Into the city Luz, a city of the plain, there came a traveler- a wild man, an holy man (a "mountain man," said he of himself, and his hearers scoffed at the word). Into their city he came, past the dukes playing chess at their great oaken tables, and the princes singing of olden wars from half-forgotten times, past the walls and pillars inscribed with the word DESTRUCTION in awful black ink.
To these people- plain folk never, but plains-folk since beyond the time of Forefather Luz- he spoke of a mountain. To speak of mountains was to speak of mystery enough to men who had never seen the horizon broken save by castles and trees, but more than these mounds of legend he spoke of a Mountain, beside which all other mountains, and even the Tower of their most ancient fathers, were but footstools. And on its side were etched the words THE MOUNTAIN OF THE LORD. HOLINESS TO THE LORD.
The Mountain, he said, lay far away, further than even the greatest horseman could ride in a month, and across terrain that threatened to mislead a querent at every stop, possibly never to be seen again and surely never to find the Mountain itself. Through forest, fen, and frozen waste, without terrestrial landmark to lead the way. Across deserts of glass and emerald-colored seas, guided only by the pattern of the stars above. But at the end of the journey, if one heeded the signs and persevered, they would in the fullness of their journey come to the foot of the Mountain.
Many looked at the raggedness of his clothes and derided him. Others, learned men and fools both, recalled ancient legends of mountains and reminded the people of the city that no-one spoke of mountains in these days, that their fathers had spoken of mountains but the men of today were wiser than those simpletons. Even the so-called mountain man admitted that there were no mountains that the people could see from their city or even from the Tower (surely, said some, it was the Tower that had truly inspired legends of mountains until the tales had grown so that children grew up learning that the Tower's builders had been inspired by myth).
They mocked him, but there were others who ignored the man's appearance and cared not for whether he was more eloquent or learned than they. These people asked “What if?” and considered the content of his words, and how he bore himself in all other things. They noted that in all things, save this one, he was eminently reasonable and keen of mind. “There are no mountains here,” said they, who counted learned men and fools among their own as well, “but he does not say that there are. He says that there are mountains elsewhere- and, what is more, he says that he has seen them, and bears witness of no more or less than exactly that which he has seen.”
Some heeded him, and others did not. Some were content to simply believe on his words, and others were not. Some that quested after the Mountain were at long last successful and reached it. Others were waylaid on their journey or had still not reached it by the time that they had expected their journey to be complete, and of them there were some that blamed the mountain man and called him a liar, and some that recognized the fault in themselves and their impatience or their refusal to heed the directions that he had given them.
Those that returned, were now witnesses themselves, and could speak of the Mountain as well as the one who had first told them of it, saying nothing more or less than exactly what they had seen. By and by, they went from out of the city, knowing that their true Lord was not that Tall Man of the city whose name was scrawled on every edifice. And thus it is.
Follow-up: But of course it's not just about a mountain
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