The Power of a Few

A Story ~ 1

"Tell us that story again, Pa," Myra pleaded with wide eyes.

"Yes. The one about the warriors," Sree, her younger sister, whispered.

"All right then," he said as he stretched out tense muscles. He leaned back into his soft chair and swept up his two daughters in his arms and placed them on his lap. Their laughter filled the small, wooden room and the heat from the fireplace made their cheeks rosy.

"Once, long ago, there were warriors known as Guardians. Not like the one's today, stomping around in their lumbering armor and showing off their polished gems, but warriors who glided across the ground, clothed in elegant garments fit for a king. They didn't ride horses like the soldiers of the mainland but moved swiftly through the forests, making no sound at all. Neither did they carry swords, bows, or axes because God had gifted them with special skills."

The girls' brown eyes lifted to their father. This was their favorite part.

"One Guardian glided just above the ground, never needing to touch the floor, another could talk to the pretty deer and all the other animals, and another, your great-great-great-grandfather, could heal any illness and injury."

"Our grandfather?" Myra asked, wonder filling her eyes. Her father smiled down at her and tousled her brown hair. She giggled. Crackling sounds from the fireplace filled the room, and the sparks reflected in their father's green eyes.

"Yes. Aldrus Gyus. They said thousands came to him, seeking relief from their ailments. And he didn't just heal their bodies. No, folk claimed he also healed their souls. Gave them hope when they couldn't see any light."

"Wow." Both girls chorused.

"Indeed," He said smiling, a twinkle in his eye. "Well, back to the story. God sent the Guardians to protect the people. Because the Evil One was preparing warriors of his own. Terrible men and women who bent nature to serve their evil desires. Sorcerers who brought great devastation wherever they went. Witches and warlocks who practiced dark magic. The Order." The two sisters shivered at that evil name. Sree saw the hearth dim, and she held tighter to her father. He chuckled, putting out his palm towards the fire. The flames grew higher and Sree breathed a sigh of relief.

"Don't be afraid Sree," Her father said as he placed a calloused hand on her shoulder. "The Guardians defeated the Order in that battle and banished their master far away from the Isles. After that, the warriors returned home to their villages and peace prevailed across all the Isles." Sree gave a small smile and leaned back onto her father's strong chest. Her eyelids sagged as slumber came upon her.

"What happened next pa?" Myra asked as she closed her eyes, sleep overtaking curiosity, "To the warriors?" Her father's face fell, and the fire dissipated to a gentle glow.

"For the next three-and-a-half centuries new warriors were born as the old ones passed from this world." He glanced out of the window of their small cottage as Myra leaned on him, next to her sleeping sister.

"But 150 years ago the last gifted was born, your great-great-great-grandfather. He was the last." He sighed and glanced down at his sleeping daughters. Smiling softly, he waved his hand, putting out the fire, and gently carried the girls to their bed. Kneeling beside them he prayed quietly.

"Lord, prepare them for the road ahead. Guide them for what's coming. And please, give them the strength to survive."

He stood up slowly and walked to the door. Pausing, he glanced back at his girls and listened to their quiet snores as they laid beside one another.

"I wish you could have seen them, Kierra. They look so much like you."