Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Winter's Sentinel ❯ Winter's Sentinel ( One-Shot )

This story was written expressly for MMorg's Winter Wonderland Mini Contest. For details, please find the appropriate thread in the forum.

 

This piece hasn't been beta read, but I was in a bit of a rush to get it finished. :P Hopefully it reads alright… I apologize if it's cheesy, cliché, and otherwise plain weird. I honestly almost never write fantasy stories, so this is purely experiment for me. XD

 

Comments would be wonderful. :D

 

Winter's Sentinel

Original, by BakaBokken

 

I have been told by many in my village that I do not look like my parents' child, which is true, I suppose. Both have the ruddier and weather-worn skin tones of the average farmer, thick salt and pepper hair, deep-set brown eyes that twinkle with emotion, deep grooves in the skin characteristic of those who have experienced much and seem to have a wrinkle for each rough memory. I, on the other hand, had been given skin a shade that turned red easily in too much sun and eerily seemed to glow at dusk, fair hair, and eyes of conflicting cold and spring depending on the lighting. To my mind, my father and mother always seemed to have looked alike: strong, hearty, wise workers who raised me - despite my differences - to follow in their trade.

 

Fate must have decided to play a cruel joke, for I was far from able to handle the labor intensive daily life of a farmer. The village mystic said that I was a cursed child, far too phlegmatic to come from such a melancholic background. He also said something about “it” being my fault, but my parents had flushed that memory so far from my mind that I could hardly remember what “it” was. All I know is that our village and the nearby Whispering Wood have been shrouded in blankets of white snow since my coming of age last year. I am fortunate that my parents cared enough about me to keep me safe from angered villagers who came knocking at our door demanding they sacrifice me for the crops.

 

Somehow, I knew they were right then, and that the endless winter was somehow my fault. This assumption proved to be quite true some time later, long after the traveling sages came to sing tales of the one who would summon the Dark Ones, and even after the Dark Ones had come to wage war upon a cluster of disunited clans that comprised what was my country at the time.

 

The Dark Ones soundly defeated our neighbors' poorly scattered and unorganized militia; my village was one of the few that managed to hold them off for some time, using the Whispering Wood as a buffer. Few who had any sense of the supernatural dared set foot in those lands; tales of wood elves, faeries, noble gnomes that once dwelled there were in alliance with our village up until the eternal winter came to destroy their land. Since then, the Wood stood eerily silent, with the occasional breeze fluttering through to allow the trees to communicate.

 

Despite my fragile appearance, I too left my home to battle the Dark Ones with my fellow village men to fight. Perhaps I would show them that I did not intend to cause the village harm by doing so, though I feared that once we returned home they would only remember that my birth had become the village's bane.

 

I never returned home, at least not immediately after the battle, and nobody recognized me either when I finally did return over a year later. The only things I remember from that battle are protests against entering the Whispering Wood, the clashing of metal upon metal, the cries of bloodthirsty war demons emerging from men's mouths, and a sharp, blinding pain in my side as an attacking Dark creature cut through my armor and into my pale flesh. Beyond that, I have no memory of the incident or of the appearance of the Dark Ones, other than realizing that I was using the snowdrift below me as a soft - though bitterly cold - mattress. My mind's eye faded to a blurry, numbed grey shortly after that.

 

When I awoke, it was dark and I was alone; I suppose I'd been left for dead by my comrades-in-arms. My side still ached horribly, battling with other smaller but compounding discomforts that slowly and angrily made themselves known as I tried to move. The effort left me gasping for air, feeling worn. As soon as my vision cleared, I was determined to glare up into the sky at the stars and whatever deity resided above them, hoping that my own simple pain-filled petition to just stop hurting would be heard. But when I glanced directly above me, I noticed a gathering of small lights above my field of vision that didn't belong to the heavens.

 

At first I thought they were fireflies: small bulbous, yellow lights lazily flashing over my head as they made their way skyward. Then the cold, wet blanket of snow beneath me reminded me of the absurdity of that idea - fireflies would not survive in the frigid chill of eternal winter. I tried vainly to focus in on one of these creatures, hoping to figure out what these lights belonged to. I couldn't distinguish any features until one boldly flew to my face, and landed lightly on my nose upon its delicate glowing tip-toes.

