“Goodbye, Edward Macleod,” Scruggs whispered quietly. A fierce light shone in his piggish eyes. “You’ve finally been dealt cards that you cannot play.”
Appendix
The following is a historical narrative written by Jack the faun. It is based on extensive interviews with Sariel and Artemis, and chronicles the events that led to Melchior’s fall. Many scholars have debated over the document’s authenticity, arguing that because Jack decided to narrate the events from Melchior and his apprentices’ perspectives, it casts a shadow of conjecture on the document. However, since its publication in W.R. 2676, it has been included in the Libram Occasum, and has brought more attention (and much debate) about the circumstances that led to Melchior’s fateful decision.
Melchior’s Fall
By Jack C. Staples (Jack the faun)
A light breeze whispered through a sunny workshop in the Woodbine, powering delicate machines that whirred and puffed as they worked. The brass devices had small levers shaped like sails mounted on them that caught even the slightest gust of wind, turning their tiny spindles and gears with mechanical precision.
A tall, golden-winged figure stood in the center of the room. The handsome Guardian’s gray eyes were narrowed in concentration as he tightened the last bolt on a glittering harp. His name was Melchior and he specialized in creating the beautiful instruments used by all Guardians.
Melchior smiled as he replaced his wrench in a pocket of his leather apron. The instrument had been carved from a single mammoth diamond, a feat that other craftsmen had thought to be impossible.
A masterpiece! he thought proudly.
While other Guardians his age had been focused on finding mates, he had spent his time doing what he loved best. Melchior was married to his work. And although it was a lonely path, it had its rewards. He was the best craftsman that the Woodbine had seen in ten thousand years!
But I must guard against arrogance, Melchior thought grimly. He knew he was the best, but spending too much time glorying in one’s accomplishments could lead to destruction.
It was the same vice that had led to the Jackal’s tragic fall.
Melchior took his new harp from the workbench and sat with it on a wooden stool. He placed the glittering instrument on his lap and began to play.
Instantly, a flock of transparent doves leaped from the quivering strings, taking flight as the pure notes reverberated in the open air. The handsome Guardian concentrated on each note as he sang along, his voice rising and falling with the melody. It was a Song of Renewal, and was often used by the Guardians to nurture growing things.
The song did its usual work. As the transparent birds landed in the young trees outside Melchior’s window, the trees blossomed before Melchior’s eyes, appearing greener and healthier as an effect of the powerful melody. Buds popped up on the branches and then beautiful flowers burst out, blooming into existence like multicolored fireworks.
As Melchior let the final note die away, he looked around to survey the results of his Song. In addition to the blooming trees, the grass was greener, the air was clearer, and everything generally looked better and healthier. A contented smile formed on his lips. Work like this never seemed like work when it brought so much joy to others.
Suddenly, a loud commotion interrupted the peace of the workshop. Melchior turned as a small Guardian burst into the room.
“Have you finished it yet, Melchior?” the boy called excitedly.
The Guardian smiled at his young apprentice and said, “Check underneath my desk, Artemis.”
Melchior grinned as he watched the chubby cherub race over to the workbench. Moments later, Artemis emerged from beneath it, holding a tightly wrapped bundle.
“Is this it?” he asked breathlessly.
“That’s it! Open it up,” Melchior replied.
The boy eagerly tore the silk covering away, revealing an unusually twisted, blue trumpet. The instrument had several valves at its base and two bell-shaped knobs for producing sound.
“Give it a try!” Melchior said encouragingly, his eyes twinkling. Artemis grinned and puckered up against the mouthpiece.
WOOOOONNNNNNK! The horn emitted a deep raspberry-like sound. Suddenly, something that looked a little bit like an ice cream sundae appeared on the workshop table.
“It works!” Artemis shouted.
