The Doll and the Guardian

He fixated on the doll in his hand, trying to remember the joy that it’d brought her. But the only memory tied to it now was him having to pry it from her cold fingers.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey.” His wife’s hushed voice. She felt the loss too, he knew that.

“Another day. Day and a half at most…” he sighed. “I know we’re tired, but-“

“But we’ll make it.” She said, a stale smile on her face.

He took a moment to study the lines on her face. Laugh lines from years of mothering. The greatest blessing she would say.

Turned to the greatest curse. He now thought.

He stood up, walked over to their horses and stuffed the doll into a small chest tied firmly to one of the saddle bags. He locked the chest with a small key tied to a rope around his neck.

“We’ll make it.” He echoed.

She poked at their pitiful fire, that stale smile staining her face for longer than she intended. “Can we go over it again?”

“Greta…”

“I know Marc… Please. I need to hear it one more time. Just to be sure.”

He sighed again, walking over and sitting down next to her, the fire casting dancing lights across their faces. He pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment and opened it, careful not to tear it.

He cleared his throat and read:

“For one thing lost,

one thing loved is required…”

He paused, flicking his gaze to Greta.

She nodded.

He continued:

“Go to the guardian

to fill this desire.

Empty handed you may come,

but empty handed you will leave.

Unless one departs with something

to which they cleave.”

She continued to nod, her smile finally dissipated. “Okay. Now we just have to be the first.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “How many people do you think know about this?”

“Not sure.” Marc said. “Enough to start that riot in the village.”

Greta winced at the memory, bringing her hand up to her temple where a pink line framed her face. She paused at the touch. “I remember when this was fresh.”

Marc nodded. “I remember you almost passing out when I was stitching you.” He smiled, but only for a moment.

She returned his grin, nudging him with her shoulder, coaxing his smile back.

She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. He looked down and placed a kiss on her head.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured.

She shook her head, turning so that her face burrowed into his chest. “No. No more apologies.” She settled and took his hand into hers. “You’re a good man, Marc.”

Marc’s eyes glued themselves to the fire. The flames seemed to dance with more fervor. He shook his head slightly. “We wouldn’t be here if I’d just-“ His voice cracked, causing him to tear his gaze away from the fire.

Greta sat up, taking his head into her hands. “You are a good man.” She repeated. “You did what you could.”

“Which wasn’t enough.” He gently pushed her hands away and stood, leaving her sitting by the fire.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I could’ve stopped it, Greta.”

“You tried everything you could.”

“But did she know that?!”

Greta stopped. The fire cracked in the silence that fell over them.

“You didn’t see her face… You didn’t see the way she looked at me.” Marc stood there, his eyes filling with old tears that had waited years to be released.

Greta saw the first one fall. She slowly walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his torso, her tears falling with more freedom than his. “I’m sorry.” She whispered.

Greta’s hand lifted and caressed his cheek. He leaned into her touch, letting her wipe the wetness away.

“We’ll make it.” Greta whispered.

“We’ll make it.” Marc echoed.

***************

The sun kissed the top of the trees, its light spilling through the leaves as it met them packing up.

Greta walked up to Marc, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. “It could be today.”

Marc nodded. His focus wrapped in the knots he was tying on the saddle bags. He pulled the last knot tight and let his hand linger on the little chest.

He broke his trance and patted his horse. “Today.” He finally answered.

On the road, Marc was sharper than ever. Every couple of breaths he was looking behind them. His eyes scanned the trees for any movement, the birds keeping him on edge.

Greta eyed him. Watching his nervousness. She knew the guilt he held. She tried hard to rid him of it. Let him know that he was only human. There’s only so much one man can do.

A crack. Marc’s head snapped in the direction of the noise. Pulling his horse's reins, he slowed to a stop, his hand gripping the handle of his sword tight. His knuckles white again.

“Come out now or I’ll go in after you!” Marc called to the tree line, his gaze holding firm. “Now!”

“Marc.” Greta gasped.

Marc turned to see Greta with a blade to her neck, a masked man using one of her stirrups to hoist himself up close to her.

Greta’s eyes instantly spilt tears. Her hands shook as she gripped the reins. “Please-“

“Shut up.” The blade dug into her neck, a bead of crimson welling at the tip. He smelled like dirt and sweat. “Where is it?” He said, his voice cracking for a moment.

Marc kept his eyes on the man. “Where’s what?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” The man yelled, his voice cracking again.

Marc noticed the man was shaking. He focused on his eyes. So much life in them.

He’s a kid.

“You want coin, son?” Marc said, digging into his pocket.

“No!” He yelled, the blade slipping and slicing a small line down Greta’s neck, making her wince. “The guardian.”

Marc removed his hand from his pocket. “I don’t know-“

“Yes you do.” The kid said, his other hand wrapped around Greta, holding her close to him. “There’s no other reason for you two to be out here.”

He kept his eyes on Marc, the blade held tight in his hand. Greta heard his breath. Uneasy, fast.

His grip on her tightened. “Come on! You’re not the only people who’ve lost someone!” He yelled.

In a flash, Greta yanked the reins back, pushing into him and causing her steed to rear up. The blade slipped from his grasp and they both tumbled to the ground.

Marc jumped from his saddle, drawing his blade and charging the young man who was now rising to his feet. Holding his stomach, he gasped for air, his lungs crying out for breath. He spotted Marc launching for him and fumbled with something that looked like a dagger at his belt.

Marc lunged for him, a second too late, the young man dodging him narrowly and flashing his blade just fast enough to carve a groove into Marc’s ribs.

