and then we’ll be okay (edited)
When YouTuber/author exurb1a posted a short story titled and then we’ll be okay the story struck me, and I immediately knew it would be with me for a long time. I still find it to be a beautiful and comforting story, but I’ve always wanted a text version which:
- does not specify the protagonist’s gender, and
- is slightly more suitable for children (within reason)
In 5 years I still haven’t stumbled across one, so – with great respect for the original material – I’m chipping away at it myself.
and then we’ll be okay
by exurb1a
At the foot of the last mountain sat the last village, and in the last village lived Tao. It was Tao’s birthday.
While they were working the corn, their friend Samuel shouted for them to come quick. Tao ran to the edge of the village where the Death Barrier was, and beyond the Death Barrier was their father, lying on the ground. Tao ran to their father. He wasn’t breathing. Tao dragged the old man over the Death Barrier, and the village doctor checked their father over. The doctor said, “I’m sorry, he’s dead. The Snake did this.”
The next day, the village folk came to Tao’s house and said, “isn’t it a shame,” “sorry for your loss,” and so on, and Tao thanked them, and… then they were alone, again. Tao hoped they would get good at being alone soon. That night, they watched the Great Mountain, glowing with the light and madness of the New Gods. Who knew what the were doing up there?
When Tao slept, there were only dreams of the Snake, its fangs curved like scimitars, its eyes full of rage and malice and pride and all of the evil that it exacted on the village folk for hundreds of years, bringing disease and misery. And now, it had brought death to their father. Enough.
Tao got up just before dawn. They packed some water and food into a satchel, then went to the pyre where their father had been cremated, and took their father’s ashes and put them into a jam jar. Then Tao walked out to the boundary of the village, to the Death Barrier. “Stop!” someone yelled. It was the village doctor. “You step over the barrier, you can die! Leave the snake be, you can’t fight him!” Tao closed their eyes and stepped over the Death Barrier, and walked out into the wilderness.
Tao trudged about the forest all day, looking for the snake, but found nothing. Occasionally Tao thought they saw fleeting glances of their father’s face in the trees. Where had he gone? This man who had given them his time, his love, and taught them how the world worked. He had brought Tao breakfast in the mornings, and blankets in the evenings. He’d brought them up! But their father had gone off into the dark alone now. And Tao knew they couldn’t bring their father breakfast, or bring him blankets… or bring him back. The Snake, the bastard… Tao would kill him.
Tao was out of water, and thirsty. Spying the Great Mountain over the trees, they walked towards it. At the foot of the mountain was a river, and Tao drank from the river for a long time. When they looked up again, an old woman sat a few feet away on the ground. The old woman took a swig from her hip flask. Tao turned to leave.
“Hey!” the old woman yelled. Tao ignored her. She said, “You look like someone with unfinished snake-related business.”
Tao stopped. “What do you know about a snake?”
“Green one, ‘bout yea high?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
She pointed up the mountain. “I saw him, he went that way he did.”
“Did he now?” Tao asked.
“Oh yes, and a mighty sneaky-sneaky wiggle he had about him also!”
“Yeah.” Tao began to walk away.
“That’s where the snake lives, you know,” the old woman said. “On the mountain. That’s where he thinks up his evil plans, and he was mumbling something about how he’d just killed an old man, too.”
Well, that was beyond coincidence, Tao thought. Maybe she knew something. Tao started off for the mountain instead.
“Hey!” the old woman yelled. But Tao ignored her, walking for some minutes before noticing another figure ahead, sat in the ground. It was the old woman, again.
“How did you get here?” Tao said.
She took a draw from her hip flask. “You’ll need a guide,” she said. “A Chaperone. He’s awful tricky to beat, old Snakles.”
Tao said, “Not to be rude, but you’re drunk, and old, and a bit useless, really.”
“You are being rude.” she said. Tao walked on, but she followed behind.
“I know things,” she said. “I know things about the Snake, and the New Gods, too.”
“Rubbish.” Tao said.
“Is it?” the old woman said, “Take me up the mountain, and I’ll teach you how to kill the Snake.”
“I’ll kill him myself, with my bare hands,” Tao said.
“No,” the old woman shot back, fiercely. “No, you won’t.”
They looked about under rocks, then, in holes, but the Snake wasn’t there. He must’ve gone further up. And so, they climbed.
The two slept rough, and in the morning they had breakfast. For Tao, it was bread. For the old woman, it was her hip flask. They continued walking up the mountain. By midday, they were high enough to look down on the landscape properly, and there was Tao’s village - unremarkable, just a few building and wisps of smoke in the valley.
“Are there other villages in the world?” Tao asked.
“No”
“Were there?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“A long time ago. There used to be very big villages called ‘cities’, once. Lots of people back then.”
“What happened?”
