The Protector

A fanfic by Walter (05.22.03)

There is a village surrounded by thick walls of granite. A nearby river stretches out for miles through the tumbling terrain of mountains and valleys before spilling out into the ocean five miles away. The men of the village are fisherman and walk hours to catch their daily bounty. The women spend their time gathering whatever small animals they can find to skin and grill on an open flame for lunch. The children help with what they can but mostly they sit back from each world of man and woman and observe its circular path with an alien curiosity and a healthy ammount of boredom.

The mountains provide their own education for the children, beyond the emotionless struggle for survival that the adults were so lost in. Gray and white peaks with perpetual snow litter the heights of much of them. Near the peak of one of these mountains rests a church. There are many visitors on the holy days of the year but little else. A small, thin man oversees the sanctuary daily and keeps it in good order, expelling the rats and vermin from under the woodwork of the foundation. There is a long running rumor among the villagers that he was a warrior before he found his way here, but no one speaks of it very often. One look into his old, stretched face and it is very plain that whatever vagabond that once inhabited it is long since dead. One look into that man’s face and my whole world tipped over. The bitterness of my life flooded out of me like a purging of hell and following my nature became much more difficult. It is here after years of wandering the world that I was finally able to call home.

My name has been lost but the people call me their protector whenever I’m actually allowed to go into the village. Because of my appearance and my body, they keep me at a safe distance.

I spend my time in the peaks of the mountains, guarding the imaginary borders of our territory for vandals and other vermin of the world that might challenge the villagers' peace. They will call for me perhaps once or twice each span of the sun to run off any potential vandals, but mostly the legend of my precense here in the mountains works as a weapon of its own, and frightens any threats away. I have developed a reputation here.

But sometimes I question myself. Though my very nature tells me to join with those that I stand against and burn the countryside down in the pure, unchained name of chaos, I cannot. Though my body pleads with me to stroll in and take everything I want and need, be it food, woman or gold, the image of the priest’s face gets stuck in my head and the sinful urge slowly subsides. But ever since the Dream, my body has become restless, and the priest’s restraints on my Other are wearing thin. There’s something hundreds of miles away … I can almost see it, calling me.

I have to duck to get through the main doors of the church. I still bump my head on a makeshift chandelier made of wood and rope and wax. In the dim lighting I can make out the figure of the priest kneeling behind the altar, working with a hammer.

“Father.”

“Hmm.” He doesn’t stop his work. His hammer is sliding a nail into a wooden hinge at the base of the altar. Every motion of his arms displays his peace with the world. Even the abrupt striking of the hammer seems almost reluctant to do violence when in his hands.

“We must speak.” He stops and looks up at me. He smiles but I can see through its intent. It is a worried smile, maybe even sarcastically worried.

“Have you seen my garden recently? The hibiscus is blooming now. Come.”

He leads me out the side door to a row of topsoil that has been dug out and turned. A garden is a rare sight in this area. The earth is coarse and rocky in these altitudes, especially as high as the church is. The garden is full of reds and oranges and greens. Yellow, indicating corn and squash highlight the outskirts. It is a brilliant arrangement.

“How did you get it to grow?”

“How else? Light, water, prayer and time.”

“But at this height, you wouldn’t happen to be using any secret ingredients would you?” I raise a suspicious eyebrow, smiling.

“Well… if I told you what it was you’d think lesser of me for cheating, but yes there is maybe just a little something else.”

“Hah! It’s between you and me, Father.” He bows to straighten the path of a green stalk that will one day push rows of corn out of its leaves.

“You are unarmed, today?”

“Yeah, it’s sort of embarassing.”

“Oh? Embarassed by me?”
”Well, don’t take this the wrong way but … I sort of feel like you resent them.”

“Hm, yes that’s still there. My resentment of violence will always be there. You can see it, then? ”

“You know I mean no offense to your religion. It is my duty as the protec-“

“Shhh...” He says in such a frightfully calm way it could be mistaken for a prayer. “You can play dumb with the villagers, but I know how sharp you are. Your body is only the tip of the iceburg to your uniqueness.” I simply smile and cross my arms. “Perhaps we’re more similar than you know. Perhaps…” Something in his stormy grey eyes was awakened then. Maybe something he hadn’t had to think about in a long time. He tries to act normal and bends back down to his garden, doing no work, only staring longingly at a row of carrot stalks that refuse to ripen.

“Father, I’ve been thinking about that dream. Do you remember it?” The priest looks at me sarcastically and chuckled.

“Of course. It’s hard to forget the word of God.”

“You think it was something that powerful?”

“What else could force the entire country to have the same dream?” I might have a clue of what, but I don’t speak up. The priest notices my silence with a nodding of his head. “Times are about to change in this country. You know it and I know it. The villagers are the problem.” Spade in hand, he carefully digs a trench next to the row of beans, providing a bank to guide the inevitable rain. “Their heads are so deep in the sand they can’t see three feet to either side of them. They don’t even want to.” He looks up at me, his eyes hopeful. “It’s a good thing you’re doing for these people. Without you, they’d be lost.” He pauses with his eyes on me. The weight of the responsibility he’s giving me with that look makes me turn away. The sun is setting.

