“Warren, dear, what’s wrong?”
I don’t know, Sofi. But we need to leave. My friend, I thank you for hearing my tale, but I think it’s time our paths split; I don’t think it wise for us to tarry here much…
“Warren, look at the sky!”
What is…Sofi get down! You, get out of here! Go! Go! Run!
Sofi, here, take my hand! Come on!
Monday, May 3, 2010
Chapter 31
Warren began to notice several different things happening inside him at that moment: he understood Livingstone, he found a knot of uneasiness loosed within him, and, for some odd reason, he didn’t wonder why he felt this way. The only way he could put it was that a fire had been quenched within him—or perhaps the reverse, where there had been dead lumps of coal, flame now burned brightly. Either way, Warren could not deny a change had occurred, though he could not put his finger on what exactly had happened. Beside the fact he had inhaled a wasp.
But regarding Livingstone’s quip, he found it entirely hilarious and laughed heartily. Livingstone was absolutely correct; the absurdity of his journey here made him chuckle—how often had Oscar tried to point out this pointless necessity to understand. Yes, Warren thought to himself, it was this that had changed. What had been lauded, a week ago, as a mindset of critical thought and solid academic inquisition seemed to him a horribly meager and wholly insubstantial method of living. As he thought back, it seemed more and more apparent to him: how much easier his journey might have been if he hadn’t paused to ask why.
Could he have certainly felt entitled to know why he was forced from his home and onto the road with a complete stranger, flung from his own history into the wild garden and its forking pathways, and skipped right to his grandfather’s deathbed just in time to take over as the High Elder Anazao? Even if Livingstone had known, Warren wouldn’t have believed him. No, whether Livingstone knew or not didn’t matter. The fact that, upon looking back, Warren saw his journey to the east Florida coastline as a tailor-made process to shape Warren into a person who would step into his grandfather’s shoes in that moment relieved him.
Livingstone had pin-pointed it; never again would he ask a dumb question of Oscar. Not because he now knew the answers to everything, which he noted he did not. Not because he couldn’t find out what he didn’t know. Not because his inquisitive eyebrows had finally failed him. But the need to know had died within him in that moment he gave up, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply. It felt as if it was the first breath he had ever taken—indeed he had obeyed the final word of the Keeper. Whatever the future held for him, he did not know. But there was a life within him which he hadn’t had before; this much he felt, and he understood it was quite pointless to wonder how. Warren stretched a bit and blinked.
“Livingstone…”
“Yes Watson?”
“Thanks.”
Oscar nodded with a wry smile. “You bet.” Warren thought he was going to say more, but the hobo remained silent and leaned against the wall with folded arms. Of course, there was nothing more to say. Warren knew Livingstone had fulfilled his charge—Warren had been transformed into the High Elder Anazao. He was also certain the man would sleep well tonight.
Warren took a last look to the bed. There lay his grandfather’s lifeless body, pale and limp, at rest, while he stood strong and refreshed. The pendulum had reached its peak and was now swinging back the other direction. In accordance with that swing, he knew he had to talk with the Elder, the man who had introduced him to his grandfather, and as he took the first step to exit the room as the High Elder Anazao, leaving Warren Spicks behind, Livingstone piped up.
“I’m sure Sofi will be pleased.”
Warren felt poignantly the undercurrents of the phrase. “My grandfather never married...” Warren stated; he knew it as soon as he said it.
“True, in one sense. But in another, he lead the flock with a steady hand and sharp mind. His love for them was never marred or mixed with a different love for a single person. You might have said he was married to them.”
“And Sofi? She knew, of course, I was to become the High Elder.”
Livingstone only affirmed the answer with his eyes.
Warren’s heart collapsed within him—he had to find her and explain. But Livingstone preempted him. “As the High Elder, you’ll be required to return to the Refuge and lead the ceremonies honoring his fall. Then likely, you’ll have your hands full with Maghalis and his lieutenants. They will strike hard at you; you are young and inexperienced still, and without the Keeper’s power behind you, you will have your hands full. Let me deal with Sofi, Watson.”
“You will tell her that I love her, of course.”
“Yes. Of course.”
As Warren nodded and trudged from the room, his heart told him Sofi’s future lay in a different history, on a different path. She was indeed a rose in the garden; one he enjoyed and whose memory he would treasure. But, as he had to die to himself, he had to die to her. He couldn’t imagine Livingstone would put it any other way; he only hoped he would say so with tact. Which, he admitted, was a long shot for Oscar—but something within assured him that Sofi had a bright future ahead of her.
