They slowly descend the mountain, and she leans heavily on him as she hobbles along the rock-strewn path. At times winding steeply, narrow. Then leveling and wide. When they reached a precipice overlooking the site of a beautiful, dark pond they paused.
A gnarled pine grew on the crag, leaning outward. In time the wind and rain would loosen its roots and would plunge off the overhang. For now a swallow nested safely within its branches.
Demo looked down at the tarn so far below. For a moment he closed his eyes, drew a deep breath. This is the place. The wait is over. He sighed.
There are ponds where birds sing in happy summer frolic. Where nests are built in bordering bushes, and eggs laid. Ponds where the fish leap, and frogs sing their merry songs of night. Here lightning bugs brighten the surface, court the light of reflected stars. Here the waters are clear and cool. The farmer stores milk here to keep it cold. Children play along its banks with happy laughter. By summer day they swim in its depths. Here by night lovers sit 'neath honey moon and whisper soft words of adoration.
And there are ponds of rougher nature where the fisherman plies his trade. Ponds where flowering plants hide snakes that glide upon the waters and feed on the creatures swimming below. Where turtles wait for unsuspecting geese or ducks and drag them to their death in waters deep. Here young men come to gig frogs, to seine for bait for tomorrow's fishing, to joke and carouse and wrestle man to man.
There, too, are tarns hidden in dark recesses and grottoes. Tarns deep and still where legends grow and strange stories are whispered. Here in the eventide one sees the will of the wisp. At times the call of the loon breaks the evening air. Stories better left untold are found here. Of strange sights in the dark of night. Of spirits of those gone. Of evil incarnate, and hate incessant.
Such a one was the tarn that lay below. Tales were told of blood mingling with the murky waters. Tales of bands of evil note frequenting its shores. Tales of bodies weighted with stone, resting forever on the bottom.
The escarpment extended outward from the mountain, formed a lookout overlooking the dark waters. The escarpment, of solid rock, attracted those despondent, invited them to end their woes with a plunge into the waiting waters. Too many responded to that fatal invitation.
"Here is the land of my mother, Ceres. I am Persephone, her only daughter. And I have been away so long." She sobbed.
Ceres. He knew the name. Where had he heard it? Ah, his Mother. A nursemaid, long ago, and a weak and sickly child. Was this then the needed task, to protect her daughter from a ruthless enemy? How strange the fates! Every move seemed programmed, every action preplanned long ago. And the results? Were they too preprogrammed? Our lives it seems are in the stars, and we neither control nor understand our fate. There was now no question in his mind. This is the Tarn of Eternity! It is here all shall be resolved!