In the midst of the clouds and the songs of the wind in the east, there stretched, far and wide, the most prestigious mountains. They were white peaked and their surfaces reflecting gold in the sun and silver in the moonlight. Over the hills that bordered them, all but one of the mountains had the leisure to overlook the wild flowers that grew and the greenery that had always been so familiar. All but one could shine as the others did, obscured by his neighbors; all but one could see the sunset that his fellow Alps would always marvel over. All but one was considered one of the Fifty Cliffs by the villagers that lived in the mountain’s valleys. All but one of the hills were inhabited, and all because Martin was too small of a mountain.
Maroo, the moon’s shadow and the Queen of the East, found the whole discriminatory affair scandalous, and yearned for the little mountain to be acknowledged not for his height but for the wonders that flourished in the depths of his valley. One night, as Martin was attempting in vain to catch the attention of Balthazar, his neighboring mountain, to ask him to describe the sunset in intimate detail, Maroo cast her shadow above his head and began to speak, “Martin, give to me fifty of your emerald pears and the villagers can learn of your miracles.”
Startled, Martin exclaimed, “Maroo?”
“Yes it’s me, the moon’s shadow.”
“Is there something you asked of me?”
“I ask of your confidence. I wish to help you.”
“I am the smallest mountain of all fifty; there is nothing I can offer you.”
“But there is something I can offer you.” Maroo smiled, “Why would I sit back and ignore it?”
“It is not as easy as you say.” Martin grumbled.
Maroo sighed, “You will find that I am often doing things that nobody else does. My brother helps the world, and I help the cities within it?”
“Aren’t they all the same thing?”
“Not at all. My brother has not helped you yet has he?”
“No, I have never spoken to, nor even seen, Menka the Moon.”
“So you see, they are not the same thing. Now quickly, Menka is shifting through the sky and I will be able to shade you no longer.”
“Not to worry I am always shaded by the other mountains anyway.” Martin smiled sadly, picking the ripest emerald pears on the tree and handing them to Maroo, “Goodbye, and thanks for your help.”
But Maroo had already been swept away, her voice almost a delusional echo had it not been for the absence of the fifty fruits.
That night Maroo passed by every mountain and over every valley. She gave out the pears one by one to each village, so that when the people would wake, they’d find the riches from Martin’s garden. Maroo, knowing much of the human’s greed, assumed they would leave their own village in search for that of another that had produced these gifts.
As for Martin, he finally slept soundly that night, an old hope rebirthing inside of him and spreading through to his dreams.
The next morning the villagers successfully followed Maroo’s plan up until the part where they should travel to Matthew’s valley. Instead, when discovering the other villages too were in possession of this suspicious gift, they wanted to take the other 49 pears for themselves. By sundown, the fifty villages were in a full-fledged battle, fighting each other with pitchforks and such, using all they could find.
“Maroo,” Menka cried waking suddenly by the cries of the villagers “Is it night already? Am I late?”
“No Menka,” Maroo answered nervously, “No it is the villagers, they are fighting.”
“What on earth for?” Menka demanded.
“For some emerald pears,” Maroo sighed, “I’m sure it’ll all die down soon though.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Menka said wisely.
“We shall see.”
Soon night came and Menka set out to fulfill his duty as moon, and still the villagers were in vicious combat.
“Be patient.” Maroo said shakily, “It’ll end soon enough.”
“Maroo,” Menka said warningly, “What have you done?”
“Oh Menka I meant well, you know I meant well.” Maroo wailed.
“You always mean well.” Menka mumbled, “Very well, you have three days and three nights to fix this, and if I were you I would start now.” Menka smiled a little and whispered, ‘be free sister, be free,’ and Maroo was no longer the moon’s shadow but a star once more.
“Go,” Menka cried over Maroo’s shouts of joy, “You remember what will happen if you do not come back on time.”
“Yes, brother,” Maroo chided, “I’ll shatter and scatter and become a million stars, even though my life will go, my soul will thrive in the night…every night. I am not afraid!”
“That is what I fear Maroo, you believe that-
“Death is just another adventure,” Maroo finished, “Thank you Menka!”
And she disappeared, her white light fading as she flew deeper in to the shadows of the mountains.
When reaching the villages Maroo examined the chaos beneath her. “Brothers are turning on brothers!” she cried, and darted off to Martin’s mountain.
“Maroo,” Matthew exclaimed when she arrived at the valley, “You’re a star again!”
“I know, Menka’s given me three days,” she explained, “We need to render the valleys peaceful again from the fighting and bring new residents to your hills by the end of the third night.”
“What fighting?” Martin tried to see above Balthazar’s immense shadow, but he could see nothing, “What do you mean?”
