And They Were All Saved
by Thomas Sullivan
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
part 2
A Quest: Dead of Night, Late Autumn, Present Year
Just when the Sword thought it was over, it started again:
“Bane of giants and devourer of demons. Indomitable, you lack our human frailties...
The Bookworm finally snapped out of her reverie just as the chanter switched from rattling off Garrn’s accomplishments to extolling his virtues. The Sword had to admit that the dragon had a more extensive résumé than she had originally supposed.
The Bookworm frowned before turning to the Sword. “So if you don’t believe Garrn will save us, why are you here?” She asked with complete seriousness, even urgency.
“You’re asking now?”
“Of course! I’m interested.”
The Sword had to shrug at this. “Well, what choice do I have? The Protectors asked me to come. If you think you can help the kingdom, you just do it, right? It’s not like I have any better ideas to end this damn plague.”
“Just obligation, then?”
“Well... no. I’m also pretty comfortable with this whole ‘quest’ thing. The stress, the hardship, that stuff doesn’t bother me. I figured I might as well stick with what I know.”
“So... let’s say that you weren’t comfortable with it. Let’s say you were scared of dangerous journeys to wake a dragon sleeping on a mountain. Would you still feel obligated to come?”
For a long time, the Sword was silent. Then, of course, she became annoyed. “Dumb question.”
“So you don’t know then. Figured as m— Ow!”
“Dumb question, smartass.”
* * *
Raymond: Early Spring, A While Later
It was around the fifth quest or so that I almost died. The Protectors had asked me and a group of knights and hunters to track down a serial kidnapper. As far as the hunters could tell, the kidnapper was in a dense forest and adept at hiding tracks. I wasn’t overly worried, so at one point I wandered off; I believed I could protect myself.
Which, of course, was a lie. One of those lies that maintain the illusion of safety, of strength. A feeble lie that can be choked out as easily as you might snap a bird’s neck.
I didn’t realize he was behind me until his hands were around my throat, and I felt their grip like a vise flattening my airway. Oddly, the world didn’t stop. My mind was still producing thoughts. Darting in. And out. But my breath didn’t. Not in. Or out. I felt a push. A tree rushed toward me. My face smashed into it. And smashed again. And again. Each time, my world shattered. I search desperately for one last thing to cling to.
Out of the corner of my eye, a person. On the ground: kidnapped? Killed? Both? Things turned red and hazy.
My windpipe expanded with a wet squelch. Or so I thought, until I turned, gasping, to see the massive kidnapper, impaled from behind by a spear, arms still grasping at my neck. Belatedly, it occurred to me that he must have been using illusory magic to conceal his hiding place. And his victims. Any half-rate wizard could have prevented it.
I don’t know how long I sat slumped against the bloody tree, but at some point the knight who had slain the kidnapper turned to me, a distressed look on her face. “Are you all right, Raymond?”
I couldn’t talk, so I attempted a nod. It might have worked. In any case, my fellow travelers knotted together, their muttering punctuated by urgent gesticulations toward me, the kidnapper, and the victims’ bodies. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, there were bandages on my face and I was propped up on horseback.
That’s the last I remember of that quest. Somehow, within a week, I found myself struggling down the vale toward my cottage. I wasn’t even within shouting distance before I saw Brysen running toward me, his usually stoic face as close to worry as I’ve seen it. He must have seen the injuries. When we met, he reached toward my face, and I thought I saw his fingers bend, become tools for squeezing, grasping m —
“Woah... Ray... What happened?”
I realized I was flinching. Brysen was making a valiant effort not to look hurt. Really valiant. I wanted to tell him that, but the words teetered on the roof of my mouth and refused to go further. So I just stayed silent all the way back to the cottage.
Though Brysen hadn’t heard a word out of my mouth about what happened, he seemed to understand, in that way he always did. On the days I didn’t want to leave our bed — every day — he wouldn’t try to force me. He would sit by me for as long as he was able in the morning, telling me the anecdotes of life in the valley, the outrageous village gossip, stories from his childhood.
When he had finished his carpentry, he would return, and talk to me softly again. He took up whittling, and figurines of woodland animals made their homes among the furniture of the cottage. I suspected it was because he knew I didn’t feel up to my usual magical decoration and wanted to create a small world for me. Throughout it all, he kept his distance, even though I know he missed my touch as much as I missed his.
Slowly, my wounds began to heal. The visible ones, at least. The others did too, but remained open. When I started venturing into the village again, the occasional approach by a stranger from behind would send me hurtling into an airless vacuum. I began to think that, when you got down to it, a quiet valley wasn’t much different from a quiet forest.
At about this time, I received another request from the Protectors. I accepted it.
When I told Brysen, he remained silent for a long time. I could tell I was straining even his capacity for understanding without speaking. Finally, he turned to me.
“I won’t ask about the last one. But are you sure you’re ready? Are you sure you want this?”
“I’m sure that there are people suffering, and I have the power to help them.”
Brysen paused. “Ye-es, you do. I know that. And I know you care about them, and I love that you do. But you have a choice.” The pain in his voice told me he needed my choice to be different.
“I’m starting to get a reputation, you know. ‘Raymond, the Guardian’.”
“Don’t tell me you’re doing this for a damn reputation. You’re smarter than that, Ray.”
“Of course not. But people need protection. They want to feel safe. They want a place to exist without fear. They want homes.”
Here my throat seized up, and I wished I could stop talking. But I knew Brysen needed to hear what I had to say. “People shouldn’t have to be afraid all the time. To stay coiled up inside yourself, trying to make home out of nothing...” Brysen’s eyes met mine. What he saw there, I don’t know, but I know he saw it. And as always, he didn’t look away, or flinch. I continued.
“It’s no way to live.”
* * *
Copyright © 2018 by Thomas Sullivan
