The book hit the
desk with a thud, causing dust to rise. The cover was midnight blue; the edges
embellished with silver flowers. Papers of all different colours and sizes
poked out at odd angles: newspaper clippings, photographs, the owner’s own
writing. There was seemingly no order to the collection.
Eden needed both hands to turn to a
page at random. She lifted a piece of newsprint which had long ago faded beyond
legibility, and found herself looking at a scrap of amber parchment. The writing
was strong and black; tilted slightly to the right. The hand began neat and
controlled, though it had been rushed, and at the bottom of the page the words
were crammed into the corner. She began to read.
It was during the Dragon Wars, right near the
beginning. They were fighting, always fighting. Huge shadows looming overhead,
spurting out flames and frost and wind. The world was living in fear. They
didn’t know what to do; too scared to speak out, to take action.
So
naturally they turned to me.
Northern
Dawnlight was one of the worst affected, so that’s where I was. Arcis was
anchored in to the base of Leatach: I had set up camp. The roaring was the
worst. It was like thunder, except constant and irregular. The soaring shadows
you could ignore, but the pounding shrieks and battle cries were just piercing.
Anyway,
I’m making a short story long. Essentially, there I was. Cold, tired and
dependable. I was walking through the mountains. There had been a royal decree
for people to stay in their houses, and I was on hand to make sure that rule
was followed.
I
won’t lie to you, it was an extremely lonely job. And I don’t often get lonely.
But I got used to it. The mountains were cold in the truest sense of the word.
Thick, consuming, bitter cold. Yes, I felt really alone back then.
But
you know all about that, I suppose.
So,
there I am, knee deep in snow, trudging along the mountains, the light was so
grey that I had no idea what time it was, or how long I had been there. And
then, suddenly, I heard a cry. It was quiet at first, and then as I walked
further it became clearer and louder. I started to shout: hello? Is someone
there? Where are you? I’ll help you.
A
shadow, so small. He was kneeling down in the snow with his arms crossed over
his head, which was tucked beneath his knees. His skin was blue. I would have
assumed him dead without question, if it hadn’t been for the shaking. I could
hear him shivering and crying.
Gently,
I touched his shoulder. He looked up. His lips were white, I remember that
much. I comforted him, gave him my coat. He wrapped his arms around me and I
took him back.
He
didn’t speak for three days. I witnessed him slowly defrost. It’s amazing what
good a warm bed, roaring fire and good food can do for even the most
traumatised of souls. After those three days, he told me where he lived. I
asked him if he wanted to go back there. He said yes.
His
mother was crying before she even opened the door. She said she knew, somehow
knew that he would come back to her that day. I left her holding him.
Three
days, we spent together. Just us. I fed him, bathed him, tucked him in and told
him stories. Comforted him when no one else could. He asked me if I was an
angel. And I cannot for the life of me remember his face.
You
must understand, little one, a thousand years is a very long time. I have met
so many people and seen so many faces. It’s like my mind is a sieve and only
certain things refuse to slip through. Even my own mother’s face is fuzzy to me
now.
But
you, my dia. Those scarlet curls, framing you. The way you always seemed to
blink in pairs. The way your lips pursed like rose petals when you thought hard
about something. The green of your eyes, which was so deep at the edge of the
iris and became steadily lighter as it reached the delicate oval of your
pupils.
I
will never forget your face.
Because
yours is the face that I failed.
I
am so sorry, little one.
Eden ran her
finger along the parchment. Those final words were smudged with the stain of
tears.