“The villages are in war!” Maroo hurriedly gathered from the golden stream bucketful’s of water from Martin’s valley, “I gave them your emerald pears and instead of going through the trouble of looking for their source, the villagers started to argue and tried to steal each other’s pears. Now I’ve got to give them this golden water and hopefully the fighting will stop!”
“I thought you helped the cities!” Martin said disappointedly, “I thought this would work!”
Maroo looked down embarrassedly, “I know, and I’m sorry, but I’m doing all I can.” And she flashed a brilliant white before turning away and flying towards the villages, buckets of Golden River splashing from her like rays from the sun.
Soon all fifty villages had received their shimmering bucket and were mumbling over what to do about it when one villager suddenly cried out, “A gift from the gods, let us use the weapon against the others!”
And soon all fifty villages were throwing pails of sacred waters at each other and grunting when there came no affect.
“What now?” a farmer asked, “Shall we pray to the gods?”
“Forget the gods! What sort of gift was this?” A young boy held up the empty bucket angrily in example.
“Yes but maybe it didn’t work because we didn’t make an offering.”
“Codswallop!” one man cried. “Yeah!” the other villagers cried in unison, and began fighting again.
By the end of Maroo’s third day there was still a raging war occurring in the fifty villages of the Far East, and she only had one night left to fix it all.
“What shall I do Martin?” she asked, her head in her hands, “I never really wanted to burst into millions of pieces; I just thought it sounded nice at first. At least I’d be free, but after that, I don’t know what would happen to me.”
“Why did you try to help me then?”
Maroo bobbed up and down, surprised by his question, “I was just like you. There were once two moons for the world, one to control the eastern hemisphere and one to control the other. However, my brother was so much bigger than me that he was always overshadowing me. Soon enough, the years went by and I became his permanent shadow as the sun recommended I should if I wanted to be a big moon like him. That’s what I did, and I’ve been prisoner of my own self-disconfidence ever since.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t think I could ever be a proper moon, so I tried to be like my big brother, and I dwelled on him being so much bigger than I for so long that I became a part of him.”
“I always thought you were a star though.” Martin said softly.
“Ah, did I not tell you so,” she replied sadly, “I was so small people used to take me for a star! After a while I was so fed up with myself that I encouraged the rumor, since being small and shiny would be better than being small and dull.”
“I think,” Martin said slowly, “That if you die, your millions of pieces will form the most beautiful constellation.”
“Thank you.” Maroo answered, her eyes bright and blue, “I think I wouldn’t mind being lots of stars now, it sounds…peaceful.”
“Indeed.” Martin said sadly, and then he had a thought. If he won’t be able to see Maroo ever again alive, then he would very much like to see her constellation, but since he was so small he’d never manage.
“What are you doing?” Maroo asked, turning at the sound of a crack in the earth.
Matthew didn’t answer, his whole body was heaving with difficulty, and the ground was shaking around him and waves bigger than the pear tree loomed up in the golden river.
“What are you doing?” Maroo exclaimed, “You’ll tip!”
“I want to see the stars and touch the sky!” Martin strained, his whole rocky surface lifting from the ground as if by magic, or maybe the creation of a mountain sped up, like some awkward time lapse. The pear tree fell into a crack through the ground, and the river spilled over, making the bed emptier and emptier.
“Stop, you’ll hurt yourself!” Maroo darted around her friend worriedly, “Stop, please!”
“No!” he croaked, “I want to see the stars and touch the sky, and hear the villagers sing as they work and see the sunset and watch the candles of the villages turn out one by one! I want to be a mountain!”
“But you are a mountain!” Maroo shouted over the sounds of the valley tipping and turning in the turmoil of Matthew’s strength.
“No I’m not!” Martin answered, “Not until they see me as one!”
And Martin pushed and pushed and pushed until the dawn broke and Maroo began to fade, her skin turning from white to silver. And that morning was one glorious morning, for Martin was taller than Balthazar and taller than his pear tree and taller than all of the fifty mountains.
“Martin!” Maroo gasped weakly, pointing at the sky, “You’re touching the sky!”
“And I can see the sunrise!” he cried in disbelief, and then looked down, “No! Maroo, you’re dying!”
“I know,” she said softly, “But finally I won’t be overshadowed any more, I’ll be a shining light, a beacon for you to see every time you fall asleep, and I’m going to be the biggest constellation of the east.” She sighed as her life began to slip away, “I’m going to be a constellation of you Martin, and I’m going to shine out as the biggest mountain of all.”
And as the nights went by, Martin stopped mourning and began to smile at that constellation in the sky. He began to sing to the mountain that shone in the air, and sometimes the wind would answer him. And then that was when he began to wonder if Maroo would ever really stop living.