Melchior grinned. “It’s a Horn of Plenty. When played, it will produce any flavor of manna you like.” Although it was usually eaten in it’s natural, rather tasteless form, Melchior had discovered that manna, the steady diet of most Guardians, could be prepared in a variety of interesting ways. The older Guardian knew that Artemis was especially interested in the food that human children ate. It seemed harmless to try to duplicate one of the treats he’d observed them eating down on Earth.
Artemis grinned back at Melchior and then raced to the table to try his creation. “Delicious!” he said smacking his lips in between gobs of manna, whipped cream, and a clever imitation of chocolate syrup. Then a look of mischief crossed his face. “Wait until I show Sariel that I have a magic instrument of my very own. She’s going to be so jealous!”
Melchior raised an admonitory finger. “Be careful, Artemis. A Guardian shouldn’t try to make others envious. Just be content and share your joy with others.”
But even as Melchior instructed his apprentice, he felt like a hypocrite. Too often he’d felt the subtle corruption of arrogance sneaking into his heart about his own accomplishments.
Artemis nodded and mumbled an apology with his mouth full of manna ice cream.
Suddenly another cherub, this one a tall girl with lavender eyes, ran into the workshop, stopping briefly to glance at her reflection in one of Melchior’s shiny machines near the door. After quickly straightening her windblown hair, she walked to Melchior and said, “You’ll never believe what’s happened!”
“What is it, Sariel?” he asked.
The girl smiled, showing rows of dazzling, white teeth. “We’ve been called to the Mortal Assignment office. We’re being entrusted with a human!”
Melchior’s smile faded. He gazed around his workshop with a stunned expression. Being assigned as a Guardian to an Earthbound mortal was a full-time job. He would have to abandon his work!
“Are you sure there wasn’t a mistake?” he asked, trying not to let his disappointment show.
“Positive!” the girl said happily.
“Hooray!” shouted Artemis. “We’ll get to go down to Earth! There’s so much down there I’ve heard about that I want to try. They’ve got something called licorice and, oh, bonbons and chocolate bars and blueberry pie!” The little boy’s face glowed with happiness.
Melchior sighed. He hadn’t counted on this. Secretly he’d thought he’d never have to leave the Woodbine, that he was too important to be called on to guard a mortal.
My own pride rearing its ugly head again, he thought miserably.
Turning to his young apprentices he said, “Well, if we must, we must. Come along, and fly in formation, please.” He looked sternly at Artemis. “No acrobatics, young apprentice. Your wings aren’t fully formed yet, and your weight is becoming an increasing problem.”
The cherub frowned and rubbed his hand self-consciously over his round belly. Melchior took off his apron and led the apprentices to the grassy meadow outside his workshop.
“Wait for my signal,” he said.
Sariel and Artemis obediently took positions next to him. Melchior unfurled his huge, golden wings. Then, after considering the wind speed and direction for a moment, he nodded to his young apprentices and said, “Wind coming in from the northeast. Watch the cross currents and stay close to me, all right? Good. Here we go. One . . . two . . . three!”
And with a tremendous whooosh!the three Guardians shot into the air, rocketing skyward like a flock of majestic birds.
Glittering spires rose above the golden domes of Estrella, the Woodbine’s capital city. Under normal circumstances, Melchior would ha
ve enjoyed looking at the beautiful architecture, but today was different. All he could think about was his new assignment. This is ridiculous! he thought. I have so many instruments I need to create. There must be some mistake.
Spotting the building he was looking for, the Guardian alighted gracefully on a nearby “perch,” one of the innumerable platforms designed throughout the city for Guardian landings. Sariel and Artemis followed, the chubby boy landing awkwardly and almost falling off the spindly platform.
Melchior put out a hand to steady Artemis, giving him a disapproving look. He was usually patient with his youngest apprentice’s shortcomings, but being summoned for mortal duty had put him in a foul mood.
“You’re going on a diet when we get down to Earth,” Melchior said firmly. Ignoring Artemis’s sputtering protests, he led them across the high bridge surrounded by cascading fountains.
They entered the beautiful dome that housed the Mortal Assignment office and Melchior walked over to the receptionist, a female Guardian wearing wire-rimmed spectacles.
