Guardian

By Rose Q. Addams

“Take this,” Mother says, her usually-shining blue eyes muted and sorrowful. “Remember, Lyskkia, you’re not alone. The Allfather is with you, and the land will fight for us as long as we fight for it.”

I accept the staff with both hands, the weight of the ancient, polished wood making this all-too-real. They were truly leaving, likely never to return. Mother, Father, and every other adult in the tribe was departing tonight, taking the fight to our enemies before they could arrive here.

Even though our strength does not lie in battle skills or passion.

Multitudes of islands, just a few miles offshore, had slowly been conquered and laid waste by strangers from the south. Now, they turn their attention inland. The land, of course, fights back on its own, although not with the vigor it had long before. Or so Mother says.

Perhaps it knows we’re weaker now. Softer. The land defends its people, that is true, but when someone claims it by right of victory, they become the ones it fights for. Our people journeyed thousands of miles, through sickness, storm, and pursuit, to find this place. We wrested it from the wilderness itself…

Would we lose it now after so many years?

“The stone isn’t awake,” I protest. “I’m not ready to carry it.” It was true—the inlaid crystal that shone brightly when my parents held the staff sat dark and cold, as if sensing my inadequacy.

Mother cupped my chin and raised my face.

“You are ready, Lyskkia. I know it.” Her smile never lies. “You are the firstborn of those who traveled here. You are the true heir to this land, its princess. It will heed you if you walk in the ways you know to be true and right, for as long as we are blessed to be its people.”

She kisses my brow. “Be faithful where you are planted. I love you, child.”

She leaves the tent. I stare up at the constellations she had painted here, so long ago: Xiara, the two-tailed fox. Nupny’ya, the dancing boar. Hllu, the herald of good tidings. Uiaat, the thunderbird.

But they give me little comfort.

Am I truly brave enough? Strong enough? Or will we all perish?

I leave the tent, mind tangled, and nearly collide with Achak, one of the youngest warriors. Despite being twice my age, he’s so childish and irresponsible that Mother thinks he’s shameful. Father, kindhearted as he is, says Achak only needs more encouragement to mature… I think I agree with Mother.

“Lyskkia.” His eyes bulge mid-bow, likely at the sight of the stone inlaid in the staff in my hand, and his brow creases.

“Good day.” I brush past, face aflame. Why doesn’t Mother see what is so plain, even to Achak?

The canoes holding our families slip away into the night without fanfare.

Some weep, while others look confused. All know something is wrong, and unease reigns.

“We’ll be back within a full season’s-cycle, if all goes well,” Mother translates Father’s signs for the rest of the children, stepping into the last boat. “Watch each other. May the Allfather keep you.”

“And you,” I say, mouth dry.

With a last enigmatic smile, they are gone.

Everyone trickles back to their tents, but I sit on the sandy shore, watching the waves’ relentless swell. I am not weary, and I will not rest, not fully, until they return. The clouds grow to obscure the moon, then most of the stars, and I murmur a prayer of gratitude. The shadow’s deepening will provide cover for them, at any rate.

The clouds seem to race across the heavens as I watch, motionless. Sudden movement to my right catches my eye, and I straighten involuntarily at the sight of Achak creeping out of the scrub, eyes flickering between the waves and the village.

“What are you doing here?”

He stiffens, then turns to me. “Lyskkia.”

The way he says my name makes my skin prickle, and I stand as he advances.

“The stone isn’t lit,” he says, pausing about five feet away. “You shouldn’t have to bear that burden.”

“Why aren’t you out there?”

“We’re not the chosen people any longer. The enemy is stronger; they’ll take away everything we love.” He shifts closer.

I tense. “You don’t know that. Though victory will be harder without every able man.” I stress the word, gripping the staff tighter.

He throws back his head and laughs, the sound splitting the air as droplets spatter the sand.

“I will make a difference? That’s as foolish as giving the defense of our people to a girl.”

I grit my teeth and try to ignore the slap. “The Allfather’s will—”

“Is that we leave. And I will be the one to lead us to new lands. New hopes. Those fools will have to find their own way, if they survive.”

He steps closer, hand extended. “I would be happy if you chose to come with me. But if you do not come willingly…” His tone hardens. “I will take the staff by force.”

“You’re a traitor,” I say, taking a step backward as the wind picks up. “I will never abandon my land or my people.”

“You’re a child,” he sneers.

“Perhaps, but I will be faithful where I’ve been planted.”

He draws a knife, and I lift the staff. If I die here, so be it. I will stand firm. I must. For my home. My people. It is only right.

The world explodes.

Every fiber of my body tingles as a great fork of lightning shoots from the sky, refracting through the staff’s stone straight into Achak’s heart. His scream is drowned as thunder splits overhead, and he falls.

You stand not alone, the thunder seems to say.

I stagger back, ears ringing, and I catch the white-hot tips of giant wings as they disappear into the boiling clouds.

The stone glows in response.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rose Q. Addams loves cheesecake, hats, and her family, who she blames for her love of reading. Some of her best memories are hearing tales of Heidi, Winnie the Pooh, Beauty and The Beast, and the prophet Ehud—which explains how her taste runs wildly throughout genres. She can be found scribbling madly on any paper she gets, and praising her Savior for the weird and wonderful things in her life.

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