So he tried to push her from his thoughts and left the room. Livingstone followed him out, but turned left in the hallway after Warren had turned right. The High Elder felt that the old Warren might have fretted about how where precisely Sofi was, how Livingstone would find her, how indeed Livingstone had found his way here without her, but these echoes did not disturb the High Elder Anazao. Livingstone had promised to deliver the awful news to her, and he fully trusted his capability to do so. He refocused his mind on his task—of which Oscar had alluded. Of course, he realized it was his duty to explain the necessity of the Keeper’s sacrifice in bringing him here, to fulfill the duties of his grandfather, the late Elder Anazao.
The man in the brown suit coat greeted him with a smile at the doorway and pushed his glasses up a bit on the bridge of his nose. Warren, however, was the first to speak. “Mr. Spicks has passed away.”
“I understand. And the High Elder?”
“I am.”
The man in the glasses sighed in relief. “I suppose you have something to say to them, then.”
“I do. But I have a few questions for you, first.”
“As you wish. Ask away.”
“What is the current state of our struggle against the Mar and Maghalis’ forces?” the High Elder queried.
“Damaged, but not defeated.”
“The state of our allies?”
“Besieged, but holding.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re ready, then.”
Warren nodded.
“I’ll go prepare the video feed. When you see the green light up there flash on, you can enter. You’ll have as much time as you need,” the Elder explained and walked through the door and around the corner, leaving the High Elder with his thoughts.
He thought about the Keeper’s dying words. He thought about how to inspire without sounding brash, to lead without trampling, to empathize without conforming. However, he did not think of Sofi, and afterwards, when he considered this, it haunted him.
But a short time later, when the green light flashed, Warren strode onto the small stage, found the glass podium, and gazed confidently into the feed. “My brothers, my sisters; it has not been such a great time since we last spoke. I told you I would serve you as best I could—I did not mean it when I said so. I was Warren Spicks then, the grandson of the ailing High Elder Anazao. I bring you grave news to rest with the news you received this morning. The High Elder has passed away.
“But do not be troubled. Though our Keeper has been slain, though your High Elder has breathed his last, they did not do so in vain. I have taken up the mantle of my grandfather; I am the High Elder Anazao. And I want to tell you how both of them died.
“I met the first when I awoke in the Refuge one fine morning, after falling victim to a poison of Maghalis. The Keeper spoke to me of life, of hope, of renewal. I heard him, but I did not believe him. Shortly after, Maghalis attacked the refuge, in pursuit of me. The Keeper gave his life for me, and his dying breath bore me to these shores. He took my place; he saved me from the terrible hand of Maghalis. I am to blame for his death.
“But without that sacrifice, I might have not made it here in time. Perhaps the late High Elder could have clung to life, but had he died without an heir…I don’t even want to consider the thought. My point is this: there is a grand design at work here; I believe it is the Keeper’s. It required his life, and freely, he gave it for me.
“I am the High Elder Anazao, now. The Keeper gave his life for me, my grandfather gave his life to me, I can do no less for you. I will not serve as best I can, as I told you as Warren Spicks. But I will give you everything I am, everything I can be, and everything I have, for each of you. For it is no longer I who live, but the Keeper who lives through me. He loved you and guided you; allow me to do the same.
“We now battle a merciless and relentless enemy. Perhaps one strengthened by news of the Keeper’s fall, of the passing of the High Elder to a green and unproven leader. They will strike out hard at us; they will test our strength.
“But they will find us equal to the task. They will find that it is not we who are on the defensive. Our enemies will soon discover the battle does not lie on our doorstep, but their own; it is not our fortress under attack, but their gates which bend and buckle, their walls which crumble and break.
“Take heart, my brothers; keep hope alive, my sisters! This is not an ending, but a beginning; we are not retreating, but advancing. These demons and their servants have struck their deepest blow at us and will find it has only empowered us. Let us hoist the banner of the Keeper high and, for his life’s sake, remind everyone of the greatness of his love and the power of his life. Go now, may the light of the Keeper shine on your faces and guide your footsteps.”
With that, the High Elder Anazao stepped off the stage to the applause of millions. Several of the men in the room immediately approached him. The old man in the brown coat began introductions. “This is Elder Beal,” he said, pointing to the bearded man to Warren’s left, “He serves as the Treasurer; he can tell you where our funds are being currently allocated and how much we can spare and where.” Anazao nodded, and Beal returned it. “To our right, this is Elder Ashcrow; he is the General of our armed force and will advise you on military operations. To his right is Elder Kyrnez, who serves as your Internal Affairs advisor; he can let you know of the condition of our flock as a whole. Directly across from you is Elder Wynn; he oversees our judicial system and can inform you on how we implemented the Keeper’s orders. To his right is Elder Passe; she keeps us all in line and makes sure everything that needs getting done, gets done. And I am Elder Brighton; I am your administrative assistant and will put up all sorts of red tape to make sure Elder Passe doesn’t bother you too much.”