A shot of pain and adrenaline fueled Marc’s rage. He turned and saw the man crouched, blade in hand. Greta on the ground, a small movement. She’s alive. He rushed again, feeling the blood soak through his leathers, swinging his blade with wild movements. The man stepped back, taking the time to breathe, his lungs thanking him. He leaned back, narrowly dodging the blow that would’ve surely ended him, then pushing forward, his dagger found Marc’s thigh.

Marc yelled out, another flash of pain. He pushed the man away, ripping the blade out of his thigh and out of the man’s hand, letting it fall into the dirt. He looked down to see the man reaching for the blade. He swung and felt the crunch of bone and flesh vibrate through his blade.

A silent scream overtook the man’s face as he held up the stump at the end of his arm, his hand resting an inch from the blade. Marc wasted no time in swinging once more.

The weight of the man’s body hitting the ground felt like it shook the earth. Marc’s breath came in hard and fast. His mouth was dry and his head screamed.

Greta.

He shot his gaze over to Greta and rushed over, falling down beside her. He rolled her over, moving a strand of hair out of her face. A look of terror met his eyes.

“No. It’s okay. It’s me. He’s… he’s gone.” Marc smiled.

The look didn’t leave her face. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly, and looked down.

He followed her eyes and saw the blade sticking through her side. “No.” He whispered. He grabbed the handle of the blade.

“Aahhhh!” Greta cried. Her back arched off of the earth and her lungs cut off her breath. He saw her eyes roll.

“No no no!” He dropped the handle, cradled her face. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. Greta. Look at me.” He held her head in his hands, trying to keep her eyes open. “Please.”

Her eyes fluttered open, fixating on the one thing she could see. Marc’s face, tears cut grooves in the dirt on his cheeks. “Br-bring her home.” She stammered.

“We will..”

Greta shook her head, tried to speak, her voice dying. Her eyes overflowed with tears.

Marc felt something on his chest, looked and saw her poking him. “No.” He whispered. “No… she needs you. She needs her mother.” His voice broke.

She shook her head and smiled. “You’ll make it.”

***************

The road was quieter. What should’ve taken a day had dragged into two. The extra weight of Greta’s body caused Marc’s horse to walk a little slower.

His mind wandered faster than him. He wondered if he’d make it in time. Wondered if it was even true. Wondered why he even kept going.

Then his mind wandered to the young man. He thought about what he must’ve lost and what he would’ve been willing to do if given the chance.

When he searched the man’s body he found a sash. The ornate details in the stitching were beautiful. No doubt belonging to some young maiden. A love.

He pushed the thought from his mind.

He plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out the piece of parchment again. This time he flipped it over to reveal a crudely drawn map. He studied it, looking up every few yards.

Marc stopped, seeing a break in the tree line. A path that had been carved through. He dismounted his steed and grabbed her reins. Taking a deep breath, he pulled his horse onward, through the trees that began to choke.

The horse caught her hooves on every branch in her way. She pulled against Marc, protesting every step.

“By the gods! Will you just come!” Marc yelled, yanking on the reins. She yanked back, ripping the reins from his hands. “No!” He hollered, watching his wife’s body slide from the saddle, knocking the saddle bags to the ground.

He dove, barely catching the body before she hit the ground. He looked up and saw the horse crashing through the trees. Then he looked down and saw the chest that had spilled out of the bag.

He gently placed his wife on the forest floor. Reaching out, he grabbed the chest and set it on his lap. His hand searched and found the key around his neck and yanked. He plunged the key into the lock and retrieved the doll, bringing it up to his nose.

He could barely smell her now. Her scent almost completely gone, replaced by the wood grain of the chest he’d hidden it in for so long.

He tucked the doll in his pocket, careful not to let the dried blood from his wound dirty it. He turned to his wife, wincing as he lifted her off the ground, and trudged onward.

He let the branches hit him. They carved their markings into him as he protected his wife, not wanting her to go through any more pain.

In an instant he was out. No more scratches and scrapes. In fact, he was out of the forest entirely.

He glanced around, no trees in sight. No forest floor or sounds of small animals spying as he walked by. Just color.

His eyes struggled to make sense of it all. He was walking on something solid but couldn’t see it. Almost as if he were walking on the night sky. And above him, colors. Every color he’d ever seen and some that he hadn’t. Swirling above him like ink being spilled over and over.

“Do you see, Greta?” He held her tight to him. “We made it.”

Once his eyes were overwhelmed by the immaculate view from up above, they fixated on a figure in front of him.

Standing incredibly tall was a warrior that emitted light. His brain couldn’t make sense of it. Where shadow should be, light had shone. He stood straight, both hands resting on the pommel of a great sword that was stuck in the ground in front of him.

His helm covered his face, shielding his features from mortal eyes. But Marc knew who he was in an instant.

“The Guardian.” He whispered.

He stood still, his presence demanding attention. Come forth.

“Wh-what?” Marc stammered. “Was that-“

Come forth.

It was in his head. That voice.

He stepped forward, losing his footing. His legs lost their strength and he fell to his knees. His grip on his wife holding firm. “I’m here.” He said, his head hanging in exhaustion, his voice echoing through the space.

What brings you.

“Loss.”

Redemption.

Marc’s eyes flick upward to the Guardian. “I failed them.”

Marc laid his wife’s body before him. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the doll. He brought it to his face once more before laying it next to Greta.

He choked back tears. “The hardest thing that has happened to me was losing them.”

The Guardian’s gaze lingered.

And the hardest thing you’ll have to do is make your choice.

For one thing lost,

One thing loved is required.

Go to the guardian

to fill this desire.

Empty handed you may come,

but empty handed you will leave.

Unless one departs with something

to which they cleave.

The child who cared for the doll.

Or the mother who gave it her all.

Marc stared at the colors that swirled around the Guardian.

He wondered what she would think of the colors once she saw them for herself.