“It’s getting late, father.”

“Oh, but you were asking about the Dream?”

“There’s really not enough time for it-“
“Spit it out boy. Humor me with a summary. You’d be surprised. I’m used to purely blunt conversation thanks to my occupation.” I take a deep breath.

“It’s like you say. There’s something headed this way. I don’t know what it is exactly but… I think there may be more… people like me in the world.”

“Oh, I’m certain.” He says matter-of-factly which grates me to no end. He’s always given hints at encountering something like me before.

“My dream is similar to the first but… I’m holding onto the blade of a sword. It is reaping the countryside, burning fields, forests, castles and men. The one holding the sword is what I can only describe as a light. A man made of pure light. When I look on either side of me there are monsters and demons, also holding on. I look into the reflection of the sword and see something horrible. As we make contact with the mountains, I wake. It was a nightmare … It was horrible…” The old man nods his head.

“But it felt right, didn’t it?” The priest says, after a beat. "The smell of that searing flesh upon the sword wielded by ... him." My blood goes hot and my fists clenched. I turn away from him and speak to him out of the corner of my lips.

“What do you know about me?! What could you possibly know about my life?” He does not respond, but hangs his head, the wickedest angle of his smile still visible.

“This garden took a lot of time to grow. It was nearly impossible. It doesn’t rain, and when it does it’s too much to be of any use. These thick rocks stop the roots from settling. But as you can see, my prayer and time was well spent. The villagers down there are stubborn and will hardly even listen to their own family much less my ramblings. But with time and my prayer, they have come to my church on the holy days. The season is changing around here. I just hope my garden and that village will be able to adapt to it. You smell it don’t you? The sun is shorter in the day and the moon is higher in the sky. The time that is coming, this entire era of the world is meant for you. Well, you and your kind.” My arms transform into the tentacles of my Other but the priest does not flinch, even when my armor and sword fall to the ground in a dull clank of iron. I grow to twice my height. My thirty eyes heighten so that I can make out the eyes of gulls across the waves on the coast, miles away. The priest smiles and for a brief second I can make out a crimson glint in his eyes. “A dark time is coming for the villagers and their kind. But for you…”

“Yes I know, it is my time. But answer me, is it also our time, father?” His eyebrows arch, his mouth is pursed sarcastically, as if he has no idea what I mean. “You know what I’m asking. You know more than is necessary for a simple priest. I’ve heard the villagers talk. You’ve been around the world and you’ve seen things probably even beyond my own experience. How much of that warrior is left in you still?” He stands up slowly and though I easily dwarf him, he seemed larger for that moment.

“He’s been gone for a long time now. Years, decades even.”

“You can’t silence something that strong. If you’re truly like me … you can’t deny its hunger.”

“You’re wrong. Just like this garden, anything can grow with enough light and water and time and prayer.” I revert back to my human form by pure reaction. “The world can’t forgive us for our actions, much less the world beyond this. But I’ve learned to forgive myself. It won’t bring her back to me but … it’s enough. This garden, this church, these simple things keep that part of me at bay. Without them, I’m not sure what sort of demon I’d revert into.” He brushes by me and goes into the church. I follow. He slowly brings his body to rest on one of the pues and stares up at the light creeping in from the red and blue glass behind the altar. On his face is the white reflection of the Hawk. “You can do the same you know. You have that village to fight for. You have the power of those children’s eyes looking up to you. Even I don’t command that sort of responsibility.”
“But what if I like who I’ve become?”

“Then you’re further along than I was. I’d commend you if it weren’t an atrocity.”

“Now you’re wrong, father. I won’t go into denial about who I am in order to conquer this thing inside me. I refuse to.”

“It’s not denial, it’s acceptance.”

“No! Listen, if you don’t let it come out from time to time…” The priest just shakes his head.

“That thing is not me.”

“Regardless of how you percieve yourself, it’s been a part of you since that sacrifice. Whoever she was, it sounds like she couldn’t measured up to what you really wanted in life. You payed the price, now you have to live with it.” The priest is silent for a long time. He does not move and continues to stare at the Hawk. As I make my way out of the church he finally speaks up.

“If you’re headed to the thing that’s been calling us… Come back one day and tell me about it.” Then he turns his eyes to me, the same eyes that caused me to settle down in this little trap that he’s made for himself on these mountain peaks. In that moment, he looked weak, broken and desperate. Eternally alone. “Please.” I do not answer, but push open the thick oak doors, bathing the sanctuary with the unholy glow of dusk.

I turn and see his feeble figure in the dark light of the candles. I feel for a moment that I might have gone too far. He was happy here in his little church with only his garden to worry about. But he’ll get by fine without me. I’m certain he will. He has to.

That night I packed what little I owned and headed down the mountain that I called home for five years. I feel liberated, moreso than I have since I can remember. I stop and listen to the wind and open my senses wide to the world. I walk towards the voice in my dreams that calls me to the center of the mainland. Whatever is waiting for me there has to be easier to deal with than trying to become what I’d lost years ago. Though what the priest wants is impossible, through all the long years ahead, I think of him, and wonder if he was right.