Warren chuckled. “I thank you all and will need to spend many hours will all of you. We have much to do, foremost, a service to plan for the fallen Keeper at the Refuge. But for now, I have a most immediate question for you, Elder Ashcrow.” The old bald man raised his eyebrows. “Do you know where Trent Sutherland is?”
But regarding Livingstone’s quip, he found it entirely hilarious and laughed heartily. Livingstone was absolutely correct; the absurdity of his journey here made him chuckle—how often had Oscar tried to point out this pointless necessity to understand. Yes, Warren thought to himself, it was this that had changed. What had been lauded, a week ago, as a mindset of critical thought and solid academic inquisition seemed to him a horribly meager and wholly insubstantial method of living. As he thought back, it seemed more and more apparent to him: how much easier his journey might have been if he hadn’t paused to ask why.
Could he have certainly felt entitled to know why he was forced from his home and onto the road with a complete stranger, flung from his own history into the wild garden and its forking pathways, and skipped right to his grandfather’s deathbed just in time to take over as the High Elder Anazao? Even if Livingstone had known, Warren wouldn’t have believed him. No, whether Livingstone knew or not didn’t matter. The fact that, upon looking back, Warren saw his journey to the east Florida coastline as a tailor-made process to shape Warren into a person who would step into his grandfather’s shoes in that moment relieved him.
Livingstone had pin-pointed it; never again would he ask a dumb question of Oscar. Not because he now knew the answers to everything, which he noted he did not. Not because he couldn’t find out what he didn’t know. Not because his inquisitive eyebrows had finally failed him. But the need to know had died within him in that moment he gave up, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply. It felt as if it was the first breath he had ever taken—indeed he had obeyed the final word of the Keeper. Whatever the future held for him, he did not know. But there was a life within him which he hadn’t had before; this much he felt, and he understood it was quite pointless to wonder how. Warren stretched a bit and blinked.
“Livingstone…”
“Yes Watson?”
“Thanks.”
Oscar nodded with a wry smile. “You bet.” Warren thought he was going to say more, but the hobo remained silent and leaned against the wall with folded arms. Of course, there was nothing more to say. Warren knew Livingstone had fulfilled his charge—Warren had been transformed into the High Elder Anazao. He was also certain the man would sleep well tonight.
Warren took a last look to the bed. There lay his grandfather’s lifeless body, pale and limp, at rest, while he stood strong and refreshed. The pendulum had reached its peak and was now swinging back the other direction. In accordance with that swing, he knew he had to talk with the Elder, the man who had introduced him to his grandfather, and as he took the first step to exit the room as the High Elder Anazao, leaving Warren Spicks behind, Livingstone piped up.
“I’m sure Sofi will be pleased.”
Warren felt poignantly the undercurrents of the phrase. “My grandfather never married...” Warren stated; he knew it as soon as he said it.
“True, in one sense. But in another, he lead the flock with a steady hand and sharp mind. His love for them was never marred or mixed with a different love for a single person. You might have said he was married to them.”
“And Sofi? She knew, of course, I was to become the High Elder.”
Livingstone only affirmed the answer with his eyes.
Warren’s heart collapsed within him—he had to find her and explain. But Livingstone preempted him. “As the High Elder, you’ll be required to return to the Refuge and lead the ceremonies honoring his fall. Then likely, you’ll have your hands full with Maghalis and his lieutenants. They will strike hard at you; you are young and inexperienced still, and without the Keeper’s power behind you, you will have your hands full. Let me deal with Sofi, Watson.”
“You will tell her that I love her, of course.”
“Yes. Of course.”
As Warren nodded and trudged from the room, his heart told him Sofi’s future lay in a different history, on a different path. She was indeed a rose in the garden; one he enjoyed and whose memory he would treasure. But, as he had to die to himself, he had to die to her. He couldn’t imagine Livingstone would put it any other way; he only hoped he would say so with tact. Which, he admitted, was a long shot for Oscar—but something within assured him that Sofi had a bright future ahead of her.
So he tried to push her from his thoughts and left the room. Livingstone followed him out, but turned left in the hallway after Warren had turned right. The High Elder felt that the old Warren might have fretted about how where precisely Sofi was, how Livingstone would find her, how indeed Livingstone had found his way here without her, but these echoes did not disturb the High Elder Anazao. Livingstone had promised to deliver the awful news to her, and he fully trusted his capability to do so. He refocused his mind on his task—of which Oscar had alluded. Of course, he realized it was his duty to explain the necessity of the Keeper’s sacrifice in bringing him here, to fulfill the duties of his grandfather, the late Elder Anazao.
