Mountain Flower, part III

“Wake up.”

The dream vanished as if it had been blown away by the wind the moment she looked away from it. She forced her eyes open. She was still sitting exactly where she had fallen asleep, her hands stiff and cold again. The kind-eyed man was standing next to her, but he was looking up, at something in the distance. Ruth clambered to her feet, feeling even more tired than she had before her brief rest. 

“The clouds moved. We should move while we can still see the top of the mountain.” The man set off behind his companions, who were already far ahead.

Ruth took only a moment to look where the kind-eyed man had been looking. The peak of the mountain did not emit a faint blue glow or look significant in any way, like it might harbor any sort of magic. It seemed small and desolate, a bit frightening and a bit pathetic. “Things always look nicer up close, anyway,” Ruth whispered to herself, beginning to walk along behind the rest of the travelers. She had meant it to sound cheerful, but instead it came out as sadly hopeful. 

Hopeful was good, at least. 

They climbed even faster now, so that perhaps they could reach the top before the clouds hid it again. For the first time in her entire journey, Ruth realized she could truly see the progress she made. The top seemed to grow closer with every step. Ruth wondered briefly if she was only imagining it, as she had with other things, but it seemed that the men felt the same as she did. They began to murmur excitedly among themselves and quickened their pace even more. Every part of Ruth's body ached with pains of overexertion and the fever, but she managed to keep up with men, if only for the glowing expectation of reaching her journey’s end. Of course, she had hoped for this the whole time, but now it seemed so wonderfully close, like she only had to reach a little farther to grab it. 

Only the kind-eyed man remained calm, his face set with determination, but showing no emotion otherwise, his eyes fixed steadily on the summit of the mountain, as if he thought that if he only watched it closely enough it wouldn’t dare hide away again. Ruth thought he was odd that way; he never doubted himself or the things he did. He believed that, if he chose to do it, it would carry him safely through to where he wished to be. It was rather like confidence, only that it didn’t make him rash or boastful, and he seemed to have it in everything he did. The thing about confidence was that it never stayed long. At the very least, that was how it had always been for Ruth. Especially recently. But now, she suddenly found the strength to keep going, knowing that she had been right to leave her mother to find the mountain, to try to save her. Confidence often springs up and grows well when close to success, her mother had warned her once, but it doesn’t always stay long. 

“But I am so close now!” Ruth couldn’t help but to say aloud, feeling hope surge eagerly inside of her. The kind-eyed man looked back, momentarily startled. Ruth had not, after all, spoken to anyone besides herself for days. “We are so close now,” Ruth amended for his sake. 

“You came for the flowers for your mother,” he said, catching her off guard. He had understood more from the short conversations that they had shared than she had realized. 

“Yes,” she said quietly. “She is sick.”

The man nodded. He understood now, too, though he didn’t have to. Ruth knew, somewhere deep inside her, that he understood the pain, the fear, and, above all else, the love that consumed it all and had forced her to come for the flowers. She didn’t understand how, exactly, but she was sure that he did. 

Suddenly, they both heard shouts from above. The other men were running, yelling. 

“I see it!”

“There’s a clearing up here!”

“Hurry!”

Ruth picked up her skirts and began to run. Soon, the clearing that the men spoke of was in front of her, barren of snow. Instead, there was dirt, red and smooth. No wind blew there. It was like an oasis, peaceful and beautiful. 

But…

“Where are the flowers?”

They were gone. Not only was the clearing barren of snow and wind, but also of the fabled magical flowers. All at once, Ruth felt the hope, the excitement, the strength drain out of her. She fell to her knees and began to cry. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, over and over again. “I’m sorry, mama.”

She would not be able to save her mother. She wouldn’t even be able to save herself, now. It had all been in vain. She pressed her hands to the ground and let the sorrow overtake her. 

Then, small and insistent, she felt a tiny, almost unnoticeable force push at the palm of her hand, as if it was kindly asking her to move. Ruth became very still and slowly, carefully lifted her hand. Underneath, a tiny shoot of pure red sprung from the dirt. It uncurled itself, until it was an impossibly small red flower, with four crimson petals, all pointed like blades at the ends. There it sat, looking up at her as she looked down at it. Without a sound, Ruth plucked it from the ground. It didn’t shine, and it was hardly even noticeable. None of the men had seen it, and for just one perfect second, Ruth and the flower sat, looking at each other. Hope bloomed again in Ruth’s chest, expanding and expanding as she held the plant, wondering if, maybe, everything would be alright after all. 

She tried to stand. But her legs didn’t seem to want to move. All of her pains returned as one, and Ruth cried out. She pulled herself to a rock that sat on the edge of the clearing and leaned against it. 

Then, without warning, the kind-eyed man was beside her. Concern flashed across his face then disappeared. Ruth knew that he understood there was nothing he could do.

At least not for her. 

Ruth took her hand and pressed the tiny, perfect flower into his palm. “Take it,” she said. “Give it to my mother. A woman in the valleylands named Hilde. Give it to her. Tell her,” Ruth swallowed back the pain and tears “Tell her that I’m sorry. And not to worry. And that I love her.” Ruth lay back and closed her eyes for a moment. “That Ruth loves her.”

The kind-eyed man nodded. “I will do this.” Sadness filled his kind eyes as he stood. But he knew - he had to know - that he was doing so much for her. So, so much. With those words, he walked away, stowing the flower in his pocket. 

Suddenly, darkness descended. The light of the sun, of the world, was eclipsed by something terrible and frightening, and for a moment, Ruth felt that fear seep into her. As the sky darkened, and the noise faded, and as she felt almost as if she was sinking, far away from the mountain, from herself, she knew she was dying. She wouldn't be among those who would come back down from the mountain. She wouldn't return home to her family, her village, all the things she loved. 

Her mother. 

The one she was dying for.

The fear was replaced by a love that filled her with peace. The darkness pressed in on her, but it could not pass into her, could not penetrate her love. It surrounded her. She knew it would soon take her. All the same, there was that love, that hope. The hope that, though the light would not return for her, it would return for her mother.

Clinging to that hope, Ruth let the darkness carry her away.