me I was not old enough to understand. The hill I speak of rested just behind our small two-room shack. It was thick with trees and vegetation, effectively shrouding its contents from view. I spent much of my free time perched upon the water barrel, gazing at the hill, hoping to see some sort of movement. Something that would help me understand why I was not to go up there.

On my twelfth birthday, my mother announced that she was pregnant. Both her and father seemed somewhat discouraged by this news. Father already had a great deal of trouble keeping an adequate supply of food on the table. Our small garden and Abby the goat were the thin line between starvation in our home. The garden was, for the most part, a few potatoes and some lettuce. Once in a while we were blessed with a carrot or two. We relied on Abby for milk; she didn’t have much, but it was enough. The only trouble was that Abby had a knack for getting into the garden and ravaging our food supply.

Along with my twelfth birthday came a new responsibility. I was now expected to gather wood from the forest. Of course, I was not allowed to go near the hill. Even though anyone could plainly see that the vegetation on the hill was much more healthy than that of the forest. Once when I was just a toddler, my mother caught me picking berries from a bush along the hillside. That night I was beaten severely and told never to go near the hill again.

It was on a warm spring day that my little adventure began.

I was just along the edge of the forest, gathering fallen branches and twigs for kindling when my eyes wandered over to the hill. It was only by chance that I even paid heed to where I was looking. A little flash of movement streaked through the underbrush just along the bottom of the hill. My first inclination was to think that perhaps a deer had just run by. But my parents had always been very firm on believing that no natural animal would dare set foot anywhere near the hill. Even Abby had never wandered off to gorge on the fine assortment of shrubs that the hill had to offer.

Being the curious boy that I was, I dropped my load of wood and made my way toward the hill. I stopped just a few feet away from where I had seen the movement and cautiously glanced back to make sure that nobody was watching. Mother was napping and father had gone to the MacLarsons home to fetch some beeswax.

I took a few steps closer to the hill.

Taking a deep breath, I made a decision that would have sent my parents into panic. I plunged into the tangle of vegetation, making my way up the hill. Only a few feet in, I broke through the initial barrier of weeds and vines and landed in the clear on soft mossy ground. I looked around and saw that there was a trail, a very small one, leading up the hill. Instinctively, I followed the trail. I glanced back, noting that the trees created a perfect canopy, concealing me from my mother's eye if she happened to look out the window. I smiled. This was something that I had been wanting to do for quite some time.

Two: The Well

When I finally arrived atop the hill, I found myself in a perfect circular clearing. At the very center there was a well. It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen; each stone along its rim was different. Not merely a different shade or texture, but a different color. There were green stones, purple stones and red stones. Almost every color I could imagine adorned the well. I took a few steps closer to the well and noted that there was a small brown bucket with a horse hair rope tied to it. The bucket lay on the ground beside the well, the rope coiled around it like a slumbering viper.

I took a few steps closer and peered down into the well. I could not see the bottom. In fact, I could only see a few feet down. My mind began to reel as to why this well was here. Why was I not allowed to come up here? Had my parents even seen what lay atop this hill? As I thought these things, I noticed another trail going off to the other side of the hill.

Not thinking twice, I followed it.

The trail did not simply go straight down to the bottom of the hill as I had thought it would. Instead, it curved to the left and went alongside the hill. I also noticed that the canopy on this side of the hill was somewhat thicker, creating a dark and almost frightening atmosphere. I had only barely begun to think about this when the trail came to an abrupt stop.

Directly in front of me, a small wooden door lay imbedded in the side of the hill. There was a door knob that seemed to be fashioned from brass. I somehow knew that this was the entrance to someone or something’s home. My mind immediately recalled stories I had been told when I was a child. Stories of trolls and goblins that lived in secluded areas, preying on disobedient children. Fear began to surge through me, and I suddenly felt unsafe.

Just then the knob turned and the door began to creak open. I whirled around and darted back up the trail before anything more could happen. My feet carried me fast, the feeling that something was chasing after me provided a small boost to my strength. Before I knew it, I was back at the well.

