“One day, Jhovan came upon a long and narrow valley full of towering trees and beautiful flowers. The sides were quite steep and periodically decorated with thin waterfalls. The east side of the valley was a sheer granite wall with only a small opening at its base. A thunderstorm suddenly appeared over the mountain. So violent was the storm and so intense was the lightning that he sought shelter within the cave. The storm did not let up but went on and on.
“Night came and a wet darkness began to fall. Jhovan realized he had no wood for a fire. Any wood he might gather near the mouth of the cave would most certainly be soaked with the day’s rain. His clothes were wet and the cave was cold and damp. But as the last bit of light left the rainy sky, total blackness did not come. The perplexed young man turned toward the back of the cave and noticed a very faint glow emanating from a passageway leading deep into the mountain.
“Curiosity filled Jhovan. He got up and made his way toward the tunnel. With each step, the air in the passage became gradually warmer and more comfortable to breathe, and the dampness of the walls diminished until it was entirely gone. To his amazement, even his clothes started to feel drier.
“As he headed farther into the mountain, his eyes strained to look ahead into the passage. The strange illumination from the walls allowed him to see a set of stairs up ahead. His pace quickened as he yielded to his growing excitement until he reached the stairway. He began to climb with slow and cautious steps. The sound of distant wind chimes began to fill the passage as he moved steadily upward. The faint glow gave him enough light to pick out his footing on the smooth stones. He reached the top of the stairway and paused.
“Looking ahead, he saw an opening. It was similar in size to the mouth of the cave he entered earlier. He covered the distance to the opening quickly. His eyes took a moment to adjust to unexpected brightness. A most incredible view greeted him.
“A sea of shifting mists stretched out from below where he stood. As he looked from side to side, Jhovan saw the stone wall continue out to his left and to his right, meeting on the far side of the mist to form a large crater.
“In the middle of this sea of mist, rising out of the grayness, stood a plateau of sorts. A crystalline blue lake covered most of its surface. The lake had no apparent source, yet waterfalls fell from most of the plateau’s edge down into the mist. An island covered with trees and flowers seemed to float in the center of the lake.
“He started to walk again, keeping one eye on the wondrous vista and the other on the descending path clinging to the rock face. He made his way along the wall of the mountain until the path turned out toward the island. A bridge of naturally fashioned stone led away from the rock face of the mountain. Every so often a stone pinnacle found its way up through the mist to support the archway.
“He walked across this bridge very slowly, being both careful and unable to move very quickly with such unusual sights around him. Soon, he found his way to its end and the plateau’s edge. The path continued for only a short distance until it ended at what appeared to be a small wooden pier. A little boat was tied to one of the boards.
“The young man accepted the unspoken invitation of the boat. He climbed in, untied the rope, and the boat began to move away from its berth. He realized the boat contained no oar or paddle to steer the vessel but didn’t seem to need one as a wistful breeze guided it. He could hear the beginnings of a soft chant.
“Soon he drew near to the island. The music grew more noticeable as many other voices and melodies joined the song. The wind blew the boat slowly until it came to rest at a dock fashioned much like the one it left minutes earlier.
“He got back to his feet and noticed a narrow trail leading through the trees and bushes. He began to feel something familiar drawing him, or perhaps someone calling him. He felt as though he was coming home after a long journey.
“After a short walk, he came to a small gate made of coarsely cut stone. He passed through the gate and entered into a garden. What he found amazed him. All the colors of the rainbow shone from every leaf on every flower and tree. The grass was greener than any field he could recall. The birds sang songs sweeter than any ever sung before.
“In a little clearing on a bench sat an old man dressed in white. His hair was gray and shimmered with silver highlights, and he had a gray beard to match. His ocean blue eyes called to Jhovan, and he responded by moving toward the peaceful figure.
“‘Greetings, Jhovan. I am He who watches over the Realm of Creation. I am the pillar of all that is. I forged the world and fashioned all of the creatures of field and stream. I put the sun and the moon amongst the stars. I know what was, what is, and what will be.
“‘Come and sit,’ the old man gestured. ‘This place is a gift to you and all mankind. I have worked long at making it. I call it Pradix.
“‘You, Jhovan, and all like you, are my children. Each of you, if you merely believe, may share in this place forever.
“‘But I need someone to carry word of it out into the world. That is why I brought you here. I know you and I know you will do this task. I will send another after your work in the world is complete. This other will help mankind and remind them of this place.’
“Jhovan was quite taken by this Creator, his Pradix, and the request made of him.
“The Creator continued. ‘When you leave this place, your course will become clear and you will tell the world of this gift I give. One day, you will return and live here long past what your days in the world would have been otherwise.’
“The graceful figure rose from the bench and lifted his right hand toward Jhovan. He touched him softly on the forehead.
“‘So it is done.’ The Creator sat down again.
“Jhovan awoke beneath an old tree and felt the warmth of the first brilliant rays of the morning sun. He saw the world as if for the first time, his love for life rekindled. As he stood up, he slowly turned his head to look out from the hilltop to see fields of rolling green in all directions. Just above the western horizon shone a white point of light beckoning him. A cool wind blew at the white clouds as Jhovan walked down the path from the old tree and headed to his home in the Wester Lands.
