As soon as the rosy-lining of sun appeared,

The children sprang from their homes and met at the center.

Their soiled feet pounded the stone pathways, alerting the

townspeople from the farthest homes in Gokor, and

circled around the main fountain.

At once, they crowded into a circle and addressed

their adventures to the skies:

 

We the children of the same father,

Judansta, Deth, Chirusus, and Ismath,

seek fear, demise, opportunity, and contentment.

What other adventurers could pursue this

journey? Who else is more well-equipped?

Shall the man selling your shoes

or the man watering your flowers be as

strong as we four?

We the children of the same father,

Judansta, Deth, Chirusus, and Ismath,

seek your wishes, your blessings, and your fortune.

 

The children dispersed from their circle then threw

on their cloaks, concealing their youthful faces.

Deth, the last to cover, whispered into his pits:

 

How must we start now, my brothers?

I’ve packed the needles into my leather

and I’ve disrupted the town’s clock for seven

days. Dysfunction and disorder will pervade

the innocent city-people now, for we sparked

the desire for freedom and no longer can return.

The man selling our shoes will walk barefoot.

The man watering our flowers will scatter his odor.

We will live to know our burden to this city.

No one will remember us—I can assure you.

For no one spotted me—I can assure you.

We will find time once we enter, my brothers.

We the children of the same father,

Judansta, Deth, Chirusus, and Ismath,

will be reunited with him again.

 

They stepped onto the rim of the marble fountain.

Easing the tension on their cloaks, they reached out into

the empty air with feeble, bare hands and felt a spiritual force

push them forward onto the depths of running water.

The children, in their brotherly harmony, submerged their faces.

Water entered their system, filled their capsules, and

circulated into the blood of their father.

 

Seconds past, and appearing as work of a warlock,

four brown-blotches of fabric remained on the city fountain.

 

 

 

The children awoke at the base of a mountain, their bodies

in the same composition since their descent into the fountain.

They picked themselves up and set forth on the path

delicately shaved of healthy greenery.

On their journey, the bright rays of sunshine poked through

the many holes of the trees. Alongside the blast of green foliage, 

orchestric morning songs played throughout the scenery.

The musical pieces resonated in the ears of the children.

Tired feet destined to fail grew might and lousy eyes crumbling

with time regained vigor.

 

With this rejuvenation, the children found themselves

near the final points of the trees. Here, they realized their journey

toward nothingness wasn’t isolated.

In the vast distance where even vision was blurred,

a kingdom of living souls inhabited the rigid land.

Children dispersed in splotches to play,

Merchants moved strategically around the market, and

Farmers trampled the ground in the fields.

 

The children approached the nearest circle of inhabitants.

The people resided in dirt houses, cemented into the ground with

roots of the common tree poking onto the roofs. 

A woman of the dirt house approached Deth, the youngest of the three.

As he saw, her face was clunked with aged literature, written from her

sinking cheeks to her choppy forehead. Her clothing, in matching

attire to her complexion, was shabby and neglected.

She asked the young adventurer if he needed direction.

Her friendly voice sent news to the boy and he faced her to answer.

But before he could utter his question,

Judansta patted his brother’s shoulder and addressed

the boy’s unknowingness:

 

Don’t mind the poor sagging tree of legs, Dear Brother Deth.

Mistakes they are! Father gifted vision, so we

could reckon our strength against these misfortunes.

We the children of the same father,

Judansta, Deth, Chirusus, and Ismath,

are the sacred offerings to the vile Earth.

 

And off the children went, further into the kingdom.

Beyond the dirt land of the impoverished, a baron desert blanketed

the arid ground with no person in the vicinity.

Each step on the ground cracked it into five separate chambers.

And by the twenty-fifth, the entire ground shattered, opening a 

dark door to a man to fly out into the sandy air.

The wizard summoned a thunderstorm, opening the sky and

breaking the Earth. Entranced by the wizard’s magic,

Deth stepped forward and locked eyes with the mystical man.

But before he could even share his thoughts,

Chirusus patted his brother’s shoulder and addressed

the boy’s unknowingness:

 

Don’t mind the stupid talking of cement, Dear Brother Deth.

Mistakes they are! Father gifted hearing, so we

could reckon our genius over these misfortunes.

We the children of the same father,

Judansta, Deth, Chirusus, and Ismath,

are the sacred offerings to the vile Earth.

 

And off the children went, crossing the turbulent desert

and into the center of the kingdom. Three hearts grew wild,

confident where life would thrive, while one stayed hesitant

inside their feeble, single mind. The child stumbled on his

words, urging the others to consider an alternative,

but with a burdened mind and a poor reputation,

Ismath patted his brother’s shoulder and addressed

the boy’s unknowingness:

 

Don’t mind the filthy clump of stench, Dear Brother Deth.

Mistakes they are! Father gifted scent, so we

could reckon our unchallenged wealth against these misfortunes.

We the children of the same father,

Judansta, Deth, Chirusus, and Ismath,

are the sacred offerings to the vile Earth.

 

But the doubt was strong, a fervent and indestructible force

provoking him to flee. He sensed the evil in his brothers and he

felt no desire to remain close to these figures.

So he ran. Where that had been, he knew not. But he ran.

His feet declaring faster than his soul, he purged the soil

underneath and hurried to the clear skies where a cliff stood proud beyond the forest.

But before he discovered safety, he found another in his same route.

He couldn’t hear it, he couldn’t see it, and he couldn’t fee it.

The child could only sense it.

The ominous, raven-black figure gliding across the forest floor—he sensed.

It was calculated and moved with deliberate action.

The intellect of the moon’s finest man, but the words of a muted infant.

The child couldn’t understand it,

he could only sense it.

 

So Deth continued to run. 

Though, before he could find a retreat, the child tripped

onto the forest leaves, splattering

his open knees with putrid browns

from the rustling forest floor

while he cried a heavenly call to his brothers:

 

Heal my tender bones and skin, Dear Brother Judansta.

Heal my wounded heart and soul, Dear Brother Chirusus.

Heal my poisoned mouth, Dear Brother Ismath.

 

The child stumbled onto his feet once again when he attempted rebalance.

His breaths reflected against the sturdy ground

and slapped his face with disappointment.

Then, the black figure cupped the boy under his feet into a dish,

lifting his fragile frame into the air. And with two silent steps,

it tossed him over the cliff, circling his body into a twister of silent screams.

 

Peering over the cliff, the black figure spoke to the dying child:

 

Best son of the strong, stupid Four, I hope you

understand my reason that you meant guilt of nothing.

Your devotion and generosity for the breathing

roamers will not be slighted by your demise.

Please understand—

You are where you had to be.

Your brothers of the same father,

Judansta, Chirusus, and Ismath,

will learn their ways to love me properly.

Because in spite of claims illustrating what you may,

No one would know what was truly after Deth.