I came to a stop, my chest heaving and my heart throbbing. Something about the well made me feel safe. I leaned forward resting my hands on my knees, attempting to catch my breath. The sound of footsteps from the trail behind me wafted to my ears. I stood bolt upright, risked a quick glance over my shoulder and ran back down the trail toward our shack. I reached the bottom and wormed through the underbrush without a second thought.

I landed violently on the ground, safely outside the barrier of the hill.

The next day, as we all sat at the table enjoying a meager portion of potato stew, my father's eye was on me. His expression bore a curious yet slightly uneasy weight that made me squirm in my seat. He knew something. Perhaps he had seen me come out of the underbrush…

"Son…" He said firmly.

"Yes father?" I replied innocently.

"Your mother tells me that you were not gathering wood yesterday eve." His tone darkened. "Where were you?"

I gulped, this was a very bad situation. Not doing my chores was one crime, but getting caught was a completely different one. "Father… I…"

He locked eyes with me and frowned, "You’re not a boy anymore. I expect you to keep up your end of the work around here."

Relief hit me like a cool breeze, it was only a lecture, he had no idea that I had gone up the hill. I nodded calmly and pretended to listen to his speech. When he was finished I apologized, assured him that it would not happen again, excused myself from the table and slipped outside to empty my bladder. Going to the usual spot along the edge of the garden, I allowed my eyes to wander up the hill again. I had a strange feeling that something was watching me.

Despite the uneasiness, I managed to relieve myself and walk back to the shack as though nothing was out of the ordinary. I went back inside and said goodnight to my parents. They replied in turn and I curled up beneath my plaid blanket in the far corner of the room. I pretended to sleep as my parents spoke in hushed voices about local news. Nearly an hour later they retired to their room, the only other room in the shack, and fell asleep. I could hear my father snoring within minutes.

Three: The Troll

Despite my greatest efforts, I could not manage to fall asleep. My mind kept bringing me back to the top of the hill, back to the frightening door way on the other side. My curiosity would never be satisfied until I knew everything there was to know about that hill. Everything. The idea of asking father occurred to me, but I knew he would react with anger. For I was not yet old enough to understand. At least that was what he thought. I wondered if he even truly knew anything about the hill.

With both of my parents asleep, I stepped outside for some fresh air. The star-lit sky always seemed to comfort me. I gazed up into its unending reaches and something inside me smiled. I turned my gaze from the stars, almost nonchalantly, and glanced at the hill. My eyes skimmed its mysterious surface and then leveled down toward the bottom.

I froze. Terror struck me a solid and clean blow across the head.

At the very bottom of the hill stood a dark figure. I found myself wanting to scream, to run, to do anything but stand there and gawk. But I was unable to move.

The figure moved toward me, slowly, methodically. It was almost as though it was attempting to drag out my fear until I collapsed. As it grew closer I was able to make out certain details. It had a body, two arms, two legs and a head, giving it the appearance of a human. The only thing that caused doubt in my mind as to its humanity was the fact that it was only half my size, hunched over like some rancid beast and a single horn-like nub extended from the top of its skull. As it grew closer I was able to pick out more dreadful deformities. Its face was wrinkled in all the wrong places, giving it the look of a half-melted wax figurine. It’s eyes were also in the wrong places. The left eye was nearly parallel to the bottom of its nose and its right eye appeared to have been twisted around side-ways. As the creature grew closer, I could smell its hideous stench. It smiled, revealing a row of crooked pointed teeth. "Hello." It’s voice was surprisingly deep and masculine, commanding even more authority than my father’s.

I was speechless, gripped by terror. Surely this was the devil. The devil himself, come to claim my soul. Or perhaps it was a troll, its thirst for blood leading it to my doorstep. My mind cycled through several of the frightening tales I had been told when I was a toddler. And somehow, I believed my death was just seconds away.

The creature took a step closer. Its terrible breath assaulted my nostrils as it spoke. "My name is Koergin."

I took a deep breath, clearing my senses of the fear that gripped me and managed a civil reply. "Hello."

"Do not be afraid," the creature soothed. "I will not harm you."

I nodded, taking a step back.