“Upon his return, Jhovan told everyone about what had happened to him. There were those who disbelieved him and there were those who thought he was outright crazy. But Jhovan was not daunted. He took his charge from the Creator of Pradix to heart and left his home to spread the word of Pradix and the blessings awaiting all who will believe. There were many towns that disliked Jhovan and claimed his message to be rubbish. No one is quite certain what eventually happened to Jhovan. Some think he was killed, some think he died, and still others think he awaits the believers at Pradix.
“There have been many who set out with the intent of finding Pradix and returning to confirm or deny its existence, but none have ever come back. Legend has it that Jhovan left a Gatekeeper behind to help those seeking Pradix. No one seems to know who this person is or how he has lived hundreds of years since the time of Jhovan.”
“That’s quite a story,” remarked the old traveler. “Do you believe any of it?”
“I do. I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
Marion turned to look at O’lie Peters.
“I believe it because it touches something deep down inside me. I want to believe there is something bigger and grander, that we were created not just to spend a few years in this world, but to be more.”
After Marion finished his story, they realized they had walked a very long way, saw it was midday, and decided to stop for a rest and a bite of lunch. They found a comfortable grassy spot underneath a shade tree beside a stream running down a gentle slope to the Rivanna River—just out of sight.
After lunch, they started off again to follow the course of the stream to the western shore of the great river. Taking off their sweat-stained clothes and bundling them together with their other possessions, they waded into the shallow part of the river. At
midstream, the cool water reached their shoulders. Once across the river, the warmth of the sun helped to dry them as they made preparations to start off once more.
They continued to walk through the tall grasses. Up gentle slopes and down rolling hills they went, knowing there was still a long way to go before they reached Meherrin Pass. The afternoon sun grew hot on the tops of their heads. Every once in a while they would stop and rest. When hungry or thirsty, they snacked on some of Marion’s provisions or drank a little of the cool water collected at the river.
As they walked along, they shared stretches of conversation about the surroundings or the wildlife venturing out for a look at the travelers. When talk focused on more pertinent things, Marion started to realize it was always his life they ended up discussing. The more time Marion spent with this stranger and the more they talked, the less he learned about his companion. Unsettling as this was, Marion did not seem to be having much luck at turning the conversation around.
In the middle of the afternoon, they came up over a low-lying ridge and noticed the proud peaks of the Meherrin Mountains rising up in front of them. Marion looked at the position of the westering sun in the still-blue sky and figured they could make it to the pass before total darkness descended upon them. After a brief stop to take in the view, they set off at a brisker pace, just in case.
Approaching the mountain pass several hours later, O’lie Peters announced he wanted to continue his walk despite the gathering darkness. Marion surprised himself by urging him to stop and rest.
“It is almost dark and you won’t be able to find your way. And I’m happy to share my food with you,” offered Marion. “Come on—help me gather up wood for a fire.”
After collecting a sufficient supply of kindling and branches, O’lie Peters watched Marion pull food and camping equipment out of his leather pack. “You know,” explained Marion, “I only packed enough provisions to last me for a week or so. I’m not sure now why I didn’t bring more, but—somehow—it didn’t seem to matter. I suppose I decided that if Pradix was everything it was said to be, I would find it in a reasonable amount of time, and food would either be provided or it simply wouldn’t be needed. I guess it’s just an example of my faith in Jhovan’s story and the existence of Pradix.”
Marion started a fire and placed food over the burning wood. The evening soon closed in over the traveling companions. The sun dipped below the tips of the majestic trees and the stillness of the forest seemed more noticeable than ever. Almost in response to the quiet dusk, a choir of crickets sought to cheer up all creatures within earshot with their whimsical melodies.
The travelers shared a meal of hearty bread and cheese, dried fruits, and roasted meat followed by sweet Arvonian wine. After they finished, Marion watched the stars turn on one by one. At their feet, the logs in the small fire slowly melted into reddish embers. The two said nothing to another for a long while. Before drowsiness claimed Marion, he directed one more question to O’lie Peters.
“You seem a person full of wisdom. What do your instincts tell you about the truth behind Pradix?” asked Marion.
“I think what is important here is what ye believe to be the truth. Do ye truly believe in Pradix?” he murmured softly, more making a statement of fact than asking a question. “Just think what life would be like if the world knew without any doubt that Pradix really existed, and everyone knew how to find their way to Pradix in his or her own time. True—we would not have to go through life carrying ’round the fear of death. But what would life become? Would each of us stop trying to grow, learn, or build? Life might even seem futile if we knew the absolute truth. Perhaps it is better for each of us if the splendors of Pradix are not so easily revealed. Yes?”
Marion looked up at him. The red glow of the embers painted a mask of interesting hollows and angular lines on the stranger’s face—a face hiding more knowledge than Marion could imagine.
“No, you are right,” Marion replied. “I’m not sure man could handle such certainty about the existence of Pradix.”