“Ambition,” the old woman said. She drank from her hip flask.
“Say, friend… When you kill the snake, and he’s gone… You think you’ll be happy forever then?”
“Yes.” Tao said without pausing.
“Hmm,” the old woman said. “Hmm.”
They looked about under rocks, then, in holes, but the Snake wasn’t there. He must’ve gone further up. And so, they climbed.
The two slept rough again, and woke to a gray and sickly dawn. They set off in silence, and soon came into a fog that collected about their knees. The air smelt metallic. The daylight looked wrong.
“What’s happening?” Tao said. The old woman said nothing, only swigged on her hip flask. Tao saw something in the dirt, silver and complicated. “What’s that?” he said.
“Old science,” the woman said.
“What’s science?”
The old woman said, “Sort of like magic, but it works.”
There were more machines now - silver, glass, great towers of geometry and industry.
“Who built these things?” Tao said.
“Well, the New Gods, of course.”
“Well, why have they abandoned them?”
“Because all children get bored with their toys eventually,” she said.
And about them appeared lines and symbols, esoteric glyphs in the air, and lights flashed in the distance, and a great wind picked up, and the metallic reek grew thicker. The rocks were not rocks now, but hexagonal metal slabs, and the trees were twisting candles of crystal. And ahead glowed a pedestal, and upon the pedestal was a set of spectacles. The old woman picked them up.
“Here, kid,” she said. “There are the glasses you’ll know the Snake with.”
“Glasses?” Tao said. “My vision’s fine.”
“No. It’s not.” She put them on Tao’s face.
Suddenly Tao was pulled from their body and ripped from their senses, and saw the world in its true, raw form. A tangle of fields and dimensions. The height of time, the width of space. And in that moment, Tao knew then that matter was both a point and a wave – and a joke! And they saw the logic at the bottom of everything, and the madness at the top, and the shape of becoming, and the dance of decline. And finally then they saw themself, in true perspective: a speck on a blot on a smudge on a blemish on a fleck in a grain of galactic sand amid a billion other beaches, and those beaches themselves only made up more grains of sand, and more grains of sand, and more grains of sand, and more grains of sand, and more grains of sand…
The old woman removed the glasses.
“What was that?” Tao whispered.
“Oh, thirty-first century science. Bit before your time.” She gave them the glasses. “Keep these safe, eh?”
“Who are you?” Tao said.
“Oh,” she replied. “Who’s anyone?”
They looked about under rocks, then, in holes, but the Snake wasn’t there. He must’ve gone further up. And so, they climbed.
The next morning they woke after dawn, and had a fine view of Tao’s village below.
Tao asked, “Why is the world dead?”
The old woman said, “Everyone got clever, now they’re gone.”
“Where are they gone?” Tao said, and pointed to the sky. “There?”
She shrugged, “Come on, time’s getting on.”
The two continued up the mountain, the peak high above, the village low below. Tao thought again of their father, imagined the days ahead as empty and overcast. No one to truely talk to, no more games, no more laughing. When they found the snake, they would rip it apart.
Tao spied a stream, then, and the water was red, and they realized it was blood. The stream of blood grew thicker as the two climbed - no, it was a river of blood. And on the ground were notes, and coins, and precious jewels, and staffs, and scepters. The earth was scorched, and from the ground rose smoldering vapors, and the air stank of death, and glory, and dominion, and ahead, Tao spied a sword. It was sticking out of the soil, its hilt glinting red and purple and gold, and the blade an opulent silver. The two sidled closer.
“Take it from the ground, then.” the old woman said.
“What is it?” Tao said.
“That is the sword you’ll kill the snake with.”
And with great effort, Tao wrenched the sword from the ground and brandished it. And great plumes of fire and lightning lept from the tip and set the ground alight. Tao brandished it again, and out shot swarms of locusts and wasps, and they bellowed a great booming laugh, and the laughter echoed out over the plain of the mountain. Everything was power. Everyone would listen to Tao now - the village elders, the oracles, the bullies and the brutes. Hell, even the Snake, when the time came. They laughed again, and the mountain was only fire and lightning then. There was only power, and malignancy, and rage. “Thou shalt always kill,” they thought. And Tao knew that no one could do a damn thing to stop them ever again. And more than that, with a dastardly certainty, Tao figured that with this thing, they could end the world if they wanted.
The next morning, Tao ate in silence, and the old woman drank in silence. And they got walking as usual.
“How long until we find the Snake?” Tao asked. The old woman drank, and said nothing. “Isn’t that thing empty already?” Tao said. She turned the flask upside down and out poured a constant stream of booze that didn’t end.
“Are you one of the New Gods?” Tao said.
“Do I look new?” the old woman said.
“Well, what happened to the New Gods?”
“The Snake.” she said.
“It killed them?”
“Sure.”