Koergin smiled again. "Please, I am not what you think. Come with me, and we shall talk."

I knew instantly that this was the thing that had chased me from its door on the hillside. I did not want to go with it. But I knew there was nothing more I could do than obey. It could kill me at any time. Trolls were vicious and heartless creatures. So I followed it, hoping that it would leave my family alone.

We ascended the hill, passed by the well and made our way to the wooden door that I had run from earlier. The creature pulled open the door, gesturing for me to enter. I obeyed, stooping to my knees and crawling through the narrow entrance. Taking a thorough look around, I found myself in a large cavern, the walls adorned with beautifully carved candles, giving the place a gentle glow. Behind me, Koergin pulled the door shut and led me to a stone bench in the corner of the cave. I sat down, finding it to be surprisingly comfortable. Koergin took a seat on a smaller bench across from me. His disfigured eyes met mine and he smiled. "Welcome… This is my home." He made a sweeping gesture and grinned proudly.

I gulped, "Why have you brought me here?"

Koergin looked down at his bare feet, "I have not had company in some time. I thought we could talk."

"Are you a troll?" I asked, fear seeping into my voice. Before he could answer I continued, "Please, don’t harm my family… I am sorry I trespassed today, I was curious, I…" I trailed off, Koergin was laughing softly to himself.

When he noticed my questioning gaze he smiled, "I am not a troll. I am a man, just like you."

I opened my mouth to protest.

"Well, perhaps not just like you," Koergin smiled ironically, "but I am a man nevertheless."

Before I could ask any more questions Koergin began to tell his tale. "I was born like this," he motioned to his disfigured body. "Not completely like this, of course. My face used to be relatively human in appearance. When I was two, my father threw me into the fireplace." At the sound of my shocked gasp, Koergin smiled, "You see, my parents thought I was a changeling. Do you know what that is?"

I nodded. Everyone knew of the changelings. Sometimes, when mothers were paying no heed to their babies, the devil would come and take them away, leaving changelings in their place. Changelings were the offspring of the devil. Father had told me once that his brother's child had been taken and replaced by a changeling. But when his brother had beaten the child, the devil came and gave him back his true son, in order to rescue the changeling from the beatings.

"Well," Koergin said, "I was born just like this, my limbs crooked, my eyes in placed at odd angles and of course," he pointed at the nub on his head, "this horn. A deformity of my skull. But I am human, just like you." He sighed. "When I was eight, my parents left me in the middle of a forest to die. Fortunately, I found this cave and survived off the plentiful vegetation on this hill. I have been here ever since, living alone, like an animal. Thankfully, I have never been bothered by anyone in all these years."

I began to understand the situation. We talked for a few more hours, Koergin telling me stories unlike any I had ever heard. He was a natural storyteller, born with a knack for creativity. In turn, I told him of my life and how I had never been allowed to come up the hill. He assured me that it was because people had caught glimpses of him and thought that the devil lived on the hill. That was fine with him, it gave him peace and quiet.

I crept back into bed at just before dawn.

Four: Little Brother

I remained a good friend to Koergin throughout the course of the year, bringing him fresh milk and even lending him my blanket when winter hit. In exchange, he always offered some incredibly bizarre and amazing story. My imagination soared with tales of adventure and excitement. Everything changed, however, when my little brother came along.

Father and mother knew from the moment he was born that something was wrong. I could see it in their eyes. An uneasy fear that hid just behind their visible emotions. I also knew from the first time I saw him that something was not right. The way he stared off into space with glazed eyes, the way he unenthusiastically lay there drooling all day long. He never wept, he never giggled. Sometimes he allowed a strange throaty moan to escape his lips, but that was it.

I became afraid for the baby when mother and father started looking to the hill with suspicion. I could hear them at night, speaking to each other in hushed tones about something very dreadful. All the while they ignored my poor little brother, who lay in his crib all alone throughout the course of each day. I began to take sympathy on him, bringing him outside and telling him stories that he could not possibly understand.

Koergin warned me early on, "Your brother is in danger. He is different. Like I was, only his deformities are in here." He pointed to his head. "Nobody can see it. Watch him carefully, if you hear your parents mention changelings then there will surely be trouble."