“Yes?” she said brusquely.
Melchior cleared his throat and said, “I was told to report for a mortal assignment. The name’s Melchior Hazshaferah.”
He held his breath as the grouchy woman removed a file from a nearby cabinet. He desperately hoped she would tell him that his assignment had been a mistake. Her mauve wings twitched in agitation as she scanned the various names inside the folder. After a moment, she found the page she was looking for.
“Third floor, second hallway on your left. You’ll be seeing Mr. Shofarr.”
Melchior nodded crisply, trying not to look as disappointed as he felt, and motioned for his apprentices to follow.
They flew into the air, joining the crowds of businesslike Guardians that were soaring around the ceiling of the high, domed structure. On their way to the third floor, Artemis nearly crashed into an ancient-looking Guardian with gray, withered wings.
“Sorry, sir!” Artemis said, looking embarrassed.
The young Guardian shot past the flustered old man and rejoined his master and Sariel. Melchior led them down the passageway on the third floor as instructed and they soon came to a plain door with the words MORTAL ASSIGNMENT: NORTH AMERICA written on it in gold letters.
Melchior opened the door and the two apprentices followed, both of them practically bursting with excitement.
A nervous-looking Guardian with molting, brown wings and messy, light brown hair sat at a nearby desk. When they entered, he jumped, scattering a sheaf of papers on the floor.
“St. Peter’s keys!” he said shakily. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that!”
Melchior offered a curt apology. “Sorry, but the door was open.” Then he added, “I’m here to report for duty.”
The nervous Guardian bit his fingernail and replied in a whiny sort of voice, “Yes, yes, of course. Name?”
“Melchior Hazshaferah.”
The man picked up several fallen papers, muttering, “Mickey Hashapaka . . .”
“No, it’s Melchior Hazshaferah,” Melchior corrected.
“Yes, yes, that’s what I said. Morton Hashafrass . . .”
Melchior sighed.
After a few moments, the man found the paper he was looking for and handed it to Melchior with a feathered quill.
“Sign here, please,” he said.
Melchior took the pen and glanced at the paper. The name of the mortal he was assigned to was written there in sweeping, calligraphic letters: Sarah Macleod.
Melchior reluctantly added his signature to the official-looking document.
The tense Guardian took the contract and moved over to a small window behind his desk. He pounded on it a couple of times until a young Guardian about Sariel and Artemis’s age appeared.
“Mizrah, I need this delivered to the Records and Contracts department.”
The young, freckle-faced boy took the paper and flew off at once, calling back, “Right away, Guardian Ashtooth.”
Ashtooth turned back to Melchior and, after removing a large, brass key from his desk, said, “Follow me, please.”
He led them across the sparsely decorated office to a heavy-looking door with iron hasps. After inserting the big key, the door swung open with loudly creaking hinges.
The younger Guardians boggled at the incredible sight before them. They had emerged inside a darkened room with a gigantic model of the Earth rotating slowly in its center.
“Amazing,” Sariel whispered, staring up at the gigantic ball. Artemis just stood with his mouth hanging open, too overcome to speak.
Ashtooth moved over to a control panel with brass switches. He bit his thumb nervously as he tried to make sense of the innumerable buttons and dials. The others watched as he scanned a huge manual, squinting at the instructions.
Finally, after several long moments, Melchior asked, “Do you need any help?”
The nervous man nodded sheepishly. “It’s my first week on the job,” he admitted. “And I have no idea how this thing works.”
Melchior moved over to the machine and looked it over. He possessed an innate talent for all things mechanical. Within moments he discovered how the control panel operated. Turning to Guardian Ashtooth, he asked, “Where is the city I’m being assigned to?”
“Portland, Oregon, in the United States,” Ashtooth replied.
Melchior pressed a few buttons and pulled down a long, walnut handle. The spinning globe in the center of the room slowed. Then, the terrain on the sphere started to change. The North American continent swung into view and soon spread over the entire surface of the huge planet. Melchior couldn’t help but be impressed by the machine as he watched the city of Portland came into focus.
