The End of the Way

Content Warning: this story is told from the perspective of a dying man.

Would I be dying here if I’d never read that book?

I mean, I was born along the Way to begin with. I grew up traveling from village to village with my parents, following them as they sought the Light. They carried me along for so long, and they read me stories from the book and told me about the Way and the Walk- but maybe I would have stayed put in a village long ago if I’d never read it for myself.

I must have been about sixteen when I started reading it. It was an especially long day of walking through the shadowy path, when I stopped and asked my father:

“Does the book really teach us to Walk so far?”

“Sure,” said my father, still walking, “kind of. Just that we are to move towards the Light, walking with the faith that it will guide us true.”

“Can’t we just stay in a village?” I had to jog to catch up to him, which annoyed me, “Haven’t there been a few people who follow the Light from their villages? What’s the book got against that?

“Well, nothing in particular,” He said, “but if you stay put, you’re less likely to keep your eyes on the Light. I’ve known a few along the Way who stopped their Walk, who built a home in a village, and even set a window to face the Light. Intending, no doubt, to watch it daily, to meditate on it, to pursue it in their heart of hearts. But time and again, their habits shift, and they stop seeking the Light, and get drawn to the Hearths and Mirrors of the villages.”

“But that sounds better than walking.” I’d pressed, “A nice bed, good food, a roof.”

“It does sound more comfortable, doesn’t it?”

“Then why follow?”

“A good question. For my part, I follow because the Light is constant. The village fires fade, mirrors break, houses crumble, the people die, but that Light still shines. I want to know what it is.”

I sighed, “That’s good for you, then. But what about me? The village boys about my age are already finding wives. Making businesses, building wealth, and… well, some have inheritances from their fa… their parents.”

I had to catch myself. I could barely see his face in the half-light of his walking light, but I think I hurt him back then.

“That’s true,” he said softly, “To walk the Way, I’ve ignored a lot of things that would have made your life easier. Your mother’s too.”

We walked in silence for a moment. I realize now he always stopped short of apologizing.

“I think,” he said at last, “It’s time you started reading the book for yourself. You read it, and then you can tell me whether following the Way is worthwhile or not.”

Has it been worthwhile, to die like this along the Way?

We had come to another village shortly after that. That’s where my life could have forked away from this end. We had stayed there for a few months as my father did odd jobs for room and board and spoke to villagers about the Way. I befriended the old blacksmith and helped him at his forge as much as I could, but I also read and killed time with the other villagers around my age.

There was one day I was reading in the tavern, when the blacksmith's daughter came and sat across from me.

“What’s that?” She asked.

“The Book of the Way,” I said, “I’m supposed to read this for myself and decide whether or not to continue the Walk.”

“Oh,” she said, “So you’ll be leaving here, huh?”

I looked up from the pages at her. She was just a year younger than me, and very beautiful. I never wanted to stay in a village more than that moment.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I said, suddenly feeling like all my limbs were in their most awkward position.

“I've been wanting to ask,” she said, “why do people follow the Way at all?” She leaned on the table, “No one seems to know why they do it. And it seems dark, rough, cold. Not to mention lonely.”

Oh, how my heart fluttered, “Why?” I echoed, and it must have been that moment that lead me here. It was then, that I should have closed the book. If I had shut the book, I would have looked up at her face.

"Why?" I would have said.

“Yes, why?” she would have pressed, “You said life along the Way is all you’ve ever known, aren’t you curious about life in a village for a change? Where you can sleep in a soft bed, and-" she would have hesitated, "maybe find a suitable bedfellow?”

I would have looked into her eyes and smiled and reached over the table for her hand. I would have taken her hand, and said, “That’s true.” and I would have told her how pleasant life would be in that village. That, maybe I could meet a beautiful girl with hair the color of chestnuts and a blacksmith's daughter. That I could walk for pleasure instead of pilgrimage and be a blacksmith.

“I’ll stay,” I would have said, “I’ll stay if you’ll be my wife!”

Yes, I should have said that and been married to the blacksmith’s daughter. We could have built a great family and lived in comfort with a handful of children.

Right now, I’d be making arrangements for my second daughter’s wedding while my oldest grandchildren toddled around the manor house. I’d sip on hot tea and eat tea cakes and laugh as my second daughter frets about what dress to wear.

Yes, it would be different. But that’s not what I did. Instead, I left the book open. And with my heart in my throat, I looked down at the pages of the Book, from the words of the Second Walker I read:

“The Light pierces the shadows, against all rational purpose, it shines in the darkness. It calls to me in a way I can’t explain, as though to say “Have Peace. I am with you through shadow, to light your Way. The rains and rivers will not drown you, and the fires won’t harm you. Walk with me, come to me, for you are precious to me.”

And my heart burned with wonder, “I suppose it’s curiosity as much as anything,” I said, looking up at her. And she made a face, “But aren’t you curious about village life? You said you’ve been walking your whole life. Isn’t it time to settle?”

And I couldn’t help but laugh, “It would be nicer.” I said, “For certain, it would be more comfortable. But the more villages we pass through the more alike they all seem. The people, the problems, the life. But the Light is different. It’s constant, but unstudied. How do we know so little about it? Why is the Book the only record of it? There’s still too much I want to know about it.”

Was I really that articulate back then? I doubt it. There’s still so much I want to know about it. I would have died in comfort if not for that book, but I can’t say I mind too much. If I’m to die one way or another, I rather like dying as one who sought the Light.