When my little brother turned two, my father was already speaking of changelings. He and my mother spent their nights shouting back and forth at each other. I knew there were going to be problems.

One day my father sat me down and told me that I was old enough to know the truth about the hill. He told me a terrible tale of how the devil lived on top of the hill and how he came down from his perch once in a great while to steal children from their mothers and replace them with his own spiritless brood. He told me that my little brother had been taken and the thing that lay in the crib was a changeling.

When I tried to argue this, father used the back of his hand to set me straight. That night he also demonstrated the same technique on my defenseless little brother. It was a nightmare. The poor child did not cry out, with every skull thumping blow he received there was only silence. I heard my father shouting for him to bring back his son. I could do nothing, for father turned his beatings on me whenever I attempted to intervene.

The next morning I cradled my poor little brother in my arms. His face covered in dried blood and his eyes swelled shut. I brought him out and gently cleaned the mess away. And as I sat there looking at the poor defenseless child, I began to weep. My mother and father had gone to consult a neighbor on how to get their son back. My tears gushed out, how could they do this when they know that this is their son? The idea of changelings was ridiculous to me by this time. I had heard enough from Koergin to know that it was a mere legend. An excuse used to be rid of malformed children.

My little brother reached out silently and squeezed my arm. It was the closest thing to a hug that he could manage. There was no way I could let them hurt him anymore.

Five: The Plan

After meeting with Koergin that day, a plan was worked out. We carefully sketched it out to the last detail. In the end, my little brother would be saved and my parents would be relieved of their ‘burden.’ The plan was simple. I would somehow convince father to bring the so-called changeling to the top of the hill and leave him there. This way the devil would have no choice to take him back and if we were lucky, their true child would be in his crib at dawn. Of course, the crib would remain empty, for Koergin and I would secretly raise the child in the cave until he was old enough to fend for himself. Then I would take my little brother and we would move far away.

Convincing father was surprisingly easy. He had had no luck with the neighbors, they had only told him to beat the changeling until the devil came to its rescue. When I told father of my plan, he smiled and patted me on the back. He was proud of me.

Everything went along wonderfully, father nervously climbed the hill at nightfall and left the ‘changeling’ next to the well. When he awoke and found that the crib remained empty, he roared with anger. He beat me until I slumped unconscious on the floor. When I awoke I told him the devil had visited me in a dream and told me that my little brother would not be returned. The reason was simple, father had beaten the devil's child and as punishment father would never see his true son again.

Telling father these things was a last minute action. It was the only way I could deflect his rage. He listened to my imaginary dream intently and began to weep. He told me he was sorry for beating me and then he slipped outside and strolled sadly off into the forest. Mother spent the remainder of the day in the garden, hiding her tears in the mud.

As the years went by, father spent more and more time away from home, allowing me many opportunities to sneak up the hill and visit my little brother. He was growing fast, though he still showed no expression or emotion, I knew he was happy to see me. He would reach out and squeeze my hand, staring off into space through those empty eyes of his. Soon my brother was walking. He didn’t run and play like normal children. But he could walk and it made me feel proud. Koergin noted that the time to leave was getting close.

Six: Pain

It was my impression that father had put the entire incident concerning my little brother out of his mind. I found out one night that I was dreadfully wrong. He came home with three strangers, men that I had never seen before, each man wore a crudely fashioned wooden cross around his neck. They sat around the table all night speaking in hushed tones. I heard the word "devil" and "changeling" far too many times for my comfort.

The next morning Koergin and I decided that it was time for me and my little brother to go. We worked out our plans to leave at midnight. My little brother sat silently beside me, a line of drool sliding down his cheek. I could hear his little heart beating a little faster as we discussed the plans. He knew we were leaving; he was excited. I smiled inwardly at this hidden display of emotion he was showing. I was proud of him. He was growing up.

That night my mind coursed with excitement. I could not wait to get out on my own, and I definitely could not wait to have my brother as a constant companion. I sat in the corner, smiling to myself. There was no need to pack; I had nothing other than what I was wearing. My mind raced through scenarios of adventure and excitement. Where would we go? What would we do? The mystery of it all made me squirm expectantly.

