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 Zachary Zenkle and the Tale of Old Zellby Cynthia Williford |
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In the Zeen River Valley, surrounded by trees, zillions of wildflowers, and a whisper-soft breeze, near a sparkling lake teeming with fish, and as much open sky as you could possibly wish, near the land where herds of zemmerlings roam, lies a quaint little village the Zenkle’s call home. Now the people of Zenkville they have stories to tell, about a mighty old mountain, the one called Old Zell. Old Zell was as high as their valley was long. Impossible to climb for all but the strong. No one had ventured this most awesome feat, for the trees were too dense and the mountain too steep. It had boulders and ledges jutting out from all sides, and deep cavernous caves where wild zulliwogs hide. Or so it was rumored. Still, the Zenkles dreamt onward, year after year, of reaching the summit in spite of their fear. For according to legend (and they all know it’s true), the mountain holds riches for a fortunate few. It was all they could talk about, every age, every size, how the riches just waited to be claimed as a prize. “Someday,” they would say, as they worked in the fields, or scrubbed out their clothes, or sat at their meals, “I’ll make that long trek. I’ll claim the treasure for me. But not today. It’s up on top of the mountain, you see.” In the midst of the village by the old zendle tree lived Zachary Zenkle, the youngest of three. A good-natured lad with a curious mind, he loved to play games, the adventurous kind. But though he played with his brothers and had pets he adored, to put it quite simply, Zach Zenkle was bored. Up the zendle tree’s branches he’d climb every day to watch the Zenkles below him at work and at play. “It’s always the same here,” he’d say with a yawn. “They talk of that mountain from dusk until dawn. They stand at its foothills looking up with desire, but not one of them dares go one little bit higher.” |
It was then the thought hit him, knocked him right from the tree, made him shiver with pleasure, made him laugh with the glee. Why, he’d claim that treasure, yes, he’d be the one to do the very thing that had never been done. “I’ll have an adventure,” Zach said out loud to the tree. “I’ll go up to the top of the mountain, you see.” In secret he planned his adventurous quest, packing food for his nourishment, a blanket for rest, a compass to guide him, a torch for the night, a bottle of water, a rope, strong but light. He gathered his courage till one fateful day, he slipped out of bed and went on his way. In the still of the morning Zach started his climb. Up the mountain he journeyed, leaving Zenkville behind. He trudged over rocks and banged up his knees on fallen jagged branches of the tall zellon trees. His heart beat so strangely he once thought he would die when he heard in the distance a wild zulliwog cry. But he steeled up his courage and never once stopped, as he willed himself upward to reach Old Zell’s top. Through rain and sun and then blanketing haze Zach soldiered on through a forest-lined maze. Upward and upward and onward he went, till his feet were all blistered, his strength all but spent. Then at last just before him the path made a sharp bend and Zach knew just beyond it his journey would end. He was tired and hungry but too happy to care as he raced ‘round the corner to find . . . a chair. Not one diamond, not a ruby, not a glistening pearl, just a plain wooden chair perched on top of the world. Zach looked under, he looked over, he looked all around for a trace of the riches he was sure would be found. But the chair was quite empty, it mocked him it seemed, with the folly of the dreams that he’d dared to dream. For three days and three nights Zach stood his ground, |
waiting for something, some vision, some sound, to appear on the mountain with blazing lights all around, to tell him where the riches of Old Zell could be found. But there was nothing. The third night he grew angry, dismayed at his plight. “Is this all there is?” he called out to the night. “Did I climb this old mountain to gain nothing at all, no gold and no silver no matter how small?” With his head drooping downward, with tears of despair, Zach walked to the edge and sat in the chair. Heavy with disappointment, his fatigue grown too deep, in a matter of moments, Zach feel fast asleep. He dreamt of lost glory and chances gone by, till the sun once again reached its midmorning high. The night chill was banished, leaving only the dew, as Zach opened his eyes to . . . a most magnificent view. The valley below him stretched out like a dream, an ocean of colors, blues, yellows, and greens. From this dizzying height young Zach saw it all, and it filled him with wonder, it filled him with awe. His heart burst with joy, like a river it flowed, for the mountain beside him, for the valley below, for all of God’s wonders from the land to the sea -- and Zach knew in his heart he was meant to see that Old Zell didn’t promise men silver or gold, or bright shiny jewels, or treasures of old. She held a fortune of far greater hue, this majestic mountain with her magnificent view. And she offered it freely for all who would dare make that trek up the mountain to see what was there. Since that time years have passed and Old Zell’s legends grew, but now young Zach was a part of them, too. Yet, the Zenkle’s still dream, they still talk of “someday”, as they look at the mountain and quietly say, “The mountain holds riches. Zach said it was so, but . . . it’s up on top of the mountain, you know. Maybe we’ll go . . . tomorrow.” © 2004 |