Tao stopped. “Well, how in the hell do you think I was gonna beat it if it killed the New Gods?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.” the old woman mumbled. “Still, the glasses and sword will serve you well. And we have a few more things to collect here.”
“Like what?” Tao said. But already, they heard music. Upbeat, calling to them.
The two came on the remains of a great party. Empty bottles, discarded wrappers.
“What happened here?” Tao asked.
“Abandon.” the old woman said.
In the ruins of an old, partially burned mansion was a tankard that glowed. And inside the tankard was a pale liquid that smelled a bit off.
“Go on,” the old woman said, “drink a little.”
“What is it?” Tao said.
“This is the indulgence you’ll kill the snake with.”
And with that, Tao drank. And when the cup came away, the old woman grabbed Tao’s hand and led them into a dance. The mountain began to spin about the pair, the colors blurring.
“What’s happening?” Tao yelled.
And the old woman yelled, “That’s it! Dance! Dance! Faster!”
And Tao and the old woman danced across the mountain, over the debauchery and under the moon, and suddenly, Tao was not thinking of their father, or the Snake, or the village.
“What if there’s no point to anything?” the old woman sang. “Who cares?”
“Who cares!” Tao agreed. Tragedies happen, people die. It’s all a game, it’s all a façade! There’s no salvation, no meaning! They saw into the heart of things now, and knew there was no heart. That everything was suffering, and even that didn’t matter. A joke God was playing on the world for nothing more than sick amusement. The pair moved towards the cliff, feet stepping in perfect time, the stars spinning about at a dizzying pace, and the mountain echoed with the music of reckless abandon, and nothing mattered now. “Forget them!” Tao thought. “Forget them all!” And they danced the nihilist waltz long into the night, until the sun began to rise.
Tao woke with a throbbing head and a mouth that tasted like death. The old woman was already up, smoking a pipe.
“All well?” She said.
“Mmm…” Tao mumbled “Was the dancing… really necessary?”
The woman nodded. “Certainly was. Come on. We’re very close now, and the Snake can’t hide forever.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what is going on!” Tao shouted suddenly. “Where are the New Gods, where is the Snake, and who are you?”
“Come on, then,” she repeated, and set off walking, but Tao didn’t move. She paused and rolled her eyes. “All right, all right,” she muttered. “What’s the year?”
“Mmm… 326,” Tao said.
“By your calendar, yes. By mine, it’s the 98th century. Your ancestors did some wonderful things, became very powerful and wise, all right? Those objects, the glasses, the sword, the tankard - these are the things they left behind. Relics.”
“Relics of what?”
“I’ll show you.”
“No!” Tao yelled. “No more games!”
The old woman snapped then. “Look,” she said, “you’re only doing all of this because you think you killed your father. He asked you what you wanted for your birthday, and you said ‘a meteorite’. So he went out beyond the Death Barrier to find you one. And that’s how he ended up dead. So don’t take all this out on me.”
Tao was silent for a while, then said quietly, “How do you know all that?”
“Because I’m really, really clever. And I’m trying to help you here. So would you give an old woman a break?”
Tao thought about this and collected their things. The two walked on in silence.
The village was almost invisible below, and the mountain peak was very close now. the two turned a corner, and came upon a picture of a king. Then a queen, then more. The portraits regal and proud, with faces that spoke of legacy and divine right. They pushed on and now the portraits were of scenes Tao didn’t recognize: of battles, and rulers, and machines, and great structures that kissed the skyline. Episodes from history that they’d never even heard of, let alone considered. Millions dead and gone. Whole nation-states turned to dust. The great human project - forgotten, as though a dream upon waking. Testament to a time when billions lived on a fragile marble among the ink dark of space, holding out against the hostile cosmos, and yet worse threats that lurked within themselves. And somehow, for a long time, against all odds and sense, they did hold out, bettering themselves slowly, as a toddler attempts to climb a set of steps. Then, for some reason, devolving again. The Great Sleep, The Great Forgetting. Sent to bed without supper. Then decline, then savagery then dust.
And ahead, Tao spied was a pair of armored boots.
“There,” the old woman said. “For as long as you wear those, you’ll never die. You can live into your thousands if you like. This is the armor you’ll defend yourself with from the Snake.”
They fitted perfectly.
“And one more thing,” the old woman said. She took from her shawl, a necklace, and on that necklace was a locket. And in the locket was a picture of Tao’s father. She put the necklace over their head. “To remember,” she said. “This is the story you’ll kill the Snake with.”
Tao felt finally ready to do battle for the first time since beginning this adventure up the mountain. They knew it would only be a short walk, now.
The peak was soon just a few yards away. It was only a small plateau, and the wind was high here, and it was raining. And there sat the Snake, it’s back turned to Tao, Staring off into the dead wilderness below. “There you go,” the old woman said. “Do as you will.”
