The Burden of the Protector (5 page)

I was not to go in.

No one was to go in.

I tried to stop, to turn around. Struggled as much as I could, but my movements were not my own. I kept floating closer and closer toward the gaping hole, my feet non-existent, my arms flapping. Trying…trying to get away. While the fear grew and grew…

*

Falling 5, year 2965, Dàr is 24.

“Dàr, my friend, wake up.”

A reassuring heavy hand on my shoulder.

“It’s me, Vìr. You are in my home. You are safe.”

I opened my eyes. Blinded, everything coming from far away.

“Here, drink this.”

A warm cup in my hand. Rays of sunlight coming through the window.

I drank. The delicious tea brought me back to Vìr, to his house and to existence.

“You were having a nightmare.”

My body was drenched in sweat, yet I was cold. Exhaustion nagged at me.

“I am scared,” I said between sips.

“I am here,” said Vìr. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

I looked at Vìr. What an impressive presence he had. So large, his skin the colour of ebony. His alert eyes, set in the middle of his square face, didn’t miss a thing. He was a scholar, but in that moment, he was a protector, my protector.

I started to talk.

I told him about the glade, the object, and the opening in the branches and leaves. I told him about my hesitation, my flight from the scene and my second visit. I told him everything but left out my dream, for the moment. The dream was just too much.

Then a thought returned to me.

“I need to retrieve my bow,” I said.

Vìr nodded.

*

It was a cold day, the type of cold that takes hold of your hands, your nose, your ears, with no intention of ever letting go. The sky was clear and crisp, endless and azure, before it disappeared in thick grey clouds over the mountains of Ul Darak. We made our way south across Ta’Énia, then took to the serpentine road through the woods. We crossed the bridge of Saril, I in the lead. Neither of us said a word. The lack of sleep made me impatient, and as we got into familiar territory, I started to doubt if I should involve Vìr.

For his part, he was excited, although he tried to hide it, probably aware of my sorry state. It was obvious he was looking forward to seeing the mysterious object.

“Here it is,” said Vìr suddenly, picking something up from the ground.

It was my bow. My thoughts had been all about the glade, and I had forgotten about my lost heirloom.

I took a long breath and grabbed my bow without saying a word. We stood on the side of the trail worn by the many footsteps of the knight protectors patrolling the region.

“Is it this way?” asked Vìr, taking a step into the forest.

Reluctantly, I nodded. Vìr started forward. I followed. A few times, he looked at me, asking directions. I would nod, my cooperation hesitant.

Finally, I stopped and looked around. Vìr came to my side.

“It is not here,” I said, knowing I should have felt relieved but didn’t. “It was…”

I took a few steps toward the centre of the glade, looking for the opening in the leaves. Had the object been here, I could have sat on it as I had done before and looked through the opening. But there was no sign of it, no trace. The grass, which should have been flattened, was normal in every way.

“It stood in this exact location,” I said. “Right here, and sitting on it, I could look and see through that gap.”

Attentively, Vìr looked around and then through the opening.

“It is a strange thing,” he said. “These branches, the way they grew, the leaves just so, out of the way. As you said, an empty space, a window on Ul Darak.”

When I wanted Vìr to disbelieve, he refused. Where I didn’t see any sign, he did.

“The grass is shorter here.” He indicated the ground. “See. And not as green, with some yellow. Something was here. It had a square base, with a hollow centre. It was probably light.”

It had looked so heavy.

“Using the base as a reference,” continued Vìr, “it must have been significant in size. And if one was to sit on it and look through the natural window over there, it must have been at least this high. Too high to be a normal chair.”

The enthusiasm in Vìr’s voice was contagious. I found myself following him closely, listening to his every word, seeing as he was discovering. All against my better judgement.

“This was you,” he said, pointing at a footprint. “But there was no one else. Not in the last few days. It is strange that no other protector made this discovery before. But then, if the object is already gone, it is incredible luck that brought you to it in exactly the time when it was present.”

I nodded at every word. As Vìr pointed, it was easy for me to see the traces I had left.

“This is where I woke up,” I said, “lying on the ground after…after I sat on the object and had that strange experience.”

Just to the right, the heavy footprints of my flight were clearly visible. As I was looking in that direction, the fear returned suddenly, so strong that I almost started running again.

“Dàr?” asked Vìr, coming closer. “Did you hear something?”

I looked around.

“We have to leave,” I said.

I expected Vìr to offer opposition or to question my statement. Instead, he surprised me yet again. He kept silent and glanced around, vigilant. His face showed a seriousness I had rarely seen in him, an alertness and a savageness unknown until then. In that moment, Vìr looked the hunter, the warrior. His right hand was on the hilt of his imposing blade. I nocked an arrow on my bow.

“You are right,” he said. “There is a faint smell in the air.” His words gave me chills. I inhaled but couldn’t detect what he was talking about. “Something foul is nearby,” he added. “As you say, we should go.”

And we did.

Shading 6, year 3001, Dàr is 60.

Yesterday saw my sixtieth birthday. The day was far from what it could have been. It was celebrated by a small group of chosen people at my oldest son’s home. It was to be my last escapade from the rest home. I am grateful for Faron. He is the only one still acknowledging my existence.

The worst was the wait. For most of the day, I stood close to the front entrance of Faron’s house, hoping against all odds that my other children would come, knowing it would be my last chance to see them.

They didn’t.

