The Guardian of the Sacred Texts

Ailwin prodded the ashes, breathing life into the dying embers. Wolves howled nearby; their mournful cries warning him to stay near the fire. He wrapped a quilt around his body, scooting nearer the flames. He opened a worn leather-bound book, squinting at the words written in script. He inched closer to the warmth, the campfire illuminating the pages. The ancient texts, written by seers of old, rejuvenated his spirit and brought renewed life to his tired soul. Enemies sought to destroy the words of the diviners bringing hope to the oppressed. Men like Ailwin guarded the sacred writings, pledging to die to protect the lifegiving truths...

Michael paused and rubbed his eyes. He dropped the pen inside his little black notebook and walked around the living room. "Ailwin...what am I going to do with you," thought Michael. Sometimes the words flowed like a raging torrent, faster than his ability to write; at other times, his thoughts resembled a barren riverbed, forgotten by even the rain. He set a teapot on the stove and settled back on the couch. The pressure of the publishing company's deadline hindered his ability to pour the story out on paper. He tapped the pen against his temple and whispered, "Think, think, think..."

A twig snapped nearby. Ailwin stared into the inky darkness, daring not to breathe. He drew his weapon and slipped into the shadows. He hid the book in the hollow of a hoary oak and etched the tree with the sacred symbol of a fish in case his life ended. Someone from the Secret Templars would find the book and deliver it to the next assigned keeper.

A silhouette passed in front of the fire and slipped into his tent. Ailwin watched, waiting. He eased nearer the blaze to confront whoever invaded his temporary sanctuary. As the intruder backed out into the night, Ailwin pressed the sword's tip to the neck of the trespasser. A quiet gasp escaped the stranger's lips.

"Remove your hood and identify yourself..."

The tea kettle whistled, and Michael sprang to his feet, preparing a soothing cup of Chamomile. After two small sips, the brain fog slowly lifted. His pen glided across the page.

The hood slid from the intruder’s head and Ailwin ordered the shadowy figure to turn around. A familiar young lass stared resolutely into his eyes.

Ailwin sheathed his blade. "Eleanor, are you trying to get yourself killed? What are you doing here?"

"I am here to warn you." She paused to warm her hands by the fire. "The Secret Tribunal of Westphalia have commissioned mercenaries to find you and destroy the Oracles' teachings." Hounds bayed in the distance. "Their mongrels have been tracking you for days. Listen...they are little more than a thousand paces away."

Ailwin retrieved the book and grabbed Eleanor by the hand. Enemy voices coaxed the tracking canines as they closed in on their prey. The forest's darkness swallowed Ailwin and Eleanor as they fled. Stumbling over roots and vines, they sprinted for the stream. Wading in the icy water would do much to erase their scent. A bell sounded in the distance...

A bell?

"Michael," a voice called. "Michael," the voice summoned a bit louder. Michael felt the gentle squeeze of a hand on his shoulder. "Michael, class is over."

He opened his bleary eyes and saw an empty classroom. A stream of saliva dangled from his lips, tethered to the desktop. He wiped his face on the back of his sleeve. Michael stretched and yawned. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I worked late again last night."

The professor nodded, with a stern glare. "Be sure and copy down the information on the board," he instructed. "Don't forget you have a creative writing assignment."

Michael scribbled the directions into his little black notebook. He added the note, Remember the Dream.

"Do you have any ideas on what you're going to write?" the professor asked.

Michael smiled. “Actually, Dr. Ailwin, I do." He shoved his books into his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. "Have a great weekend!"

_______

At 3:00 pm, Michael navigated the crowded hallways, grabbed books from his locker and headed home. Once there, he dropped his oversized backpack on the table and rummaged through the cabinets, scrounging for snacks. With a bowlful of pretzels and a soda, Michael sat at the table with pen in hand. Ailwin, where were we? Michael began to scribble down his thoughts.

Ailwin plowed into the frigid water; Eleanor reluctantly joined, being pulled along by Ailwin’s strong grip. “Up ahead,” Ailwin pointed. A sliver of the moon slid in behind angry clouds. Eleanor saw only inky darkness. She clasped Ailwin’s hand tighter, trusting his plan and sense of direction. They walked on for several more minutes, careful not to splash. The yelping dogs grew fainter as the canines failed to lock on their scent. “Here,” Ailwin stopped and grabbed an ancient root protruding from the river’s bank. He tugged mightily and a trap door creaked open. Hidden by brush and vines, the entryway led into a damp cellar carved into the river's bank. Ailwin tugged the door back into place. Ailwin and Eleanor forged ahead in the smothering gloom, until the corridor of earthen walls turned sharply to the left. A few yards ahead, a flickering light cast by a torch illumined a long tunnel.

Eleanor stared forward, noting torches at regular intervals. As they proceeded, the tunnel widened, opening into a cavernous chamber. Firelight bathed walls adorned with texts carved in the stone. Eleanor traced the words with her fingers, drinking in the words and truths shared. "These words are written in the book," she whispered.