With the glasses of the New Gods on their face, they saw the snake in its essence. Its black heart, its cunning mind, its contempt for the last remaining humans. Tao approached it, silently, heart pouding in their temples, with their eyes wide and hands clutching the locket of their father. And they thought of their father, then. Thought of the man dead, through the futility of death, and they closed their eyes, and screamed, and brought the sword down with such power that it struck a grating chord out into the rain, and rang all the way back to the mountains base. Tao opened their eyes. The Snake… was gone.
Tao turned around to the old woman.
“Where did he go? Did you see him?”
“No,” said the old woman. “I didn’t see him because he doesn’t exist.” The rain was getting heavier now. Tao stood silently, rain splashing off the armor. The old woman said, “Did you really think there was some evil snake on a mountain bringing death and misery into the village? Did you really think the world was so simple that only one thing is responsible for all the bad days? God, what is it with you lot? You have everything, you know that? And you spit on it! Like living in some enormous mansion, and one day you find a chipped brick, so you burn the whole damn house down. You’ve got everything down there. I gave you everything. Endless food, endless life - and you’re still miserable! Do you know how difficult it is, playing deity? I’d give anything, just to give up knowing everything.”
And on the skyline appeared shimmering and translucent buildings, high technology, and science.
“They got everything they wanted, your ancestors,”the old woman said, “and they still weren’t happy. The Snake was still there: misery, chaos, death.
They tried sending it away with perfect knowledge.
They tried killing it with ultimate power.
They tried forgetting it with abandon.
They tried living longer.
They tried clinging to each other.
The spectacles, sword, tankard, armor, and necklace.
They looked about under rocks, then, in holes, but the Snake wasn’t there. He must’ve gone further up. And so, they climbed, and climbed, and climbed, and found nothing, it was just them in the miserable universe, and they were still miserable. So the New Gods are all gone now. All except me. And your species is gone too now. All except your village, the old mode of living. I keep you lot around because it’s a nice souvenir to how we were once. I’m sorry your father is gone. I’m sorry you’ll never see him again. But there’s a whole village down there of people who love you. And here you are screaming at the wind on a fucking mountain! Bad things happen, and the reasons for them are complicated - there is no snake, no witch, no evil genius. And there will never come a time where everything lasts forever, and nothing hurts ever again. But the strength is in taking a good look into the abyss, into the eyes of the Snake, and then choosing to still be a good human, even in the face of great uncertainty, and malice, and that day where everything will be gone forever. It’s not gone yet. It won’t be for ages. Don’t waste your time on snakes and windmills. Say goodbye.”
She took the jam jar out of Tao’s satchel and offered it to them, and she put her arm around their shoulder, too. Slowly, Tao opened the jar, and the wind took the ashes of their father and flung them out over the mountain. And in the last light of dusk, they were like million tiny meteorites, all done with being cosmic, and bound for the everyday ground.
The old woman said, “Your species - mine, once, too - we must be the only creatures allergic to happiness. We ruled the galaxy a long time ago, and still quibbled over who got more ice cream for dessert. Still wanted to pretend we didn’t come from the mud, still couldn’t accept that meaning and solace aren’t to be found in the heavens, but in the trenches of everyday living.
‘We’ll know everything, and then we’ll be okay.’
‘We’ll kill everything, and then we’ll be okay.’
‘We’ll forget everything, and then we’ll be okay.’
‘We’ll live forever, and then we’ll be okay.’
‘We’ll cling to everyone, and then we’ll be okay.’
And even then, we weren’t okay. Because that’s not how the game works. Go home, Tao. Don’t try to be a hero, or a sage, or a warrior. Just exist for a while and be decent. That’s heroism enough. It’s how it’s always been done. Hey, you wanna keep the glasses, and sword, and tankard, and armor? You can rule the world, if you like.”
“No.” Tao said.
“Good choice.” She replied.
Tao said, “Am I the first from the village to come up after the Snake?”
The old woman sighed, then said, “Everyone from the village came up, one by one. I gave them all the same treatment, they all went back down. Even your father. God, he asked a lot of stupid metaphysical questions… I can see where you get that from. But you’re the last one to come up here, so go home, be human. The universe doesn’t give a shit about you. Your village, your family, me - we do. Remember you dad. Love him always. God knows he loved you. And come up here anytime you like, and we’ll hang out and remember him together.”
Tao took off the glasses and the armor, and laid the tankard and sword on the ground.
“Can I keep the necklace?” they asked.
“Of course,” she said. “And the memories, they will always be yours, too.”
The curtain of ashes was gone now. The sky was clear and fine. Tao set off back down the last mountain, bound for the last village. It would not be a difficult walk. And even if it were, they wouldn’t mind so much now. It would give them time to remember.