Voices

He is born in the dark, raised without light and without company so that he will not miss these things when his destiny arrives, for it is his fate to die alone in the dark. Thus, will the world be saved.

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This he knows and has always known.

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The cold voices tell him why it must be so. There is a Beast, which rises once in a generation and seeks to destroy the world. He will be the Bearer of Light, tasked with leading The Beast across the earth from the highest peak to the lowest valley, until he reaches the pit into which he will cast himself, drawing The Beast after him, back into the depths from which it came.  Thus, will the world be saved.

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Quietly, the years of his preparation pass, until the signs say The Beast is coming. A cold voice speaks to him. “Rise and hold out your hands.”

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He does so, and a small, smooth object is placed in his cupped palms. It is cold to the touch. The voice tells him to prepare himself for what comes next. He holds his breath. With a small snick of sound, a brilliant glow appears.

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It is the Light that will save the world.

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Awe. The Light is warm, softer than he’d expected, yet it pierces his eyes until they water and blur. The hands that lit the flame rest beneath his, steadying them until his vision is clear again. He nods to show that he is once more in control, and the hands vanish back into the dark. There is only his own hands, and the candle burning in them.

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He is led from the room that has been his world into a wider space beyond; then, a space even greater. Though he cannot see anything—already all the lights have been snuffed out and the magicians have laid a blanket of darkness over the sky—he can feel the air move around him. As if his consciousness is a long, reaching arm, he seeks for the edges of this space, but there are none. His heart quakes. But his hands are steady.

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The cold voice speaks for the last time. “The path lies before you. Do not stray or hesitate. And do not let the Light go out.”

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Downward he casts his eyes. The flame does not go far, but he can make out the path and his own feet set upon it. With his hands held before him, the Light guiding the way, he begins his journey.

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* * *

 

The path is easy beneath his feet, without stone or crack for him to stumble on. He grows used to the feeling of space around him and forgets that he ever feared it, comforted by familiar darkness and the closeness of the flame. Holding it out as he must, his arms weary, then shake, until at last they become numb; now the Light floats before him, wavering gently, beckoning him to follow its golden beam.

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The light is his friend, his companion. It is his whole world. He will follow it wherever it goes. So long as there is this light, he needs nothing else.