The Watchman

A dark world. A long road. A weary traveler.

And a fire.

The traveler looked up from his journey and shaded his eyes against the glare of the fire in the distance. So small, yet so bright it burnt his eyes. He forced his tired feet forward, drawn to the light like a moth to the flame.

A watchman tended the fire.

The watchman raised his head from his task as the tired traveler stumbled into the light. The watchman was not surprised to see him. “Have a seat,” he told the stranger, motioning to a log by the fire.

The traveler frowned to himself. He was almost certain the log had not been there before.

He took a seat.

The watchman put more wood on the fire. A small pot of soup sat cooking on the coals to the side. He lifted the lid and stirred it.

The traveler stared at him, saying nothing. He was tired from his journey in the darkness. He was grateful for the heat of the fire. It had been a long, long time since he had felt anything like warmth.

The watchman spoke. “Where have you come from, friend?”

The traveler waved a hand vaguely. “The world,” he said.

“Ah,” murmured the watchman, nodding. He looked at the traveler’s worn clothing. “I should have guessed, but so many spirits pass by these days that sometimes it is difficult to tell.” He paused to sprinkle something on the fire, then continued thoughtfully. “The world is a fickle place, is it not?”

The traveler nodded. He was tired, and he did not feel like talking. For now, he was content to sit: he could feel his weary feet relaxing, the pain in his aching bones subsiding as he allowed himself to truly rest. They were both silent for a time.

Wolves howled in the distance. The traveler shivered, and suddenly he was doubly grateful for the protective warmth of the fire.

“Where did this fire come from?” the traveler asked. “I have never seen anything like it.”

“You’ve never seen a fire before?”

“Not like this one.”

The watchman smiled gently. He learned forward. “That’s because the fire is hope, my friend.”

“Hope?” The traveler repeated doubtfully.

“Yes. Hope. A refuge. A momentary rest from the rest of the world. Everybody stumbles across it at some point in their lives.”

The traveler glanced at the fire doubtfully. “And what is it supposed to do?”

“It protects us,” the watchman told him. “You hear those wolves howling all around us, don’t you?”

“Yes.” The traveler shivered. “And they seem to be getting closer.”

“But they will not come too close to this fire. They fear it.”

“Are you certain? They sound dangerous.”

“Many things are dangerous to us that shouldn’t be. And there are many things we fear, that we shouldn’t have to. But we do, for it is the way of the world.” The watchman nudged the burning logs with a long poker. The fire hissed as the logs shifted and settled into place. “For instance,” he continued, “do you feel that rumbling?”

“In the ground? Yes, I feel it. I’ve been wondering about it since I arrived.”

“That is the sound of the giants, shaking the earth as they walk by.”

The traveler paused. He was confused. “And what is a ‘giant’?”

The watchman chuckled to himself. “Of course. I had forgotten you would not understand. Back in the world, you people have a different name for them, don’t you? Back in the world, you call these giants by many different names. But whatever you call them, they are all the same: the giants try to stamp out your fire. Occasionally, the smaller ones will retreat after being badly burnt by the fire. But the bigger ones, sometimes, will not leave you alone for weeks, months, or even years on end, and it is all you can do to keep your fire burning, to keep on blowing on the fading embers of your light, to keep on hoping.”

“I see,” the traveler said, although he didn’t.

The watchman added more wood to the fire as he continued, oblivious to the traveler's confusion. “Many, many things out there will try to steal your fire. The world is so dark, you see, that when it finds your light it will want to take the light for itself. The fire keeps you safe and warm, but it is also a beacon.”

“You speak of these things as if they are commonplace,” the traveler noted, “but they’re not. You’re the first person I’ve ever met with such a blazing fire. And I don’t have any fire at all. Who are you, anyway?”

“I am the watchman of the fire, of course,” he answered with a smile. “I am here to shelter travelers like you, each for a brief period of time. Everyone needs a little rest in their lives at one point or another, don’t you think?”

“It has been wonderful to simply sit for a while,” the traveler admitted, “and I’ve never felt so warm.” Now that he thought about it, the traveler did not want to return to that cold, horrible darkness he had been traveling in. “Do you think I could stay here forever?”

The watchman shook his head slowly and gravely. “I wish it were possible,” he answered, “but it is neither my choice nor yours. You are of the world, my friend, and to the world you must return.”

At this, the traveler's shoulders slumped. He stared into the fire dejectedly. “If this wonderful peace can not last, then what is the point?”

“Look up, traveler,” the watchman told him. “Look to the east. What do you see there?”

“Um. In what direction is the east?”

“The opposite direction from which you have come,” said the watchman quietly.

He looked. “But I don’t see anything.”

“Try just one more time.” The watchman said, passing a hand across the traveler’s eyes.

This time, as the traveler looked, he thought he saw something faintly. Something… almost like a fire. “Is that a light on the horizon?”

“You've seen it! Yes. It’s the beginnings of a sunrise.”

“So, what's a sunrise?”

“It's when the sun rises,” the watchman answered. He anticipated the traveler's next question. “And as for the sun, it is a fire in the sky. A big fire.”

“A fire in the sky? Even bigger than your fire?” The traveler repeated in amazement. He couldn’t imagine any light larger than the watchman’s fire.

The watchman grinned. “Much bigger than this fire, trust me. We are on the verge of dawn, my friend. Things will not always be this way.”

The traveler looked at the watchman’s fire. Before seeing it, he never would have imagined something so lovely existed. Surely, it wasn't possible that there was a fire even bigger than the one here. And in the sky, of all things!

The traveler looked back up at the eastern horizon, but he couldn't see the light anymore. Perhaps it had only been a dream.

There was a strange tugging sensation in his head. “What is that?” he asked suddenly, alarmed.

“What is what?”

“That tugging in my head. It’s getting stronger!”

“The world is calling you back. You are leaving,” the watchman told him sadly. “But wait. Wait. I will not let you go without a fire.”

“A fire?” Hope blossomed in the traveler’s chest, warm and comforting. “You would give me some of your fire?”

“Of course.”

“But… I do not have any wood. And I have nothing with which to carry the fire while I travel.”

In answer, the watchman reached into the traveler’s heart and pulled out—to the traveler’s great surprise—a torch. He handed it to the traveler. “Put it in the fire and light it.”

Reverently, the traveler did so. His torch, which he had never before realized existed, sputtered to life in the flames of the watchman’s fire until it was burning brightly—almost merrily. The traveler removed the torch from the fire and held it before him in awe.

And for the first time in a long time, the traveler felt himself smile.

“Your torch, as it is now, will not keep on burning forever,” the watchman said. “Unless you find true oil with which to coat it, and unless you stay vigilant against all the giants and wolves in the world who will try to steal it and stamp it out, your fire will eventually dwindle and die. If it does, I can not promise you that you will find a way to light it again.”

“How do I do all of this?” The traveler asked. “What if I am not strong enough?”

The watchman put a hand on his shoulder. There was a sad look in his eyes. “Have some hope, friend. I know that the world is harsh and cruel and dark. But I also know that you will not be alone. Do you believe me? The world will try to make you forget everything that you have experienced at my fire. It will attempt to take your light away. But you must not let it.

“For you, my friend, must trust in this assurance: you will not be alone.”

The fire faded into the distance.

The world was dark. The road was long. But the traveler was no longer weary.

He held hope.