My thoughts were scattered as the door flung open and father came storming in. Behind him, the three men I had seen earlier stood, bold expressions darkened their faces. I noticed that tonight father was wearing a cross around his neck as well. He held a rusted rake in his left hand. I noticed that the other men each held a weapon of some sort as well. One of them even had a dangerous looking scythe. Father snatched up a candle and ignited a torch.

He turned to me, "Son, take care of your mother. I will return."

"Where are you going?" I asked, my nerves beginning to light up a bit.

"To take my son back," he said proudly.

My heart skipped a beat as I put two and two together.

"No!" I flew to my feet, "Father you can’t…"

His fist shot out, catching me along the jaw. I collapsed in a heap. I heard him mutter something about rebellion as he and his friends stormed out. My senses were twisted and boggled but I managed to get back to my feet. I staggered out the door, just in time to see my father and his companions disappear into the brush at the edge of the hill. It would be a slaughter… I had to move fast.

I ran as fast as I could, diving into the shrubs and wriggling through. I landed with a hollow thud on the moss covered ground. I looked up, catching a glimpse of the torch light atop the hill. I would never make it in time. They were already almost there.

Running blindly through the darkness, knowing only that I was going uphill and therefore I must be going in the right direction, terror shot through me. Father would not stop until Koergin was dead. And he would surely kill my poor little brother as well, thinking him to be the changeling. Tears streaked across my face as I pushed up the hill. This had to be a dream…

I reached the top of the hill and darted around the mysterious well. The sound of shouting echoed through the forest. It was my father's voice. The shouting continued as I descended the trail towards Koergin’s home. The shouting abruptly stopped and I knew that it meant that they were attacking. I stopped dead in my tracks as the silence was cut by an ear-piercing shriek. A sound of pure pain and terror. It was not father. It was not any of his companions. Nor was it Koergin.

I knew the instant it cut the silence, that the shriek had come from my little brother. The cry trailed off into a gurgling moan and all was silent again. I fell to my knees. The horrible truth of what had happened, hitting me with full force. They had killed my defenseless little brother.

I began to weep, the pain of it all washing through me like a cruel river. Minutes later my father and his companions strode by, not one of them taking notice to my presence. When they had passed, I stood and limped slowly to the open door on the side of the hill. I crawled inside and glanced around, my eyes taking in the horror. Koergin lay silently in a pool of blood, a terrible gaping hole through his chest. His eyes were glazed over with the ever silent maw of death.

I saw just beyond Koergin lay another unmoving body. My brother.

I crawled miserably beside his body and pulled him into my arms. I wept aloud as his cold, silent corpse rested against me. Stroking his soft brown hair, I allowed the tears to flow uncontrollably from my eyes. I had never felt pain such as this. Foolish superstition had led my father to slaughter his own child…

Just then there was a subtle movement from his body. My heart pounded in my chest as hope flew into me. He reached out and softly gripped my arm. He slowly tilted his quivering face toward mine. In all his years, he had never showed any sign of expression… And now as he looked up into my eyes, I saw a reassuring smile crease his lips, it was as though he was saying "thank you." His grip tightened and his head slumped forward once more.

He was gone.

I wept even harder.

Seven: Conclusion

I did not return home that night. In fact, I never went back. I spent the remainder of the evening giving my little brother and my friend a proper burial. And then, as if drawn by their endless beauty, I gazed headlong into the stars. I could feel them smiling down at me. I knew that they were finally free of the chains that life had put on them. I felt a strange peace as dawn broke.

I left my father and my mother behind and journeyed into the foothills, taking adventure by the throat, knowing that my little brother was with me all the way. Sharing my excitement, and beaming down at me with more love than I could have ever mustered up in two lifetimes.

Life goes on. The pain doesn’t necessarily vanish, but it keeps back enough for life to move along. And when my journey comes to an end, I know he’ll be up there, waiting for me, his face lit up with expression and his eyes looking right at me. I think of that day, and it keeps me going.