Dr. Paine wrote:
The Messenger & The Lighthouse Keeper
At the end of the river
the sundown beams
All the relics of a life long lived
Here weary traveler
Rest your wand
Sleep the journey from your eyes
Part 1
The misty night slowly gave way to a gray, rain-drenched dawn. Eustace busied himself with making breakfast, which in this case was simply warming up some leftover soup from the previous evening. He'd already performed his duties for the morning, extinguishing the flame and checking the gears that drove the fog bells, which were set to start chiming in two minutes. Mundane but lifesaving chores that had been deeply ingrained into his mind ever since he was just a child.
He had never known any life outside of the loneliness that came with being a lighthouse keeper's apprentice, but he had never really minded. Perhaps he was influenced by those books in the grand library that had been collected over the years, books that gave such a... a romantic notion. The lone soul responsible for the safety of dozens- no, thousands! After all, did the people inland not depend on so many goods carried by ship? Would there not be ruin if the keeper failed his duties?
At the very least, he was now certain there would be one life worse off if he were not there. He had been napping when he heard the knock at the door, faint as it had been, and he'd answered it to find a woman sprawled out on the stoop. So he'd brought her inside, what else could he have done? He was by no means used to guests, but the nearest house was nearly a mile away, and she needed shelter now. Eustace had done as much as he could, removing the damp and tattered cloak and covering her with one of the quilts his master had left behind (how often had he laughed at the man's hobby? It had proven invaluable on so many other occasions), warming her a bowl of broth, carefully storing away the large brown bag and quiver of arrows she'd worn.
She hadn't fallen asleep until about half an hour ago, but she hadn't made the slightest sound while she'd been awake, either. Not even as he cleaned the deep cuts in her arm and face, the gravel and grit from her feet. She'd silently sipped at some of the broth before wrapping herself up in the quilt and curling up in one of the chairs, her gray-blue eyes wide and staring straight ahead at something only she could see in her fever-addled mind.
'Fever. Gotta check that,' Eustace told himself. He lightly stepped over to where she slept and laid a hand on her brow, briefly registering that her temperature had not risen any more before her eyes snapped open and she grabbed his wrist, keeping a painfully tight hold on it even as he tried to struggle away.
"Who are you?" she said, her voice strained with exhaustion and fear, but there was a threat in her tone, too. Eustace immediately ceased his struggle, realizing that it was only going to frighten her more, and absolutely no good could come of tha.
"I am the lighthouse keeper," he replied, keeping his own voice even and pleasant. "You may not remember, but I found you at my door last night, you needed shelter."
The grip on his wrist loosened but did not entirely let go, but her expression began to soften somewhat. "The bag. Where is it?" she said sharply, never once taking her eyes from Eustace's face.
"In the wardrobe. I haven't done anything outside of putting it away, I swear. I don't know what's in it."
In a swift motion, the woman released his wrist and got to her feet, the quilt lying abandoned in the chair as she moved to the wardrobe. For the first time, Eustace was able to get a good look at her: a tall woman, perhaps the same height as himself, with coarse black hair and dressed in a tattered gray uniform with a red sash across her chest and back.
'Soldier,' he thought. He'd seen such uniforms on men and women who patrolled the shore, enforcing a blockade that had lasted for nearly a year.
She finally seemed to relax when she opened the wardorbe and saw that her things were indeed still there. All that suspicion and fight seemed to fade immediately, replaced with fear. She snatched the bag out of the wardrobe and moved to the fireplace, immediately dumping the contents into the flame.
"What are you doing?!"
She wheeled around as Eustace spoke, clutching the leather bag tightly to her chest. "What I've been instructed to do," she mumbled. "Burn all evidence. Mustn't let it fall into the wrong hands. No reason to hold onto it, it won't do me any good. No way to bargain with it."
"I... oh." Eustace's eyes widened as he realized what she was doing. She wasn't a soldier, she was a messenger! But why was she here? The battles had never reached this far, the only sign he ever had about the war was the blockade, and even that had nearly no effect on his life. He nearly asked, but the frantic way she threw papers and envelopes into the fire made him reconsider. Perhaps once she was better rested and done with... this.
----------------
She remained by the fireside until she was certain there was nothing but ash, nothing even remotely readable remained. Eustace carried on with his duties, spending most of his time on the gears that drove the bell, for they hadn't rung yet the entire day, and there was no reasonable way he could ring it himself. When he returned once the mechanism was working again, he found the woman fast asleep on the chair, bundled up in the quilt and shifting restlessly as if in the throws of some terrible dream.