In the fire’s dying light, Pete took on a much older appearance as he stared at the coals as though seeing another time and place. Marion got up to get a few more sticks of wood and nursed the fire back to life. As the flames took hold, the other man straightened, and a look of confidence slowly crept across his face. The inscrutable eyes of the seemingly older man widened as he leaned forward to speak with Marion face-to-face, eye-to-eye. “You have followed your own path and have believed in what you’ve done.”
After a few minutes of listening to the crackling of the fire, Marion said, “In the morning, then.” Almost as an afterthought, Marion inquired of O’lie Peters, “By the way, how old are you?”
But his traveling companion, succumbing to sleep, only mumbled in response, “In the morning, then.” With those words, the conversation ended for the day.
The next morning when Marion awoke, his companion and his sleeping roll were gone. Marion hadn’t noticed before that O’lie Peters didn’t travel with many supplies, things one would normally have if they were going on a long trip. But instead of concern for his newfound friend’s disappearance, Marion’s mind opened up, as if set free from some cloud. He wanted to begin his day’s travel. Maybe Pete had gone on ahead, thought Marion as he packed up his cooking utensils and rolled up his blanket, fastening it to the bottom of his backpack. He started off in the direction of Gilbert’s Ledge, thinking he might catch up with Pete—if that was, in fact, where he was headed.
After hiking along the ridge of the Meherrin Mountains for an hour or so, Marion veered off the main trail and came to the high point of the ledge. This particular vantage point always impressed him. But what greeted Marion’s eyes was not the vista he expected. Instead of seeing the Great Plains beyond, he saw a long valley, full of delicate threads of mist weaving their way through countless tall trees. Down from several unseen sources in the high stone peaks crowning the valley fell slender cascades of water. He looked across the valley and saw a sheer rock face at the far end.
“Wait a minute! What happened to the plains? Why have I never seen this before? Surely I am not lost,” Marion mumbled to himself in disbelief. Then a thought shot through him like a bolt of lightning. “A valley with a sheer rock face at one end? Could this be the entrance into Pradix?” he asked himself aloud. He quickly forgot about trying to find O’lie Peters and decided to strike off toward the valley. “What if I have found what I am looking for?” he said excitedly.
Marion descended from the ledge toward the valley. The path zigzagged its way down the steep slope through a deeply shaded forest. The switchbacks helped make the descent more gradual. As he walked, Marion began to think about whether there existed a Gatekeeper. Perhaps some bard added the fanciful augmentation to the legend hundreds of years ago. Why would anyone choose to live out here? Most certainly it was beautiful, but since a Gatekeeper can’t live forever, from where did new Gatekeepers come? Who chose them? Who trained them? Marion had answers for none of these questions.
Several hours later Marion reached the eastern end of the valley and stood facing the sheer granite wall. He noticed a flat area in the center of the stone formation. Moss and salt deposits from years of mineral-laden water trickling over it covered its surface. As he stepped up to the rock to get a closer look, he realized there were letters carved into the stone. The workmanship was not of high quality, appearing to have been done by someone who was not experienced or in a hurry—or both. Marion began to wonder if it was the handiwork of Jhovan himself.
As he read the words, he shouted out, “That’s it! The Gatekeeper isn’t a person at all!” The Gatekeeper was but a rock wall engraved with one simple question. The question was this—“Do you believe?”
“Yes,” sighed a world-weary Marion. “Yes, most definitely.”
To the right of the Gatekeeper’s question was an entrance to a cave. Marion stepped into the opening, slowly at first because he was unsure of the texture of the
cave’s floor and his eyes had yet to adjust to the absence of sunlight. But he found the rock surface to be smooth, almost like the glaze one might find on a piece of fine pottery.
After his eyes adjusted to the dark, he started down the long passageway. His pace picked up with each new step. Marion became keenly aware of his environment. He could feel a warm breeze where one might expect cool air. He assumed it would become darker as he moved farther into the tunnel, but it did not. With each footfall, Marion felt as though the weight of his years were falling to the floor—that he was lighter somehow. Rejuvenated. Reenergized.
Marion found the winding spiral staircase at the end of the tunnel’s long entrance—just as the stories told. He set his foot on the lowest step. The wide stairway appeared sound and undamaged despite the fact it must be hundreds, maybe thousands, of years old. With renewed confidence, Marion pressed on ahead up the great steps. A faint radiance grew in intensity.
At the top of the ancient steps, a circle of light marked the other end of the tunnel. As he approached the opening, a newfound joy filled his heart and spilled over into every corner of his mind and body. The light became brighter and brighter with each step. Unlike the sun though, it was a brightness that didn’t hurt his eyes.
Then Marion saw it—Pradix, in all of its splendor, opening up before him. It was just as Jhovan promised! The sunshine above, the sea of mist below, and the island surrounded by its waterfalls. Marion took a moment to gaze out at the wondrous view before he continued down the pathway to his right. He hugged the rock face and followed the narrow trail to the stone bridge, then headed out over the mists to the island.
At the end of the path, he stopped quite abruptly and stared in disbelief. There stood the forms of two men and a woman, all surrounded by shimmering light. The woman he recognized instantly—as he did the first man—but not the second man. Then it struck him. Of course! The second man fit the descriptions in the stories of old perfectly.
Seven Sides of Self Page 10