At the end of the path

She had sailed mighty rivers; she had been through dark forests, walking through long-time abandoned paths covered with mud, dead leaves, and fallen branches. She had barely survived two major firestorms which had cost her the horse and all the remaining provisions. She had survived eating bitter roots, stealing eggs from nests, and hunting small creatures with her bare hands. She had been chased by bounty hunters, wild beasts, and that mythical creature she had considered an old wives' tale most of her life. She had suffered hunger, pain, loneliness, even despair. She had lost every single friend she met along her journey. But each time, she had gotten back on her feet.

And now, years later, she had arrived at the Fortress.

She had seen the unmistakable shape of the massive building early that dawn, but only now, that the sun was setting behind the hills in the west, she had arrived at the entrance. The Fortress was high and it was dark and it was inexpugnable and it was made of stones; between the walls, forgotten plants and insects had grown, and the whole place seemed deserted. She hadn’t bumped into a single guardian during that last part of her long journey. Yet, she knew there were thousands of eyes upon her -the eyes of her ancestors, the eyes of the priestesses, the eyes of the prophets, the eyes of all of her people-, as she walked towards what she had expected to be a huge gate.

This, she hadn’t counted on. There was not one gate. There were two of them.

The first gate, the one on her left, seemed older than the other one. It was huge: over twenty-five feet tall, made of some ancient material that she couldn’t be so sure whether it was a mineral or some kind of metal. The door was covered in signs and pictures, perhaps decorative, perhaps inscriptions in a language that had been lost in the edges of time. In any case, those inscriptions meant nothing to her. “If only Byzan could be by my side now”, but she could not be so sure even the Great Wizard could have deciphered the message –if it was indeed a message. In any case, her friend and mentor had fallen a long time by then, fighting in the Kitarras Tar Pit, and giving her a chance to move forward. It was her, and she alone, who was destined to find the way to the Fortress.

The second gate, on the right, was much smaller, a regular-size door made of thick wood, surrounded by an arch of round pebbles. There were no inscriptions whatsoever, but a simple bronze door knocker. It seemed like the gate the servitude would enter through. She was no servant. And she hadn’t gone through such a rough journey to simply knock at a wooden gate. Besides, it could be a trap. Or a test. “You will find all sorts of obstacles along the way, Canaria”, the words of her mother resonated in the echoes of her memory. “Where others would fail, where the strongest ones would faint, where the powerful ones would be beaten, you must persist. After all, you are not just you: you carry within yourself a power ancient than me, ancient than my mother, ancient than hundreds of generations before you. You are meant to walk through the Gate; you are destined to conquer the Fortress. And no other living soul can do it for you. If you won’t, then no one will”. 

The Fortress was enormous and surrounded by mountains as high as the sight could reach. No one would ever dream of surrounding it. Besides, this was it. She was at the entrance, in front of the gate she was supposed to walk through. But which gate was it? She started walking in circles in front of the two doors: the great ancient one, and the small, wooden one. Ever since she was a little girl, she had discovered her thoughts became clearer when in motion. She enhanced her senses, yet she could not hear anything: no bird call, no beast roaring in the depth of the forest behind her. Not a single sound came from inside, only the echo of her footsteps on the dry, reddish earth that led to the Fortress. 

A sudden instinct drove her towards the huge, ancient gate. She stood beside its marks and rubbed the designs carefully with her naked fingers. The material felt cold and moist at her touch. She knew there was some kind of message left there, someone had craved that old material for her, maybe ages ago. And, although her first impulse was to push the gate with all her strength and force herself into the Fortress, she somehow had the hunch it would be suicidal.

The few remaining rays of the twilight had vanished among the hills and the forest, and soon, it was too dark to keep staring at the marks on the big gate. Her stomach roared, but she didn’t care about the hunger. She, who had tolerated weeks, months, whole seasons on her own, felt the despair growing inside her heart: so near and yet, so far… would she survive another night on her own? Could she wait until the sunrise to make her choice? Why would she do such a thing? She was meant to penetrate the Fortress; she had been fed on the prophecy ever since she was old enough to understand the words! Her mother, her father, the priestess, old Byzan, all of them had raised her to be right there right at that time. The enormous, majestic gate was there, for her to open and enter, the Fortress was there for her to conquest.

Why would that second, little, insignificant wooden gate with a door knock stop her from achieving the deserved greatness? Hasn’t she proven herself worthy all through the long journey? Hasn’t she demonstrated the prophecy was right all this time? “Come on, Canaria” she mumbled, “you can’t give up now”. 

She knew she had the strength and the courage. And still, something stopped her from bringing down that majestic gate. Maybe it was the inscriptions. Maybe it was something else: she wasn’t supposed to make a choice. Not at this point of her journey. As difficult as it had been, all of her course had somehow been laid for her. So far, she had only walked the steps meant for her to walk. But this was the end of the path.

Now, she had to choose.

The half-moon was already shining in the sky when she made up her mind.

She walked towards the small, wooden gate; she picked the bronze door knocker, lifted it, and with a simple move of her fingers she let it fall. The knocker hit the wood. The sound resonated all through the huge entrance and reached the limits of the forest: a flock of birds flew into the night, partially covering the white shape of the half-moon. She waited for what seemed an eternity.

And then, the small wooden door opened. A kind face received Canaria with a smile: “It is you at last. We have been waiting for such a long time. Come on in.”