(So... I'd like to end this part by saying I have only the faintest notion of where I'm going with this |D But I've got some ideas, and will probably be introducing a couple new characters later on. And while they aren't mentioned yet, there will be some major references to a certain cycle of stories I am quite fond of, and have wanted to emulate for a while now.)
He had never known any life outside of the loneliness that came with being a lighthouse keeper's apprentice, but he had never really minded. Perhaps he was influenced by those books in the grand library that had been collected over the years, books that gave such a... a romantic notion. The lone soul responsible for the safety of dozens- no, thousands! After all, did the people inland not depend on so many goods carried by ship? Would there not be ruin if the keeper failed his duties?
At the very least, he was now certain there would be one life worse off if he were not there. He had been napping when he heard the knock at the door, faint as it had been, and he'd answered it to find a woman sprawled out on the stoop. So he'd brought her inside, what else could he have done? He was by no means used to guests, but the nearest house was nearly a mile away, and she needed shelter now. Eustace had done as much as he could, removing the damp and tattered cloak and covering her with one of the quilts his master had left behind (how often had he laughed at the man's hobby? It had proven invaluable on so many other occasions), warming her a bowl of broth, carefully storing away the large brown bag and quiver of arrows she'd worn.
She hadn't fallen asleep until about half an hour ago, but she hadn't made the slightest sound while she'd been awake, either. Not even as he cleaned the deep cuts in her arm and face, the gravel and grit from her feet. She'd silently sipped at some of the broth before wrapping herself up in the quilt and curling up in one of the chairs, her gray-blue eyes wide and staring straight ahead at something only she could see in her fever-addled mind.
'Fever. Gotta check that,' Eustace told himself. He lightly stepped over to where she slept and laid a hand on her brow, briefly registering that her temperature had not risen any more before her eyes snapped open and she grabbed his wrist, keeping a painfully tight hold on it even as he tried to struggle away.
"Who are you?" she said, her voice strained with exhaustion and fear, but there was a threat in her tone, too. Eustace immediately ceased his struggle, realizing that it was only going to frighten her more, and absolutely no good could come of tha.
"I am the lighthouse keeper," he replied, keeping his own voice even and pleasant. "You may not remember, but I found you at my door last night, you needed shelter."
The grip on his wrist loosened but did not entirely let go, but her expression began to soften somewhat. "The bag. Where is it?" she said sharply, never once taking her eyes from Eustace's face.
"In the wardrobe. I haven't done anything outside of putting it away, I swear. I don't know what's in it."
In a swift motion, the woman released his wrist and got to her feet, the quilt lying abandoned in the chair as she moved to the wardrobe. For the first time, Eustace was able to get a good look at her: a tall woman, perhaps the same height as himself, with coarse black hair and dressed in a tattered gray uniform with a red sash across her chest and back.
'Soldier,' he thought. He'd seen such uniforms on men and women who patrolled the shore, enforcing a blockade that had lasted for nearly a year.
She finally seemed to relax when she opened the wardorbe and saw that her things were indeed still there. All that suspicion and fight seemed to fade immediately, replaced with fear. She snatched the bag out of the wardrobe and moved to the fireplace, immediately dumping the contents into the flame.
"What are you doing?!"
She wheeled around as Eustace spoke, clutching the leather bag tightly to her chest. "What I've been instructed to do," she mumbled. "Burn all evidence. Mustn't let it fall into the wrong hands. No reason to hold onto it, it won't do me any good. No way to bargain with it."
"I... oh." Eustace's eyes widened as he realized what she was doing. She wasn't a soldier, she was a messenger! But why was she here? The battles had never reached this far, the only sign he ever had about the war was the blockade, and even that had nearly no effect on his life. He nearly asked, but the frantic way she threw papers and envelopes into the fire made him reconsider. Perhaps once she was better rested and done with... this.
----------------
She remained by the fireside until she was certain there was nothing but ash, nothing even remotely readable remained. Eustace carried on with his duties, spending most of his time on the gears that drove the bell, for they hadn't rung yet the entire day, and there was no reasonable way he could ring it himself. When he returned once the mechanism was working again, he found the woman fast asleep on the chair, bundled up in the quilt and shifting restlessly as if in the throws of some terrible dream.
(So... I'd like to end this part by saying I have only the faintest notion of where I'm going with this |D But I've got some ideas, and will probably be introducing a couple new characters later on. And while they aren't mentioned yet, there will be some major references to a certain cycle of stories I am quite fond of, and have wanted to emulate for a while now.)