 

“You, sir, don't appear to be dead after all,” it said to me in a very high-pitched feminine voice, with a tone that held a hint of accusation in it. I flinched; hadn't been expecting these floating lights to be able to talk. For a moment, I assumed that I was delirious from my injury, and must be developing a fever. When the creature raised its eyebrow at me - at that point I realized that my eyes were adjusting to the light enough to pick out its very humanoid features - I shifted uncomfortably. “Do you understand me?” it asked uncertainly.

 

“Y-Yes,” I croaked, throat protesting my battle cries from before. I then realized that the light-creature bore a set of elegant translucent wings and was definitely feminine in figure, with hourglass curves and dainty limbs… and at that point I realized she was completely naked. I couldn't hide the flame from my cheeks as I quickly looked away, and the light-girl giggled in my face.

 

“My, my, you're such an interesting being, mortal,” it - she - commented lightly. “I was hoping you would be awake; your features are so unlike the others that I wanted to see if your eyes were different as well. I've never seen someone with your eye color before in this forest.”

 

I coughed then, moaning as my stomach muscles cramped around my wound to remind me that it was there. The faerie - which I assumed she had to have been - flittered out of the way with a surprised yelp. Once I'd gotten my breathing back under control, she perched back upon my nose with a pitying look on her face.

 

“You poor creature,” she murmured. “It looks like you're bleeding pretty badly. Here, let me take a look at that…”

 

I had to be delirious from blood loss. It would explain why I was speaking with a faerie - they weren't supposed to exist anymore, right? - and still felt pain. The faerie fluttered her wings as they lightly carried her in the air from my nose to hover above my injured side. Before I could protest, the golden glow covering her small body intensified and slowly changed to turquoise-blue. She pressed her hands heavily on my wound, and for a moment I saw nothing but black and white spots dancing across my vision. When the sharp pain in my side gradually gave way to a warm throbbing, my vision cleared to find her small eyes peering worriedly into mine. The bluish glow had faded back to her original golden color.

 

“Are you okay?” she asked, waving her tiny hand over my vision. I wasn't sure; part of my brain said to try moving, but I was too tired to bother, so I simply nodded. The fairy seemed immensely pleased - and relieved - that I was still alive. “Ah, good! I was really worried there for a second. I have to apologize… I'm not the greatest healer in my clan. My healing abilities aren't gentle, but when you screamed and passed out I was afraid that I'd killed you!”

 

I almost grimaced at the news that I'd been healed by an amateur magic-healer, and then finally did grimace when I realized that I knew what that was. Shifting uncomfortably, I found that my side did indeed feel far better and that I wasn't in pain, so I sat up. I chanced a look down at my side to find that the wound was gone, and not so much as a scar remained. The faerie giggled, bringing my attention back to her.

 

“You look like a fish, gaping with your mouth open so wide!” she snickered. “I haven't seen that expression on anyone before.”

 

I scowled at her mockery, but she only laughed even more, clutching her hands around her middle. Her amusement was contagious; soon I too found myself smiling at myself, as I'd never really seen my own expressions before. Her laughter finally subsided after a moment, and my overwhelming curiosity concerning the existence of beings that belonged in our folklore.

 

“I never knew faeries still existed in this forest,” I commented lightly.

 

The faerie suddenly looked insulted, and with a brief instant of panic I wondered what I'd said to offend her. “F-F-Faerie?” she sputtered, almost angrily. “No, no, no, boy. I am no… faerie. My kind - the forest sprites - drove those vulgar beasts from this forest long ago.”

 

For all my surprise at her small outburst, all I could manage to say was, “Oh.” She huffed. I sighed. “I'm really very sorry; I didn't mean to insult you… My kind just doesn't know very well the differences between the forest-dwellers, since they usually assume you are all part of myth, not reality.” She didn't seem pleased by my weak answer, and I squirmed uncomfortably.

 

“Your kind, you say? Boy, your kind has always been on good terms with my people,” she said lowly. I took it as the admonishment it was, but I wasn't sure why.

 

“I'm truly sorry, but I am one of many simply ignorant humans… If we knew of -”

 

She interrupted me with a look of shock. “Human?” Perhaps I did my fish impression again, as a look of understanding crossed her face at that moment of my silence. “Boy, I don't know if you realize, but you are most definitely not human.”

 

“What?” I blurted. “No, I think you're mistaken… my father and mother are both human. I was born and raised in a human village.”