Eriéla deserted me many years ago and took the children with her. Although I have an impeccable record of service with the knight protectors, my peculiar interests, especially in regards to reading and writing, were incomprehensible to those living close to me, especially Eriéla. When we should have grown old together and got to know each other better, my interests tore us apart and we became strangers. My random comments about the west, about other cities, about becoming something other than a knight, would only widen the gap growing between us. How strange must those notions have sounded to Eriéla and my children. Even now, I do not fully comprehend the source of these aspirations. I just know they are real and will not go away.

And so, one day, I asked one question too many and the schism became irreparable between Eriéla and me.

“What if Vìr was right?” I had said out loud, surprising even myself.

Eriéla didn’t answer or say a word, but the way she looked at me was enough. Fear was in her eyes. Fear of me!

We never talked about it, never repeated it. Two months later, Eriéla left our home, taking our two sons and our precious daughter with her. I pleaded for her to come back, making promises and giving assurances. To no avail.

Eight years later, Eriéla fell victim to a terrible sickness. The disease took her life after two long years of battle. She died in my arms, hearing my voice repeating and repeating that I loved her, that I always had. I also covered her with apologies. Eriéla went without giving a response, but I believe she was comforted all the same.

My daughter blames me to this day for her mother’s passing. Blames me for being the one with her in the end, thinking it was a privilege I didn’t deserve. The only comfort I got from those hurtful events was the chance to see my children. I take comfort in Faron, who is the only one still talking to me.

In all this, my family remained loyal with their silence. No one reported my interest in books or my strange behaviour to the Sy’Iss. Although I had never told anyone in my family about my discovery and, more importantly, about my decision to hide it from the Sy’Iss, I could see a dangerous pattern emerging. Like I had done at a younger age, my children and Eriéla were lying to the Sy’Iss.

Sometimes, when lying awake at night, I try to make myself believe that my children haven’t talked out of some kind of respect for their father. I imagine that deep inside, they must still love me, still see me as their father. This belief becomes stronger as I get closer to the eternal rest. Yet the most likely explanation is that their silence is fed by fear, fear that whatever fate befalls me will also befall them, and their children.

How long I have left is unknown to me. Up until now, I have felt old, certainly, my bones and muscles tired, but that is to be expected after a life of walking and running through the highlands of Yurita. I also feel alive in ways I have never experienced before. At the same time, my unrest has grown. I am unsatisfied here, even though I am told that I should be content, happy, and enjoy these last days in well-deserved tranquility.

I wish I could go outside more often and walk, maybe even roam one last time in Yurita, cross the bridge of Saril, look down and quiver from the fearsome heights.

I am not yet ready to leave.

*

Shading 7, year 3001, Dàr is 60.

Earlier this day, I came to a terrifying realization. The discovery came to me slowly, over the span of the last eight days living in this house. Small observations at first. Voices at my door at the strangest of times. A high number of protectors, and even a few soldiers, constantly coming and going around my lodging, on the roads not far away. My son being interrogated before entering and after exiting.

Then the signs became more flagrant. A constant guard at my door. Now two at all times. Uncanny noises and murmurs at random moments. Movements outside the house, heard through the walls. This morning, I awoke to see a face looking through my window. After I recuperated from the shock, I got up and moved toward the opening as fast as my aged body would allow me. I found the glade outside empty, the trees creaking, pushed around by a feeble wind. Or had it been the passing of someone sneaking away?

I am being watched.

This will make my work much harder, the writing take longer. I do not dare take the chance that someone might read some of these words over my shoulder. I need to make certain not to arouse suspicion, and so no more writing long into the hours of the night.

I am starting to worry that I will not be able to complete this work. The best I can do is write one letter at a time, one word at a time. And hope I won’t be discovered…

*

Falling 7, year 2965, Dàr is 24.

Following our unsuccessful search of the clearing, it took two days until Vìr and I could meet again. Those two nights were atrocious for me. Almost no sleep, with continual visions of the object and of the dark passage. Disturbing dreams. The daytime didn’t bring any reassurance. I tried to find the thing again but couldn’t. Doubts were plaguing me more and more.

Vìr and I met at his place. It was easier that way, quieter. He prepared some tea and we sat on facing benches in the backyard of his home. A few flowers were blooming. They were in the shape of five-pointed stars, red and pink, nameless to me. Leave it to Vìr to have flowers growing in the fall. It was beautiful and peaceful. Through the branches of tall trees, I could see the dark summits of Ul Darak far to the east.

“Something changed,” I said, “and I need to tell someone.”

Vìr took a sip, nodded slightly, encouraging. For a brief moment, his skin was the same colour as the dark rock of the Borders. No wonder some were distrustful of him. In Vi’Alana, there were some Torians, dark skinned, from Toria and the west. But not all of Ta’Énia’s inhabitants have the chance to travel to Vi’Alana. For many, Vìr was the first of his kind they had ever come in contact with. For them, he was not from the west, but from the east, from Ul Darak. No one could convince them otherwise.

“I previously said that I couldn’t remember anything of my time in the clearing,” I started. “It is now returning. It’s coming to me in my sleep. Dreams, images, so clear, so real. They return every time I close my eyes and lapse into slumber.”

“Give me a moment,” Vìr requested. He rushed inside, came back out with papers and ink. “To take notes,” he explained.

“The images are the same, over and over,” I continued. “I am sitting on the object, facing east. Suddenly, I am torn out of my body and thrust toward the Borders. Or so it feels. But I am not moving, not really, just seeing. Or being shown. And I am following a predetermined path, can hardly look sideways.”