Along The Watchtower

by Litwack, David

  Shunning the dawn, I slept till midmorning and awoke refreshed. But by midafternoon, I'd grown anxious, awaiting the end of the day. To help the time pass, I summoned a servant to draw me a bath. In a few minutes, a stream of attendants appeared, each bearing a vessel of steaming water. After the tub was filled, I locked the door behind them and settled in to steep. A purification ritual, I told myself, for the final trial.

  When I'd soaked enough, I decided to dress in my ceremonial robes, traditional attire reserved for state occasions. I put on a satin shirt and the prince's tunic over it, taking small pride in how the gilded epaulets squared off my shoulders. I strapped on the belt with the burnished buckle and the six-rayed sapphire that glowed in its center. And last of all, the dreamwalker wrist guards, said to increase intellect and spirit. While I preened in the mirror, I remained consumed by doubt.

  Who was this person who stood before me? Hero or fool?

  I was stirred from my reverie by a pounding on the door. I'd lost track of the time. But even with the clouds so dark over Golgoreth, I could tell it was too early for sunset.

  "Go away," I shouted.

  Sir Gilly's gruff voice penetrated the thick wood.

  "Open the door, Frederick. For the sake of your father and mother and all those who have gone before, let me in. For the days of dread are coming to an end."

  I moved from the mirror to the door and grasped the latch, but stayed my hand, unsure whether to release it or not.

  Suddenly, a flash and the great oaken door dissolved. When the smoke cleared, there stood Malfurion Stormrage, towering over the advisor. His staff with the bloodstone was still smoldering from its latest spell, and his lavender robe flowed behind him with the force of his enchantment.

  I gaped at the great elf.

  "You begged for magic," he said, "and I have granted your wish."

  I reached out, thinking he was about to offer me the staff. At last, a weapon to defeat the assassin without sacrificing Rebecca or myself. But he pulled it back and turned aside. Hidden behind him, looking so much smaller, stood the gardener. She was dressed in a silken, white gown with golden slippers and, as in my dream, wore a sprig of baby's breath in her hair.

  As she stepped forward, she wore a mysterious smile. And when she spoke, she was almost laughing.

  "You must come with me, Milord. Anointment's nearly done, and the coronation is at hand."

  "The coronation?" I said. "But what of the final trial?"

  "No need. I've seen a better way."

  I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was so radiant, more princess than gardener. But I was loath to raise my hope. How much I longed to go with her. But I recalled the visions of the spinning wheel and stood my ground.

  "Return to your flowers, Rebecca, and leave me to my fate. The affairs of the watchtower are not for such as you."

  "But they are, Milord."

  "How so?"

  "Because I too have been to the watchtower."

  My mouth opened but no words flowed forth.

  She reached out and brushed my cheek with the back of her hand.

  "This morn of the final day, I was too troubled to sleep, and so I went to seek you, knowing where you'd be at dawn. When you were nowhere to be found, I crept up the hundred and one stairs, thinking you might have gone early to the watchtower. But when I reached the top, the chamber was empty. Then, as I stood there pondering your fate, the wheel began to spin. Though I knew it was forbidden, I sat on the stool and watched as the visions unfolded. And now that I've seen the view from there, I know our fate's intertwined. Or will be, if you'll take my hand."

  She stretched out her hand to me, fingers curled, not a gesture of beckoning but of joining. I stared at it like it was the hand of an angel from on high and knew what I had to do.

  While the tune from the globe played in my head, my arm swung toward her, our fingers met, and we joined.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The Natural Order

  Monday morning. As soon as my details were done, I went to the window to check the weather. Drips from the melting icicles had coursed down the glass and refrozen overnight, leaving a wavy film on the pane. The light that filtered through the resulting glaze made the hospital appear blanketed in haze, and the turret at the top seemed to rise up from the mist like a castle in a fantasy world. I was undeterred. I threw on my army jacket, pulled up the collar, and stepped outside.

  The temperature was barely above freezing, but the sun was strong. Its beams baked down on the piles of old snow, wringing water from them that trickled across my path. I glanced up. The clock at the top of the tower read noon. Lunch time. I had a good idea where Becky would be.

  I went in the side entrance of the main building, through the green-tiled corridor, and across to the courtyard. As expected, she was sitting on her favorite bench, surrounded by snowdrifts and bundled in a parka and gloves, the only one brave enough to take lunch outside. An empty brown bag lay open beside her, and she held a cup of tea in both hands. Her eyes were closed as she let the steam rise up and warm her face. The aroma of apples and cinnamon filled the air.

  It was hard to believe so many days had passed since I'd seen her.

  She turned when she heard me approach and eyed my gait, always the physical therapist.

  "Well, look who's walking with hardly a limp. How come you still have the cane?"

  "I like this cane," I said. "It reminds me of you."

  She cut off her laughter in the middle and ended it with an edge. "You need a reminder. It's been a long time."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

  "Apology accepted-for now. Don't just stand there making me squint into the sun. Have a seat."

  I settled next to her, but couldn't find the words to express what I needed to say.

  She broke the silence first. "Ralph told me about Richie. I'm happy for you."

  "Thanks."