 

“Oh, I'm sure you were raised by humans - you certainly smell like them - but you definitely have the aura of a Sentinel,” she replied with smooth confidence. A Sentinel? Before I could even try to ask her what that was, she continued by asking, “How old are you?”

 

What did age have to do with this anyway? “Nineteen. But—”

 

“Don't you see, young man?” she continued. “It's been four years since your coming of age. This winter's lasted for four years.”

 

I saw where she was taking this. There was no way I was going to let her blame the extended cold season on me, especially since I'd had a hard enough time facing the villagers on this same subject. Maybe because they saw that I didn't quite believe what I was telling them. “Now wait just one minute. That could very well be coincidence,” I spat back defensively. I wasn't sure what being a Sentinel implied, but I certainly didn't want to be the one responsible for all the famine and crop failure in my home town.

 

“Ah, but you're starting to doubt yourself now; I can see it. You're not like the other humans in your village, are you?”

 

I couldn't argue with her on that point, and besides, she was right. I had a sinking feeling that I really was somehow responsible for the four-year winter plaguing our region, and that I was about to find out how I could fix it.

 

“I don't think you really understand what you are. Doesn't your village have some kind of folklore or something like that? Haven't you heard of the seasonal Sentinels?” When I answered with a raised brow, she sighed. “Oh dear. Well, I guess I have some educating to do - no wonder it's taken you so long to finally make your way here. We all thought that you might have been killed or just didn't care about the forest anymore when you didn't show up for four years. You're the only Sentinel that's ever been late to his own destiny.”

 

The sprite began giggling at her own turn of phrase. I wasn't amused, and I think she caught onto that fairly quickly as her giggling stopped with an embarrassed cough. She then regarded at me with a gauging, serious expression.

 

“I guess there's nothing else to be done except to tell you,” she sighed. “It's only fair, since I know I'd hate to not know my origins at all.”

 

I squirmed uncomfortably as the roots of the tree I sat against began poking painfully into my hip, the frigid air only making the sensation sharper than normal. She seemed to notice my discomfort and flitted into the air and beckoned me to follow her. I stood with a groan, stretching stiff muscles and trying to work the cramp from my non-existing wound in my side before I began tailing her.

 

“It's too cold here, so I'll take you over by the commons. We have a fire set up there for our folk to stay warm, but don't worry - they wont' bother us. Just ignore them if they stop and stare, since a few of them are rather… displeased with you at the moment.”

 

Before I could ask her why, we'd entered a clearing in the forest that held a sight I'd never forget. Other forest sprites flitted about the clearing - all completely nude, like my own companion - as they went between small, glittering buildings made of what looked like oversized mushrooms and tree trunks. I felt like I was stepping into a small faer—err, forest sprite wonderland, the kind that only existed in legend and the minds of small children. As promised, I received a number of odd stares with varying degrees of haughtiness and curiosity. Only when my companion led me by the also-promised fire did I start to ignore them altogether.

 

“Settle down, and I'll see if we can't find something to eat or drink for you,” my friend said as she motioned to a small stool by the fire. This was going to be a long story, from what I could tell.

 

And I was right. Once the sprite - who insisted that I call her by her name, Lillian - began speaking, she didn't stop for nearly two hours, only taking a few short breaks when a mug filled with a delicious hot and sweet beverage was pressed into my numb hands, and when the strangest salad I've ever eaten arrived. During her long story, however, I learned a great deal of important things about myself, and I began to wonder if I'd really wanted to learn it. First I learned that I had been named `improperly,' according to Lillian. The villagers called me by the name of Orren, but I was told that my real father - whose name was Eideard - had desired to name me Coilleach to fit my post. I shrugged; perhaps I could get used to a new name, though old habits are hard to change.

 

Apparently I was one of four species of Sentinels who controlled the changing of the seasons. Winter, however, always faced far more trouble when told to hand over its reign to spring, as the Dark Ones thrived in winter climate and had placed a horrible curse upon my parents to keep it as such, and my parents in turn sealed them before the curse consumed them. My parents had had foresight enough to make sure that spring came for every year until my coming of age, when my own powers inadvertently broke the seal upon the Dark Ones' resting place, and so winter remained. The other three Sentinels had gone into hiding, since they lacked the power to take on the nearly-shapeless beasts. As the Winter Sentinel, I had been born with the only sealing powers that could defeat the Dark Ones.

