Excerpt from the Traveler‘s journal:

I passed through a country where all the men limp, all the women walk, and all the children run. I wasn’t even aware of it at first; but the more men I passed on my way the more curious I became. Opening my eyes to the populace, I first saw the men, young and old, in their condition, then the women who walked normally as I did, then the children who ran quickly around their parent’s feet. With mounting questions, I chanced to stop a native and inquire of him his story.

“You there, sir.”

“Yes?”

“I am a traveler from the west bound for Satisfaction and have never set foot in your country,” I said. “Please, tell me, why is it that your men limp while your women walk and your children run?”

The lame man smiled. “Many a traveler has come in the same way as you and many have asked the same question,” he said. “Follow me and I will show you.”

He led me from the outskirts into the walled city center. As we passed through the gates, my eyes were drawn to the many carvings and decorations that adorned the buildings. This people appeared to be deeply connected with the moon as the silver crescent was featured prominently. That prominence was on full display as we approached what appeared to be a large temple in the center of town. It was at this time I happened to see young and fit men, quickly climbing the temple’s many stairs up, while lame men traveled back down slowly along smooth inclines.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“This is the Temple of Bismarck,” the lame man said. “Come, this way.”

I followed him to the foot of the structure where young maidens dressed in habits walked in and out of large doors carrying baskets of fruit and vegetables. We passed through amongst them. The lame man led me through a grand atrium and decorated corridors ripe with reliefs and tapestries until we arrived at the temple’s innermost chamber. Here, sunlight poured in from an open ceiling and nourished a garden with all manner of fruit bearing plants attended to by the temple maidens. In the center of said garden, reaching from the ground, even as high as the open air, was a single ebony pillar.

“This is the source of our curse,” the man said, turning to me. “And our blessing.”

“The garden?” I asked. My eyes were on the attendants as they worked. Gently they plucked the ripe fruits from their stems and immediately, magically, the fruit would grow again to be harvested once more. “Incredible,” I said. “By what magic is this accomplished?”

The lame man pointed. “Affixed to the cusp of the pillar is an ancient and powerful relic discovered by our ancestors who founded this country.” He led me to the opposite side of the garden where tapestries hung depicting the story. “Sojourners in this land, they at first discovered the garden on their travels and found the fruit to be good for food. But after they had picked all they could for their journey, they sought to leave a memory of themselves. They prepared a symbol of their clan, a banner bearing their crest, and constructed a ladder with which to reach the top of the pillar. One man ascended the ladder and discovered the relic upon it.”

“And this is the relic, here?” I asked, pointing to an image on the tapestry. It was an elaborately detailed crescent moon with a line of silver along the interior edge.

“That’s it,” the lame man answered. He moved to the next tapestry to continue the story. “The man who ascended the ladder was compelled by the relic’s beauty to lay his hands upon it. Immediately, he was stricken with lameness in one leg and fell from the ladder, saved from death by his fellow travelers waiting below. At this they became very afraid and sought to return the fruit to the garden, but when they retrieved their harvest, they found the garden again laden as heavily as when they’d arrived.” He moved now to the final tapestry. “Our ancestors decided to settle here and study the relic. They built a temple around the garden and the city you see formed around the temple.”

He turned back and we looked on the pillar, following it’s height up through the ceiling where I could just discern the hands of the young men who climbed the stairs.

“Now, when our young men come of age,” he continued, “they travel to the relic to surrender their strength so their families can live in comfort. That is why our men limp and our women walk.” He turned to me with a smile. “And our children run for the day when they can no longer do so.”

Many thoughts tumbled within my mind. “What if the young men refuse?” I asked.

“Then they are free to seek their Satisfaction elsewhere,” he said calmly.

I followed the lame man out of the temple and together we sat watching the parade of young men going up to the relic and I pondered over the merits of a life exchanging need for pain. Sensing my thoughts, the lame man spoke to me again.

“It’s not such an unhappy existence. Our time is our own and we never go hungry,” he said. “Many travelers such as yourself choose to undergo the ritual.”

I gazed down at my legs and smiled. “Not I. It would slow my progress toward Satisfaction.”

“So you intend to continue on?” the lame man asked.

“It was never a question,” I answered. “I will place my hands only upon that spire that rises beyond the horizon.”

“Then go with all fortune,” the lame man said. “But return if the journey becomes too perilous.”

I looked at him and smiled. “Goodbye.”

It was in this way that I passed through the country where all the men limp, all the women walk, and all the children run. What other discoveries and civilizations await me, only time will tell.