  She swished her tea around and took a sip, then spoke into the cup. "If I'd been here, I would've been glad to take you."

  "I know."

  I searched the courtyard for something to focus on. Across the way, an oddly shaped snow bank caught my eye. It had become so covered in soot that to a veteran fantasy player, it took on the appearance of a snarling black bear.

  Becky shook me out of my daze, trying to keep me in the real world.

  "Don't space out on me, Freddie. Not now. Talk to me."

  I slid closer to her on the bench. "I wanted to see you every day."

  "You had a funny way of showing it. You didn't even bother to answer my notes." She laid a gloved hand on my knee and her expression softened. "Why'd you stay away so long?"

  I covered her hand with mine but didn't face her, instead keeping watch on the snow bear.

  "My world's pretty messed up right now. I worried being around me was bad for you."

  "Isn't that for me to decide?" When I didn't answer, she slipped her hand out from under mine, placed it on my cheek, and turned me toward her. "Don't I at least have a say?"

  "What if you don't really know me?"

  "Don't know you? I spent five months massaging your leg and stretching your knee. We had lunch together most days. I've read your military records from start to finish, been to the house you grew up in. I even visited the graves of your family. Jeez, Freddie, you're only twenty-five. How much more could there be?"

  "Maybe more than I know myself."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  I looked at her, her eyes no more than six inches from mine. The longer I looked, the longer I wanted to go on looking. But she was waiting for an answer.

  "Whenever something bad happens, people pat you on the arm and say time heals. I'm not so sure. Like with my knee. Most of the scar tissue's gone, thanks to you, but my leg will never be the same. What if that's true of my brain as well? My wounds may have been non-penetrating, but I have scar tissue there too."

  "What are you trying to tell me, Freddie?"

  "That
I'll never be the person I was."

  "What's that have to do with you and me? I never knew the person you were, and I like who you are now."

  She took a last sip of tea from the cup and tossed it into the nearby trash bucket. Then she crumpled the paper bag into a ball, preparing to take her customary shot. But she hesitated.

  "I have a good idea what you've been through, Freddie. What do you think I do here every day? You're right. Sometimes life sucks, but at some point, you have to move on. It's the natural order of things."

  The blood rushed to my cheeks, burning in the cold.

  "The natural order? What was natural about my parents dying before their time? Or some insurgent putting rocks and nails in a canister filled with explosives?"

  She gaped at me, paper bag ball still clutched in her hands. My heart was pounding, and I heard a whooshing sound in my ears like I was so close to something important and was afraid to screw it up. I took the chance.

  "Or your sister dying like Joey, OD'ing on drugs?"

  Her eyes widened. I peered into them, trying to see what she was thinking. But they were like the frosted windows in the gingerbread house door, revealing little of what was inside. For a moment, I wished I could take it back.

  She grimaced and sucked air in through her teeth. "How'd you find out?"

  "I researched it, like you researched my background. But I want to hear what happened from you."

  "All right, Freddie. You need to break scar tissue too. Well, here it is. I had an older sister. She died of an overdose. Killed herself and I'll never know why. So I have my sad story too."

  I could see the puffs of her breath coming faster now. I held up a hand to stop her, but I'd opened the floodgates, and she needed to go on.

  "I was fifteen, like you when your dad died. I remember everyone pushing forward, straining for a look in the casket before they closed it. My mother said her expression was peaceful, that her ordeal on earth was over. But I didn't believe a word of it. My last memory? I smelled the scent of lilies as they closed the lid."

  I stared at her, no longer Miss Sunshine and Light. She looked back, eyes glistening.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I knew you'd come back eventually. The last thing I wanted to do when I saw you was to drag you down. I'm so sorry . . ."

  I couldn't tell if she was apologizing to me or the universe.

  "How," I said, "have you managed to stay so positive?"

  She stood and wandered over to the far side of the courtyard, looking for a second like she was about to wrestle the snow bear. Then she glanced up to the highest turret of the hospital, as if hoping someone inside might give her a sign. I heard an intake of breath and saw her shoulders shudder. Then, she came back and looked down at me with those gray-green eyes.

  "After my sister's funeral, I stayed in my room with the door closed for almost a week. I didn't want to get up and get dressed or go to school ever again. Finally, my father came in. I thought he'd be mad, but instead, he settled on the bed next to me so softly, I hardly felt the mattress move. He told me no one asked us to come into this world nor did they tell us why we're here. So it's up to us to find a purpose. And the only tragedy greater than death is to never find that purpose.

  "After he left, I stayed in bed, tracing the cracks in the ceiling with my eyes, like walking a labyrinth. I didn't budge until I'd grasped what he said. He was right. The saddest thing about someone who dies is the possibilities lost. And I promised, as a gift to my sister, that I'd make the most of my life. And that's all I'm asking of you, to try to do the same."

  There it was, an insight so basic, I was ashamed I'd missed it all these years. Give up, or make the most of my life. I nodded.

  "Life isn't always pretty, Freddie. We all have losses. Sometimes it takes a leap of faith to go on. And you've never had a reason to make that leap. But I hope you know you have one now."

  "What's that?"

  "Me."

