Watchers (Snippet 2)
Watchers (Snippet 2)
A story fragment from the Dustsong Cycle
Note from the Author
A month ago, I thought I’d visit the Blurry Creatures podcast for the first time in a while. I settled on episode 232, “The Tower of Babel with Dr. Judd Burton.”
A little ways into the episode, conversation turned to possible locations for the garden of Eden. Soon enough, I discovered that I’m not the first person to imagine a scenario like “Watchers.”
In my younger days, I might’ve fretted about my apparent lack of originality. These days, I find the independent development of similar stories validating. If naught else, I’ve hit upon a plausible plot-line, or so I reckon.
The role of Len’s grumpy guardian spirit-being, Egwae, in the history of the Vaporous Realms begins long before the Wanderer’s birth. It also continues long after Len’s part has drawn to a close. This conclusion to “Watchers” offers a glimpse of things to come.
Happy reading!
Watchers (continued)
In a hissing shower of vapor and smoke, the carcass melted into the snow. Egwae held her stance and scanned for the next wave of the ambush.
The trees and meadows were still.
Surely Livyat sent more than one.
She envisioned the garden gate, a narrow break in the foliage facing west. Spears of translucent flame extended skyward to bar entry. Even to me. Beyond, tree-like summer shrubs lined a red-earth path. At the far end, a pair of fruiting trees flanked the heaven-bridge. The back door to home.
She pictured herself at the gate. As her world dissolved into blurry rainbows, the snow underfoot spoke in a gravelly hiss. An adversary proposes an exchange. Accept it.
Quick as light, she stood outside the gate. No slithering chaos-minions awaited. Instead, she turned to discover a dozen of her white-mantled siblings. Egwae greeted fox-eyed Kel tersely. “Good to find you standing sentinel, brother.” For once. “Though this is not where I requested aid.”
Kel’s grey-green eyes shone. “I trust you managed.” Egwae returned a cold stare.
“We bring relief of a different kind.” He gestured to the others, observing in hooded silence. “We would have you join us. The Wright commissioned a company of our kin to keep closer watch over the earthly folk. Relinquish this post. Become one of my captains.”
Egwae suppressed astonishment. This recognition was due her. Yet, to quit my duties… for humans’ sake?
“First, however,” Kel added breezily, “you must open this gate. So we can better secure the bridge against Livyat.”
An exchange proposed. But Kel, an adversary? No—it was folly to trust Livyat’s message.
“The Wright knows you capable of more than guarding this shrine to human frailty,” Kel pressed.
Is there harm in keeping an eye on him? For the Wright.
Burning blade in hand, she walked to the gate. Betwixt two sapling-thick fire spears, she made deliberate cuts in the shield. Luminous fibers fell away in a gauzy sheet and disintegrated midair. The heavenly balm wafting from a new, being-sized portal eased the disquiet in Egwae’s soul.
She stepped aside and extinguished her sword. Kel strode up, triumphant and smug as he entered the garden.
The moment Kel’s heel found purchase on ruddy earth, the shield contracted. Although he halted, the shield and the garden wall retreated steadily. Soon only a dome of hazy light remained over the two trees and the bridge. Then they blinked out of existence.
Egwae and her kin faced an unblemished, snowy expanse. Kel stamped his boot; the others murmured in wonder and dismay. Relief flooded Egwae. Thank the Wright. The garden was now beyond reach of Livyat, Kel, and earthly folk alike. “Very well, brother. I shall join your watchers.” And watch you closely.