Tribute for a God

Keep Walking

The warrior's legs seemed to be made of lead as she forced them up the stairs. The battle was over, she knew that, but she still had one thing left to do. Reminders of what was behind her coated her like a bad smell. Blood of her enemies, but mostly her friends, bruises born of pain and suffering, scars that felt heavier in her mind than in her body. 

With every step, she told herself "it's worth it" over and over and over. "It's worth it because I can see him". 

Her fists curled white around the hilt of her sword and handle of her shield. But any tension she had within her melted at the top of the stairs. The metal clattered to the floor, she breathed in the air, the cleanest she'd ever known. The golden wrought iron gates were wide open, held by pillars of glittering peach-coloured stone. 

She squinted and held her hand up to shield her eyes from the light. She didn't stop when she felt the weight of her armour leave her. She didn't stop when she realised her clothes were suddenly clean and her brown hair had been brushed smooth down her back by invisible forces. 

The kingdom she entered was as perfect as perfection could be. Here there was no war, no struggle, she couldn't even hear bickering. People in whites and soft colours, some with feathered wings, some without. The cobblestone didn't hit heavy on the souls of her newly polished, army-issues boots, they didn't feel like anything at all. A haze seemed to cover everything, like walking in a dream or painting, even though there was nothing there. 

In the distance, her eyes grazed the top of a spire and a golden dome that belonged to the balance. A palace too beautiful to belong in the other place, made of materials that were fabricated by the beings who resided inside. The Palace of God. She knew all too well what she'd find in that place. Emptiness. For the god or gods of this world were killed long before she had the chance to arrive here.

The people she passed cared not for her as she passed them. Each wearing a smile as soft as starlight, wanting for nothing except their own peace. Strangers are welcome here, welcomed home to a place where you'll never run out of strangers to greet. She spotted people familiar with one another, walking arm in arm, passing her as she went.

Repeating the instructions in her mind, she walked on the cobblestone as far as it would take her, the slow pace wasn't bothersome, her feet never ached, nor did her muscles or any boredom in her mind. She was free of all that. 

Buildings gave way to cottages that gave way to fields. There was no sun to move across the sky and make it dark. The warrior searched until she found the path she needed to follow. The one paved with gold and red flowers, courtesy of the god of blood and harbinger of freedom.

The warrior strayed from her path and into the beautiful meadow. The clouds were fluffy and rosy, the flowers here never stopped blooming nor withered to the sweet-smelling grass. A breeze blew through the meadow ruffling the warrior's clothes and hair, she didn't mind one bit of it. 

She looked for a while seeing nothing except meadow in all directions. Peace had been offered to her but she had no interest. Not until she finished what she came here to do.

Finally, she saw him. Kneeling before his gleaming sword made of bold blue diamond. On it hung his crown, his pride, and his royal red cloak lined with white fur, his only armour. She felt as though she had intruded on something she was never meant to see, but then the god stood and his hair and clothes yielded to the wind just like hers. It made his pedestal smaller, more reachable. 

She reached up and touched the crown she too wore on her head. It was more than her pride. She took it off and held it in her hands in front of her. She felt herself tremble when the god's eyes finally found her standing a few steps away in the field. 

He had come for solitude and solace, she was the last person he expected to see. 

She walked over to him, standing as tall as she could. He watched her as she knelt before him and emptied a mind she had long been riddled with. 

"Thank you," she whispered. 

"Thank you for everything. You showed me into my fiercest battles and were there waiting for me on the other side. You made me believe that I could do it, that I was stronger than I looked, that I am in control of myself rather than the voices in my head."

She paused and looked up to him, crowded eyes brimming with unshed tears. She had no idea what he felt or thought, only that she had to do this and couldn't live with herself if she neglected. 

"I promise to be loyal to your legacy," she set her crown on the grass beside her. 

"I pledge myself to your memory. I will maintain it like my garden, love it like an old friend, and nurture it like a baby bird. 

But most of all I must thank you. I must thank you for guiding me and making my dark days easier to bear. I must thank you for allowing me to admire you, for allowing me to love you even if from an impassable distance. I want to thank you for so many things I can't even remember them all. But please, I beg of you, even if you will never know me, know that I am more than grateful just for hearing your name."

The god looked down at the warrior and understood she was broken. Broken in such a way that when she repaired herself the cracks had holes where fractions had gone missing. She was convinced he had fixed her when all he had done was follow his own dreams. He was her hero, and she would move mountains for him. 

He could not say a word. For he would never speak a word to the girl, not in the land of those who have passed. This is the only place he would see her, in a world she had built herself unawares, for this world took that shape of whatever she wanted.

A single gasp escaped the girl's mouth as she tried to limit her sobs. She felt him place a hand on her cheek and lift her eyes to meet his. She saw his eyes were brimming with tears too, when in reality there was nothing but pity in them. She closed her eyes savouring the feeling of his hand on her face. It felt warm to her.  

She would love him forever, and he would never know her. 

When she opened her eyes she finally cried like she should have all that time ago. Only the sword, crown and cloak were left before her. The god is long gone, taken by the wind, snatched by time. Her body was wracked with pain that the world she created was supposed to prevent. Grief. 

Slowly her world disappeared around her, melting like ice, dripping like droplets on a car window. 

"Please don't leave me," she wailed to the wind. It stole her words away. 

She was alone. 

A while passed before her wobbly legs would hold her, before she could stand again. When she did the sky was grey, and behind her, she could hear the hush of cars on the highway. She wiped the tears from her face and fixed her hair and clothes. She stared down at the sword buried deep in the earth, crown and cloak still hanging from it, in the middle of the only field she knew.

She dug into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out the daisy circlet he had crafted for him. Stepping through the long-dead, yellowed grass, she knelt before the sword and hung the circlet on one of the crown's peaks. 

Then she stood and saluted her mentor, loved one, and hero; And with tears in her eyes, she forced herself to walk away and continue on her path without him holding her hand. 

She would remember him with a smile one day. But, for now at least, she would rather tear up at the mention of his name rather than feel nothing at all. 

She'll keep her chin up, and not let her crown fall. 

She'll do it for him until she can do it for herself again.