 

But of course I'd known none of that; my `parents' in the village let me believe that I indeed was their child, and that I was human, even if I seemed a little different than other human children. Now I knew better, and I was even more confused. How was I supposed to defeat or seal these Dark beasts? I hardly knew anything about them, except that they'd attacked many villages recently and that they'd nearly killed me along with the other fighters from my village.

 

It clicked. Somehow, I realized what happened. “The Dark Ones… they're attacking not because they're bloodthirsty… they're looking for me, aren't they?”

 

Lillian nodded solemnly. “They are. Looks like they've enjoyed their long winter and aren't so willing to let go of it this time. You're definitely in danger, but you're the only one capable of bringing spring back.”

 

“You keep saying that, but I don't know how!” I snapped, then sighed when I saw Lillian flinch. “I'm sorry. It's just… a lot dumped into my lap all at once, and as much as I want to help, I honestly don't have a clue what I'm doing.”

 

The sprite brightened immediately, her light now rivaling the fire's for brightness. The way her expression changed frightened me. “That's what training is for, Coilleach.”

 

I should have run when I had the chance.

 

Training took almost a month. During that time, I made many connections within the forest sprite community network and managed to repair relationships that I didn't even know existed in the first place. They made new clothes for me; a stretchy white shirt that clung to my torso almost too tightly, and thick black slacks, covered over by heavy, white, hooded robes made of a soft fabric and trimmed in white fur, decorated with runes and patterns of baby blue and black on the back, hems of the sleeves and bottom edge of the robe. I had to learn how to maneuver with these new garments, since they were far heavier - but more durable - than what I was used to. I'd been given a golden staff that looked almost like a cane. Lillian told me that gold conducted my magic quite well and was thus the prime metal for any weapon I chose to use.

 

Learning how to use my magic was incredibly difficult. I spent a long time trying to figure out how to summon my own powers, since I hadn't even known of their existence until recently. But when I finally was able to cast a spell on command, I realized just how much the gold in my staff helped me control my abilities. When I was able to create a seal that not even the strongest of the forest sprites could come within meters of, the sprites turned me loose. I knew I was ready.

 

In fact, I was so ready that my final triumph against the Dark Ones was so anti-climactic that I was a little disappointed. I spent nearly three weeks tracking them down, but I think they'd sensed that my aura had grown quite strong and fled whenever I came near. During that time I learned that the Dark Ones appeared nothing like I had remembered - or even imagined - them to look. They were small, canine-like beasts with dark fur and feral red eyes and long fangs, and were easily recognizable with their visible black aura. When I finally cornered them, it didn't take me long to herd them into a cave, which made it far easier for me to seal them.

 

Actually, I was more than a little disappointed. It was boring. My anger faded, however, as the snow melted on my journey home. Even as I walked, small patches of green grass began to blossom in the bright sunlight, and flowers started creeping their way back out of a long dormancy. The air smelled marvelous as the emerging greenery brought back the scent of spring. And by the time I reached the forest sprite village, they were already celebrating both my return, and the return of the Spring Sentinel, who had heard of my long-awaited return and came to scold my tardiness. I didn't know what I was missing out on; Spring was a beautiful and sweet girl, despite her boisterous nature. In the end, we formed a long-lasting friendship, and I hoped that she wouldn't run off again should something happen to anyone in my post.

 

I eventually wandered back to my old village to see if the restoration of the seasonal balance had helped them recover from the losses of a too-long winter. Nobody recognized me as I passed through, and for a time I was afraid that they'd forgotten me entirely. But when I passed by my parents' old home, I saw a small memorial stone sitting along the path. “For Orren, who served his village valiantly.” I smiled. Orren had died during that battle, and though I missed my family, it wasn't a loss that I mourned greatly. Even if they never noticed, I could now serve them far better in my current career as the Winter Sentinel.

 

I stopped to leave a few irises at my own memorial grave, debating if I wanted my foster parents to know the truth. In the end, I did nothing more than leave flowers; with the new winter approaching, I didn't want to have to regret leaving my family once more to carry out my duties against the Dark Ones.

 

And such was the life of the Winter Sentinel Coilleach.

 

End.

 

Final Notes:

 

`Orren' : “pale” (gaelic)

`Coilleach' : “guardian of the forest” (gaelic)