David Farland - Lords of the Seventh Swarm

The Day House, as it was called, became a favorite stopping point, known for its hospitality, and though Gallen and Maggie were considered close friends by all their neighbors, none ever heard the story of how Gallen O’Day became a Lord Protector and helped stave off the Lords of the Seven Swarms.

Indeed, though Gallen never talked of being a Lord Protector, in his bedroom he kept his mantle near his spirit mask. He seldom ever donned the mantle, and then only in great need. Many a petty thief made off with a local chicken and suffered no harm from Gallen, but once in a while, every few years, some new warlord would struggle to take control of a town, or some Derrit chieftain would bring his henchmen out of the mountains to feed on small children-only to find themselves impaled on the sword of a Lord Protector whose face shone like starlight, until a local legend arose of a just and deadly spirit, called “The Shining One.”

On such occasions, Maggie hardly missed Gallen. A trip of a fortnight or two.

But at other times, Gallen would disappear for a month or more on “personal business,” and when the boy Orick grew old enough, Gallen would take his son with him, for the child had a knack for battle that surprised even Gallen.

On such occasions, Maggie would know that the Tharrin had sent their messages through Gallen’s mantle, calling him to far worlds. But such occasions were exceedingly rare, and afterward Gallen did not speak of them, as if the killing he was forced to do shamed him.

And then one night, Gallen and the young man Orick came to Maggie, and her son wore the mantle and carried a packed bag. She knew immediately that he was going off alone. That he would never return.

“There’s trouble, Mother,” her son said.

Maggie nodded dumbly, knowing that the Tharrin would not have called him into service unless they had a great need. Somehow she felt relieved to find that the mantle would no longer weigh on her husband’s shoulders, but she could not help worrying about her child.

When her son left that night, he walked off into the darkness, and Maggie cried until dawn. For months and months afterward, she could hardly ever speak his name.

But seven years later, he suddenly reappeared and brought a young woman with him, a ravishing thing with raven hair. A Tharrin woman. The two were married by Orick the bear, and they left days later.

From time to time, Maggie got off world messages from them, but she never saw her son again.

Neither Gallen nor Maggie ever went back to the City of Life to have their memories downloaded. One life was all they desired.

One life lived well, together.

As for Orick, he gained a reputation as something of a wandering minister, preaching to small congregations. He somehow managed to wander far and wide, while never neglecting his wife and children at home. Indeed, his knack for showing up in the right place at the right time proved to be so uncanny, that Gallen finally forced Orick to admit that he, too, had drunk from the Waters of Strength in Teeawah.

When Gallen was an old man, in his sixties, he asked Orick to tell him about it. “What is it like, my friend? To conquer space and time, nature and self-to be a god?”

Orick stared at Gallen for a long time after the question was asked. They were sitting beside a deep pond, its surface unrippled by the wind, on a summer morning. Gallen had caught several nice trout for breakfast, and Orick could hardly wait to go eat them. By this time, both Orick and Tallea had lived far beyond the years that bears are supposed to. The first generation of their children had mostly passed away, and the second was growing old. Orick could not very well deny what he and Tallea had become.

“It’s not what you think,” Orick said. “The Qualeewoohs’ ancestors judged me, and they let me live, but I’m not a god. I’m no smarter than I was, no wiser. I’m just more powerful than before.”

Gallen was smoking a pipe, the fumes of it curling through his grizzled beard. His face was deeply seamed, weather-beaten. But there were crinkling lines of joy around his eyes.

“I’ve often wondered,” Gallen said, “if you’ve conquered time, why you didn’t go back in time, give me the Waters before I ever battled the dronon.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Orick said. “The Qualeewoohs defeated time by learning how to live forever. They defeated eternity one day at a time. We can’t reverse time-just plod along with the rest of you. I reached the Waters too late.”

“But you will live forever?” Gallen asked.

“I won’t keep this body,” Orick said. “There’s too much to explore, out there …” he gestured with his muzzle toward the open blue sky. “Tallea and I talked about it. We’ll stay until you and Maggie pass on, then we’ll leave, too. I can lay down my life. I can take it up again.”

“If you ask me, that makes you a god,” Gallen said, somehow awed by his humble friend.

Orick shook his head. “Sometimes, lately, I’ve learned to leave my body in my dreams. Learned to control my powers better. I’ve seen real gods out there. I’ve seen-I can’t even begin to tell you.”

“You can’t?” Gallen asked. “Or won’t?”

“Can’t,” Orick said. “Can’t, for now. Can’t describe it. But when you die, I’ll be the one to come to you. I’ll take you out there, and show you. We can explore new trails together, just like we used to.”

Gallen reached out and patted Orick’s muzzle. Such a good friend, for so Iong.

“I don’t know,” Gallen said. “Are you sure I’ll even be there?”

“Och, what do you mean?” Orick asked.

“Are you sure I even have a spirit? I am just a clone of a clone.”

“Oh, you’ve got a spirit all right,” Orick comforted him.

“I hope so,” Gallen said. “But since I was killed by the Lord of the Seventh Swarm, I’ve never been the same. Knowing that I was a clone, knowing that I was supposed to live up to someone else’s vision of what I should be-I’ve fought against it. In a way, perhaps it is the knowledge of what I am that’s made me happy. But I’ve always wondered, did I get this way just because I wanted to change, or did someone change me?”

“No one changed you,” Orick said. “Not that I know of, anyway. I think you wanted to change.”

“I used to tell myself that it was pure stubbornness, Gallen said. “I always wanted to save the universe, but I figured that the most I could do was give my life for others. Once I did that, I felt … free.”

“Do you ever talk about this with Maggie?” Orick asked.

“About us getting killed?” Gallen said. “Never. I’ve wanted to talk about it. I think she knows what happened. But … it doesn’t seem to worry her, like it does me.”

Just then, Gallen’s granddaughter, Rebecca, called from down in the valley, telling him that he was to come home for breakfast. He and Orick disappeared up over a hill, through the pines.

That winter, when Gallen went outside to bring the milk cow to the barn during a storm, a tree fell on Gallen’s chest, crushing him so badly that none of Maggie’s prayers or ministrations could save him.

On that night, Orick kept his promise.

As Gallen lay on his bed, dying, holding Maggie’s hand, he kept breathing harder and harder, the liquid so filling his lungs that soon he could breathe no more.

He heard Maggie weeping, calling out for him, but his hands went icy cold, and he couldn’t feel her touch.

He thought he felt some coolness on his forehead, as her lips kissed him one last time, and he smelled her clean breath, her skin, her hair.

Then he saw a bright pulsing light, hidden within a fog, and felt a warmth in his chest as the light drew him near. He felt his body fall away, an unwanted husk, and he rushed to the light, thinking, I’m not leaving you, Maggie, my sweet. I’m only going before you, to prepare a place for us both.