The story that is told

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My father had told me stories of my ancestors, about the great warrior tribesmen of the mountain. He told me of their many acts of valor, how they fought with the savagery of animals, how they raided villages of their enemies. I couldn’t believe it at the time, but now I know my father was only telling me half truths. My village, the village of my father, was small and remote. Most of it consisted of small wooden huts. All of them were painted in various colors, but were all lined up in rows. The village was protected by a small wooden wall, with the one side that shared a border with the mountain being a cliff. Few people lived in the village. Most of the men had left their homes to go looking for their fortunes in other villages. Those who never returned were said to had been killed by a rival tribe. What my father had left out was that those who returned were said to have abandoned their village because the women there were too frail and feminine. I had turned eleven a few weeks ago. My father was a warrior, but he never returned from his last journey. I can’t say if he died or just abandoned the village, but either way I was left alone.

Despite the absence of men in our village, the mothers had continued to bear children. They confidently told their daughters to never leave the village, said that if they did they were just asking for trouble. Despite this, I snuck out at night and climbed the mountain. One evening, I reached the place where the peak touched the sky. The sights were hypnotizing, mesmerizing. I wanted to see for more. Climbing turned out to be much easier than I had imagined, so I climbed higher and higher. I was unsure of how much time had passed when I heard a loud rumble. At first I fought against the wind, but quickly realized that wasn’t working. I desperately tried to turn away from the mountain, but I had reached the end of the cliff. The mountain had started tumbling down the hill, crashing into the village below.

I don’t know what happened for the next few hours, but the next thing I knew I was thrown through some thick foliage and landed in a small clearing just meters away from the village. The village wasn’t destroyed as I had hoped, if anything it was more destroyed than before. I discovered that there was only one house left standing in the village. The house was surrounded by beautiful, tall, dark green trees. The house was a beautiful, elegant structure. The wooden roof was painted in bright colors. The serene, inviting aura of the house drew me closer. These trees were amazing. I had never seen trees so tall and strong before, I always thought they were fragile, fragile things. It was clear to me that the tree weren’t welcoming me, they were protecting me. Outside the house was a large flag which I guessed would be its name. As I approached the house, I saw two doors. The door on the left was black and displayed a large tooth painted on it. The door on the right had a blue sky and a stalactite. The door on the right seemed more welcoming to me. I walked into the threshold and saw a small, white table with six chairs. I was relieved to find that the table was still sturdy. I softly called out for anyone still alive. A voice answered me from the other room, a voice with a bone chilling timbre.

A man, who I guessed to be about middle aged, walked out from the kitchen. He was dressed in a long red robe. He was bald, but you could see a few strands of gray hair from the top of his head. The man walked slowly towards the main room with steps as light as delicate leaves. The way he moved was graceful, like a glacier slowly falling down a frozen mountain. Just as he was about to pass me, the man turned around and walked into the main room. He then stood in the middle of the room and looked out the doorway. The man then spoke in a calm and soothing voice (a voice that was unmistakably a man), “My son, I am sure your village is still standing, but not for much longer.” He then turned to me and smiled, “You must be tired, I’ll take you to your chambers if you wish.” The man had a cheerful voice, full of light and warmth.

Before I could respond, I lost consciousness. My last memory was of the man taking my hand and leading me to my rooms. I think he said my name. When I awoke the next morning, the first thing I noticed was how fresh the air was. It was intoxicating. I then slowly opened my eyes and looked around the room. It was quite small, but definitely clean. The room was decorated with a red carpet and a white tiled floor. In the corner was a large and sturdy wooden bed frame. It was covered with layer of thick white cushions. The side of the room that I faced was tall and large. It was decorated by a large wooden fireplace. The fireplace was being heated by a series of large and thick logs that could withstand the heat from the flames. Above the fireplace was a large chandelier that contained many candles, all of which were lit. The other side of the room was decorated by a large white desk with a large golden chair. To my surprise, sitting on this chair was the man from last night. The man was looking out the window while basking in the soft light of the moon. The man then turned around, opened his eyes and smiled. The man then spoke, “Bonjour, je suis Mathmond, votre gardien. Did you sleep well?” I just replied in the affirmative. I then got out of bed and tried to remember what had happened. I first remembered the man from the kitchen, but nothing after that. I felt like I was remembering something, but just could not make heads or tails.

The man then motioned for me to follow him out of the room.