Ailwin's lips drew into a smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Yes, they do." Ailwin patted the worn leather book cradled safely inside his leather jerkin. "Our forefathers chiseled out portions of the ancient texts to preserve them for future generations." He paused to survey the walls laden with diviners' teachings of old. "They feared our enemies stealing the final manuscript, leaving our descendants without knowledge of the sacred writings."

Eleanor turned to face Ailwin, "This must have taken..."

"Generations," Ailwin, interrupted.

A shadow emerged from behind a rock outcropping concealing another passageway. The figure attired in a long hooded robe approached the pair silently. Ailwin, bowed on one knee; Eleanor followed suit.

"Good evening,..."

Michael dropped the pen and rubbed his eyes. Good evening, who...? I need a name... Michael Googled 15th century royalty names. Finding one he liked, he set the pen to paper.

"Good evening, Bishop."

Bishop threw back his hood and stepped forward to embrace Ailwin. Eleanor gasped. She recognized the face aged and wizened by years. "Grandfather...?"

Bishop Enguerrand drew closer to the familiar voice. "Eleanor, my beautiful granddaughter." He wrapped his arms around the girl's frame as she trembled with emotion. Large tears leaked from her eyes as she said over and over, "I can't believe it's you."

_______

The pen dropped from Michael's hand as his eyes grew heavy. He rested his head on the table top and drifted off to sleep.

________

Ailwin spoke softly as they embraced. "I've known he was here for quite sometime. But for his safety, I was sworn to secrecy."

Eleanor glanced at Ailwin and gave a barely perceptible nod. She looked back at her grandfather. "But why did you disappear? We thought you had been taken prisoner or been killed."

Eleanor grasped her Grandfather into another embrace. "I love you, grandfather."

"I love you, child."

______

Michael jerked awake and snatched up his pen to write down more of his dream. He noted the time and quickly changed into his work clothes. The completion of the story would have to wait...

_____

On his lunch break, Michael found a quiet place under a shady oak and pulled a pen from his pocket. The tale clamored to break free on paper.

Ailwin pulled Eleanor into his arms and whispered another apology. The Bishop turned to a small alcove in the cavern's wall. For the first time since arriving, Ailwin and Eleanor noted the aroma of fresh game. The carcass of a rabbit roasted on a spit over a heap of hot ashes. Bishop sliced a piece of meat from the hindquarters and popped it into his mouth. He savored the morsel momentarily, his eyes closing blissfully. "Dinner's ready," he announced.

During the meal, Ailwin and Eleanor ate with a famished abandon. Bishop regaled them with stories about the Templars and instances when the safety of the Sacred Texts was in doubt. Ailwin and Eleanor listened with rapt attention while stuffing their mouths with chunks of meat and pieces of bread. Ailwin appreciated the stories more than most, as he would join the storied annals of protectors. With their bellies full, both found a flat spot on the cave's floor and drifted off to sleep. Bishop draped bear skins over both and then curled up near the dying embers. He murmured a simple prayer of thanks for keeping his granddaughter and her friend safe. He squinted at the walls and read snippets of text illumined dimly by the fire's glow. For now, these words etched for future generations weren't necessary as the Sacred Texts remained safe and secure. He smiled as he pondered the oracles shared by the ancient and wise prophets of centuries past. Soon, his breathing calmed and his eyes closed in slumber.

Michael's phone alert forced him back into the popular greasy spoon to flip burgers. These story pauses helped him gain clarity and mentally brainstorm the next phases of his imaginative tale.

The weekend passed quickly with Michael giving little thought to the lives of Ailwin and Eleanor. On Monday morning, he handed Professor Ailwin his story. "Mr. Ailwin, it isn't completed, but it does meet the criteria for number of words. Maybe you can think of it as a chapter?"

Mr. Ailwin grunted and peered at Michael over his spectacles. "Possibly, Michael. I won't know until after I've committed the time to read the entire class' submissions."

A week later, Professor Ailwin posted the marks on a bulletin board outside his office. Michael smiled. His story earned a 98%, the highest in his class. "Michael."

Michael turned to see Professor Ailwin poking his head out of his office door. "Can you come in here for a minute?"

Michael gladly obliged.

"I want to congratulate you on your fine work."

"Thank you, Mr. Ailwin." Michael beamed.

"You have a gift for writing. I think you should quit your job and come work as a tutor here in the English Department. I will make sure you get the hours needed to cover what you're making now at the restaurant."

Michael grinned. "I'd love that, Sir."

"Good, consider it done. I also look forward to the next chapters in your story. The plot is engaging and I like the characters you've created." Professor Ailwin paused to sip his coffee. "In fact, your assignment for the rest of the year, is to add chapters to your story and keep me in the loop. I would love to read and give editorial advice as you complete more sections."

"That sounds awesome! Yes, I'll continue to write and look forward to your input!" Michael glanced at a clock on the wall. "Well, I've got to run...Biology Lab."

Michael turned to head out of the office.

"See you in class...and thanks for naming the main character after me."

"You're welcome, Prof. See you soon."