  Then, she turned with a purpose and stepped off her five paces to the trash bucket. But while she peeled off her gloves and lined up the shot, the machine in my brain began to whir. Everything that happened since that day in the gym when I first heard about my father's accident played out in my mind. Was there more I didn't remember, memories good or bad I was missing?

  Then I realized it. None of that mattered. The most important thing still missing was standing in front of me, holding a silly paper bag like a basketball and waiting for me to invite her into my world.

  I went to her and placed a hand on her face, tracing her cheekbone down to her chin with my thumb.

  "I'll tell you what. Take that shot. If it goes in, I'll make the leap and be with you all the way."

  Her eyes took on a sparkle from the sunlight. She grinned and took the shot. But her confidence was less than she pretended. At the last second, a gust of wind blew through the courtyard. The bag rattled around the rim and bounced out.

  She turned to me with a look of horror.

  "A bad omen, Freddie?"

  "Fuck omens," I said.

  I laid down my cane on the bench, picked up the bag, and went around to the far side of the black bear snow pile, a shot of more than twenty feet. I flexed at the knees the way my father taught me and flicked my wrist. The brown paper ball spun off the tips of my fingers, arced through the air, and sailed into the basket without touching the sides.

  "Swish," I said. "We have a deal."

  Chapter Forty

  A Leap of Faith

  We marched off to the coronation, the prince and the gardener dressed in royal garb, with the advisor and the elf trailing behind. At the entrance to the tabernacle where the ceremony was to take place, Malfurion and Sir Gilly begged off, citing preparations yet to be done. They made their goodbyes and wished us well.

  By tradition, the coronation was not to be started until one hour past sunset, and so we had time to wait. I brushed clear a spot for Rebecca, not wanting to soil her dress, and we settled on the stairs, just the two of us, guarded on either flank by a pair of marble lions.

  She shifted sideways and glanced over her shoulder to the inside of the tabernacle. She'd never been there before and now stared wide-eyed across the nave and up to the sanctuary, where a stained glass window shed the Goddess's divine light on the altar.

  "So beautiful, Milord."

  I followed her gaze. "As a young prince, I used to come here and hide in the pews. I'd study that window as the low afternoon sun shone through and try to imagine the Goddess coming to life."

  As we watched, a column of robed singers entered from the back of the sanctuary and filed one by one into the stalls to the right of the altar, readying for their final practice. When they were settled, the royal chorus master swept in and took his seat at the great organ. He struck a chord to allow the singers to find their key. When all was ready, he began to play.

  At once, the haunting sound of the wooden pipes filled the nave and rose up through the vaulted arches, a song, I'd been told, used only at coronations. But I recognized it at once-the tune from the simpleton's globe.

  "Angels we have heard on high-"

  It was as if the song had unlocked an empty chamber in my heart, one that cried to be filled before I could ascend to the throne. I knew at once what I needed to do, one final task before the ceremony.

  Rebecca read the change in my face.

  "What is it, Milord?"

  "I must leave you now, but only for a short while."

  I rose to go, but she grasped my wrist in her firm gardener's hand.

  "Not to the crypt."

  I reached across with my free hand and unclenched her fingers one at a time. Then I raised her hand to my lips and kissed it.

  "I have to go, Rebecca. The days of dread are coming to an end, but the crypt will always be with me. I need to see it one more time."

  Her eyes narrowed. "Then at least let me accompany you."

  I pictured the assassin still lurking within and shook my head. "This is somethi
ng I have to do alone."

  She stood and blocked my way.

  "If you go without me, I'll shout for the great elf and Sir Gilly."

  I knew how stubborn she could be and tried to think of a way out.

  "Very well," I said at last. "You may come with me. But no farther than the entrance."

  She nodded. "The entrance it is."

  "No going beyond the archway."

  She made her little curtsy. "No entrance, no archway, Milord. I swear by the Goddess."

  And so, we headed off to the crypt. I spoke not another word. Every attempt caught in my throat. When we came to the archway that formed the entrance, I paused and emptied my lungs. The end of the trials at last. I kissed Rebecca on the lips and entered.

  As I shuffled down the dank passageway, I fingered the key in the shape of the World Tree and raised the eagle staff high, bracing for the unknown. But instead of dark magic, I found the crypt had returned to normal, nothing more or less than a resting place for the dead. Like the stairway from the watershed and the archangel's chamber, all I'd seen before had vanished.

  No. Not vanished. Everything was as it always had been, but returned to its proper form. In the first chamber, the caskets of my parents were covered and closed, the dust of age blanketing them with sleep. Nearby, my comrades in arms rested peacefully, surrounded by fading banners, a fitting memorial for heroes.

  "Embrace the shadows," the elf had said, and only now did I understand what he meant.

  They were gone, and I could do nothing more than honor them for what they'd done and who they were. For better or worse, I remained alive and needed to move on. But I would never abandon the memory of the trials. They were etched onto my soul like the scars of old battle wounds on my skin. The past had come and gone, but I was forever changed.

  I bowed my head in the gloom and for a brief moment, the old feeling of despair threatened to return. But then I heard the whisper of slippers in the passageway. I turned to see Rebecca peek around the bend.