“Now I need the address for, what was her name?” Melchior asked.
“Sarah Macleod,” Ashtooth said. And after consulting a small leather notebook, added, “She lives on 11108 Glisan Street.”
Melchior put the coordinates into the machine and a small, yellow house replaced the city view, showing a pretty woman working in a garden.
“There she is,” Ashtooth said happily. “That’s your mortal.”
Melchior stared at the woman with an impassive expression. So, this is the woman who is forcing me to give up all that I’ve worked so hard to attain.
“She’s pretty,” Sariel said with a hint of jealousy.
“Yeah,” Artemis added. “I wonder if she can cook.”
“Rule One: A Guardian is not allowed to consume any mortal substances,” Ashtooth interrupted, reading from a section marked “Rules” in his leather notebook. “Rule Two: Guardians are to remain invisible when protecting their mortals.”
Artemis looked panicked. “Not consuming mortal substances” meant no Earth food! The little angel rocked back and forth anxiously. No ice cream! No bonbons! No blueberry pie! What was the point of going down to Earth if you couldn’t enjoy the food?
Ashtooth continued reading, “And the third, most important rule: A Guardian is not allowed physical contact with a mortal. Failure to adhere to this rule will result in immediate termination. Do you solemnly swear to uphold these requirements?”
Melchior knew the implications of the last rule. It was a fancy way of saying that he would be cast out of the Woodbine forever if he broke it.
“Agreed,” Melchior said flatly. But his two apprentices noticed the hint of bitterness in his voice.
Ashtooth marked Melchior’s acceptance of the rules in his notebook.
“Your acceptance of the terms is officially noted. Now if you’ll please enter transportation chambers on your left, you’ll be sent down to Earth and begin your assignment immediately.
Sarah Macleod had always considered herself unlucky. But one day, for no apparent reason, that began to change. She had no idea that it was because she suddenly had a Guardian looking out for her. All Sarah knew was that, for some strange reason, things started going exceptionally well for her.
Lost keys turned up quic
kly. She tripped but didn’t fall. The coffee table that she nearly always banged her shin against was moved a few inches to the left. Job opportunities presented themselves and generous donations from anonymous benefactors allowed Sarah to keep going.
She thought it was because she was having a stroke of luck. But Melchior and his two apprentices knew better.
Melchior was with her, watching invisibly as she woke up in the morning. He was with her as she rode the trolley to work. He watched silently as she ate her lunch, and walked beside her when she came home after a long and grueling day. He was there when she worked in her garden, nurturing her plants with her gentle hands.
And as he watched her, day after day, hour after hour, something happened to Melchior that he hadn’t expected.
When he had started his new assignment, Melchior had approached it with detached professionalism. He didn’t allow his personal resentment to interfere with his duty. But as time went by, and he spent every day and every night with Sarah Jane Macleod, his heart began to change. The resentment faded away. He even forgot about his workshop. He had always been alone, dedicated to his work more than anyone or anything else. But now he felt something he’d never known.
He’d fallen in love.
He’d grown to love the way Sarah looked in the morning sunlight. He loved the way she put exactly two teaspoons of cream in her tea. He loved the way she tucked her hair behind her ears when she was thinking. But most of all, he loved watching her hands as they worked in her garden. She handled her plants with the same nurturing touch that he used when he crafted his instruments.
And he wanted those hands to touch him more than anything else he’d ever wanted in his life.
He pined away daily for the mortal woman, feeling frustrated that she couldn’t see the little ways he constantly looked out for her. He envied the comb that got to touch her auburn hair. He was jealous of the pillow that caressed her sleeping cheek. He was consumed with his love for her. And after weeks of longing, he decided to do something desperate. He couldn’t live another moment without introducing himself to Sarah Macleod as her secret admirer and protector. There was only one choice left and he knew it would change his life forever.
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