His great grey cloak rose almost completely over his face so that his features were barely visible. It dragged naggingly behind him as he quickly hobbled along the old, overgrown path connecting the far towns to one another. He grunted as he pulled himself over the last high peak in the mountains and, pulling his cloak slightly to reveal his dark eyes, he took in the view of his destination.
The town in the valley had become quite desirable. For the only selectively fertile land it was built on, the town in the valley had done quite well; experimenting with different kinds of vegetation and concentrating on what grew in abundance as well as developing new skills on the land that was infertile. Every man in the town had a job that he was skilled at and every man delighted in his labor.
As the cloaked man approached, he stopped short and tilted his head to read the sign guarding the city: Our Great Town, Thanks be to the Great Magician known only as Time. He chuckled slightly and strode on toward two men working the fertile land. As he approached, he peered out the sides of his thick cloak for any others, and once confirmed that there were none, approached the two men. The men had already ceased working and were viewing this strange creature in their town. The cloaked man then revealed his hand clenched into a tight fist from his cloak and stretched his arm toward them. The two men looked at each other confirming their discomfort at this intrusion. Then the cloaked man unclenched his fist to reveal to them a beaming jewel. This jewel immediately took the men's interest for, in this land, jewels were not to be found. The cloaked man spoke, "My good men, I come from the East. I have come far to bring you this gift. It is a wondrous secret we have mastered that I bring to share to you. With this great spell, you can defeat the effects of time on yourselves. It has but one rule: the rule of repetition."
The men were awestruck. They were completely enveloped in this idea without completely understanding. One of the men jumped from his working place and snatched the jewel from the cloaked man's hand. The other ran to him and together they feasted their eyes on this beautiful, mysterious item. And, as they were viewing the jewel, the intruding, cloaked man's voice ominously spoke in almost a whisper, "Remember, the rule of repetition: you simply do all in repetition. You'll find yourself whole without distraction. You'll find yourself young...forever."
One of the men spoke, "wait, what about our other desi-" but as he looked up the man had gone.
It didn't take long for the men to cast the "spell of repetition." Even in that same day they began practicing by finding ways to do their work without thought. Everyday they found new ways to cast the spell. They would work so mindlessly that they would work well into the night only to retreat quickly to their beds to dream of the long, youthful lives they'd live. They dreamt of the wrinkles they'd never be cursed with and the strong bones that would persevere with them long after their peers' bodies had retired. They thought of the youthful energy they'd operate in long after their bodies' expiration dates.
It didn't take long for the townspeople to notice. They would inquire of the men, but the men would only continue their work. The men's families, now distant, would plead with them to no avail. It was only out of sheer frustration that a quilt maker was able to pull the encounter of the cloaked man and the jewel from one of the men's lips.
The news of the men's spell and the jewel spread quickly through the town and the people reasoned with each other. A blacksmith said, "I could easily cast this spell of repetition." An apothecary reasoned, "If this stone is able to bless TWO men then surely it is potent enough to bless this whole town." A winemaker interjected, "For a blessing this great, it is surely worth the effort to cast this 'spell' on all of us."
So the town collectively decided to cast the "spell of repetition" on themselves. They retreated within themselves and their work, laboring constantly and repetitively. They spoke little and made only necessary contact with each other. And, although they worked tirelessly, they produced slightly less due to lack of thought, innovation, or effectiveness of labor. They grew to resent each other even. If one were to break from labor, even for a moment, the townspeople would grow angry with the wrong-doer and resent them for stepping out of the spell's rule even for a moment. Those who did not desire the spell, who desired old age to mirror their time in the land, were treated with even more resentment. Perhaps it was jealousy of them, for they would not work as much, or simply the "spell of repetition" itself having effect on the townspeople, driving them to hate anything outside of the continual motion that they had created, causing this negativity toward their neighbors. But that would not be understood, because that would require thought outside of the routine.
Time passed.
There was a cold breeze that flew from the west and picked up a hefty haze of pollen to fly over the mountains separating the towns and into the nostrils of the great magician known as Time. "A stale harvest indeed," he said. "I shall go and see of this mystery." He stood from his worktable atop the unconquered mountain, stepped into his mechanical carriage, and left his contentment for the town in the valley.
When he arrived, he found the town slowly but continually busy. He spoke to them but they ignored him. They appeared to not have even noticed that he had arrived. The town itself was a strange weaving of specific work places somewhat kept and worked paralleled with normal maintenances overgrown and decrepit. He was in shock at the empty eyes of this once favored town; heartbroken at these who he once loved.
Then he noticed it. It appeared to have fallen off of a makeshift shrine and never picked up to return to place. Dull and scuffed, half buried sat the "magical" jewel brought to the town by the cloaked man.
The old magician sighed as he reached down and took hold of the jewel. He knew of it well. As he looked into it he noted the shine had dulled because it was no natural shine at all, rather a wax gloss placed over it. And he dug his nail into the carved imperfections splintering them further to prove it's lack of magical property. He held the phony jewel up high so all the townspeople could see. The townspeople paused briefly to gaze at their prize jewel. And, with the smallest bolt of electricity from his fingers, the great magician known as Time destroyed the jewel.
The surprise the townspeople felt was that there was no change in the way they felt. There was no great spirit that left them or blessing that forsook them. There was never a "spell", the people had been fooled. As they looked around at each other they were horrified to see themselves wrinkled and weak, tired and stupid. They knew only the single skill they had each labored at continually over the years; never to master, only to travail in continuously.
The townspeople had been deceived. In their grieving the old magician Time scolded them saying, "Do you prefer your judgement, to mine? Did you not know that it was I who cast the spell of wrinkled skin on you to remind you of your years and it was I who cast the spell of tired bones to warn you of the inevitable end you must all arrive at. These are not curses, these are blessings to keep you from the repetitive."
The people were shammed. They had few skills among them and their condition had made it difficult to produce offspring to continue the town's heritage. The old magician Time urged, "It is not too late, revive yourselves; teach each other and learn so that you may strengthen your town." But the people wept and groveled in their misery. They listened to the old magician's words but now they needed no spell to keep them from hearing. They had retreated into their pride. Then, as they wept, the sound of hammering reverberated through the town. As the people looked, the blacksmith had returned to his droning as he had done before under the "spell". Slowly, one by one the people all returned to their labors as they did before, despite the empty shrine in the middle of the town, or the words of their wise great magician. And it was no time at all that all the weeping and groveling had silenced and only the comfortably familiar sound of the past years emanated from the town.
The great magician known as Time turned from the town, heartbroken. He climbed into his mechanical carriage and began climbing the hills toward his dwelling. But as he crossed over the northwestern mountains of Terger, he looked and saw an army of a few hundred warriors rapidly descending the mountains toward the town in the valley. And as he squinted his eyes, he could see a single leader riding on before the army with a flag held high; a single man with a great grey cloak trailing behind him.
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