The man in the brown suit coat greeted him with a smile at the doorway and pushed his glasses up a bit on the bridge of his nose. Warren, however, was the first to speak. “Mr. Spicks has passed away.”
“I understand. And the High Elder?”
“I am.”
The man in the glasses sighed in relief. “I suppose you have something to say to them, then.”
“I do. But I have a few questions for you, first.”
“As you wish. Ask away.”
“What is the current state of our struggle against the Mar and Maghalis’ forces?” the High Elder queried.
“Damaged, but not defeated.”
“The state of our allies?”
“Besieged, but holding.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re ready, then.”
Warren nodded.
“I’ll go prepare the video feed. When you see the green light up there flash on, you can enter. You’ll have as much time as you need,” the Elder explained and walked through the door and around the corner, leaving the High Elder with his thoughts.
He thought about the Keeper’s dying words. He thought about how to inspire without sounding brash, to lead without trampling, to empathize without conforming. However, he did not think of Sofi, and afterwards, when he considered this, it haunted him.
But a short time later, when the green light flashed, Warren strode onto the small stage, found the glass podium, and gazed confidently into the feed. “My brothers, my sisters; it has not been such a great time since we last spoke. I told you I would serve you as best I could—I did not mean it when I said so. I was Warren Spicks then, the grandson of the ailing High Elder Anazao. I bring you grave news to rest with the news you received this morning. The High Elder has passed away.
“But do not be troubled. Though our Keeper has been slain, though your High Elder has breathed his last, they did not do so in vain. I have taken up the mantle of my grandfather; I am the High Elder Anazao. And I want to tell you how both of them died.
“I met the first when I awoke in the Refuge one fine morning, after falling victim to a poison of Maghalis. The Keeper spoke to me of life, of hope, of renewal. I heard him, but I did not believe him. Shortly after, Maghalis attacked the refuge, in pursuit of me. The Keeper gave his life for me, and his dying breath bore me to these shores. He took my place; he saved me from the terrible hand of Maghalis. I am to blame for his death.
“But without that sacrifice, I might have not made it here in time. Perhaps the late High Elder could have clung to life, but had he died without an heir…I don’t even want to consider the thought. My point is this: there is a grand design at work here; I believe it is the Keeper’s. It required his life, and freely, he gave it for me.
“I am the High Elder Anazao, now. The Keeper gave his life for me, my grandfather gave his life to me, I can do no less for you. I will not serve as best I can, as I told you as Warren Spicks. But I will give you everything I am, everything I can be, and everything I have, for each of you. For it is no longer I who live, but the Keeper who lives through me. He loved you and guided you; allow me to do the same.
“We now battle a merciless and relentless enemy. Perhaps one strengthened by news of the Keeper’s fall, of the passing of the High Elder to a green and unproven leader. They will strike out hard at us; they will test our strength.
“But they will find us equal to the task. They will find that it is not we who are on the defensive. Our enemies will soon discover the battle does not lie on our doorstep, but their own; it is not our fortress under attack, but their gates which bend and buckle, their walls which crumble and break.
“Take heart, my brothers; keep hope alive, my sisters! This is not an ending, but a beginning; we are not retreating, but advancing. These demons and their servants have struck their deepest blow at us and will find it has only empowered us. Let us hoist the banner of the Keeper high and, for his life’s sake, remind everyone of the greatness of his love and the power of his life. Go now, may the light of the Keeper shine on your faces and guide your footsteps.”
With that, the High Elder Anazao stepped off the stage to the applause of millions. Several of the men in the room immediately approached him. The old man in the brown coat began introductions. “This is Elder Beal,” he said, pointing to the bearded man to Warren’s left, “He serves as the Treasurer; he can tell you where our funds are being currently allocated and how much we can spare and where.” Anazao nodded, and Beal returned it. “To our right, this is Elder Ashcrow; he is the General of our armed force and will advise you on military operations. To his right is Elder Kyrnez, who serves as your Internal Affairs advisor; he can let you know of the condition of our flock as a whole. Directly across from you is Elder Wynn; he oversees our judicial system and can inform you on how we implemented the Keeper’s orders. To his right is Elder Passe; she keeps us all in line and makes sure everything that needs getting done, gets done. And I am Elder Brighton; I am your administrative assistant and will put up all sorts of red tape to make sure Elder Passe doesn’t bother you too much.”
Warren chuckled. “I thank you all and will need to spend many hours will all of you. We have much to do, foremost, a service to plan for the fallen Keeper at the Refuge. But for now, I have a most immediate question for you, Elder Ashcrow.” The old bald man raised his eyebrows. “Do you know where Trent Sutherland is?”
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