The kingdom of Kosmikan is rather a small province today, but when the world was young, it was the most powerful country on Earth. Modern Kosmikanis accept their small role in this new world; yet pride in their glorious heritage is passed on from generation to generation, as inevitably as their curly, red hair. Stories of the old days are told and retold at every party, and no one grows weary of the repetition.
But everyone’s favorite story is the legend of the Enchanted Flowers. Probably its popularity lies in the fact that Kosmikanis believe the delicate blossoms still flourish today in some bewitched dell in the depths of their deepest, darkest forest.
The flowers grew, in the old days, in the gardens of the king’s palace. No other flower was allowed on hundreds of acres, so there was plenty of space for all the inhabitants of the land to roam at will among the fragrant blossoms. And this opportunity was the secret of the kingdom’s success, for to walk among the flowers was like praying.
Whatever good and worthy desire a person hoped for in the presence of the flowers was granted. Thus, men were strong and generous; maidens were wise and gentle; illness was unknown; and the whole planet lived in peace under the wise rule of the kind king of Kosmikan.
After hundreds of years, however, Egol, an evil king from an adjoining country, infiltrated and overthrew the palace. Taking command, he exiled the royal family and closed the gates of the gardens, so that only his wishes would be granted.
But Egol’s desires were evil, and the flowers would not hear his heart. They turned from him when he walked among them. And after six weeks passed in which no worthy petitions were sought inside the walls of the garden, the flowers turned into trees. They grew into a thick, black forest. The palace was lost in the gloom, and invaders quickly overran the helpless kingdom.
Kosmikan has not been independent since those early days; yet their fate has not been harsh. Their masters have allowed them to retain their culture and live their lives in relative freedom. But, for thousands of years, Kosmikanis have dreamed a common dream of finding even one of those enchanted flowers and bringing it home to grant their wishes.
Dozens of treasure maps circulate in the land, each claiming to be the true guide to the lost palace, for all the experts agree that the old home of the good king is the most likely place for one of the flowers to have survived the centuries. But even without a map, hundreds of people roam through the forest daily. The flower is the quest of young and old, of men and women, of rich and poor. Many searchers have gone into the dark woodlands, vowing not to return without a flower. And, in fact, some have never returned.
Still, the spirit of seekers is not dampened. The search continues with vigor, but without reward. Not even the trace of a clue to the bewitched dell has ever been discovered.
The Enchanted Flower is a national symbol in Kosmikan. It decorates calendars, magazines, furniture, and china. So, one evening at twilight, when Krystal Krumpet practically stumbled over the blossom, she recognized it immediately, even though she had never thought of searching for it.
Krystal was one of those people who never seem able to do anything right. On that particular evening, she had forgotten a promise to provide a bouquet for a neighbor’s party. At the last minute, in a panic, she had dashed out to gather wild flowers at the edge of the forest.
In the twilight, Krystal’s hand went out to pluck the blossom. But her hand paused in midair, as she fancied that the flower was glowing. Looking closer, she gasped in surprise.
Petals as white as the purity of God, golden hearts as warm as sunshine, and leaves as green as the promise of life – so it was described in the encyclopedias. And so it was.
Krystal dropped her other flowers and knelt beside this single blossom. “How beautiful you are,” she whispered. “Almost holy – too lovely to touch. You are even more wondrous than I could have imagined.”
She remained there on her knees until she remembered her task. Rising, she touched the earth. The ground was churned up by the passing of many feet. In fact, a path had been worn beside the flower. A bread wrapper was trapped under a rock where someone had sat for a picnic.
“But look!” she gasped in surprise. “How many hundreds of people have passed this way! I know most of them were determined to bring you back. How strange that no one saw you here…”
She paused a moment, as if waiting for an explanation. But the flower only smiled enchantingly at her in the dusk. Krystal gazed for a long moment at the almost glowing blossom. Then she whispered with dawning insight, “I wonder…I wonder how many searchers actually have stumbled on you here… Then why are you still here? Wouldn’t someone have taken you home for their own profit? Wouldn’t they be holding you prisoner in a flower pot?”
She studied the radiant flower for long moments. “Then,” she mused, “if they did see you, they never told a soul. Perhaps…perhaps only we can see, who are willing for you to be free.”
It was a fascinating enigma, but darkness was deepening. Krystal gathered her scattered bouquet and dashed off in her harum-scarum way. Then, suddenly, she paused one more moment at the memory of things she had dreamed of and called back to the unseen flower, “I believe I’ll name you Love.”
Photo credits
Forest: veeterzy on pexels
Palace gate: jean52Photosstock on pixabay
Treasure map: Prawny on pixabay
Flowers: Buntysmum on pixabay
Heart: Alexey_Hulsov on pixabay
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