That place is long forgotten now, though the temple still stands, a tribute to how the world was, or could have been. Where greenery and life once were, now only barren rock remains. And the temple itself—its halls are empty, great mausoleums to the layers of dirt and dust that tirelessly collect in the absence of human activity. The chamber once so ardently guarded now stands empty, its door ajar, its power dissipated like a teaspoon of sugar in the ocean. And those that it once kept at bay, that purpose for which its light—or to some, dark—magic was created, have long since risen to the task that so many feared.
But once upon a time, long ago, the temple was more than a collection of empty rooms; it was a tool, a tool which its two inhabitants—a man, a woman, both nameless—were charged with guarding, a task clouded by boredom and ignorance and dismay. And they would sit, the two of them, at the long table in the sparsely decorated dining hall, and they would wait. He would look at her, his plate, as always, hardly touched, and she would look through the window, that room’s solitary portal to the outside world, awaiting the moment when the sun’s final ray would fall upon the marble floor like the executioner’s axe seeking a worthy neck.
At that moment, once a day, every day, she would look at him, returning his weary gaze, and an acknowledgement would pass between the temple’s two guardians. She would rise slowly from her chair, hidden, now, amidst the shadows of the night, and he would push aside his plate. The soft padding of her footsteps across the marble floor, the scraping of his chair as he rose, the rustling of the cabinet’s contents as a single candle was brought forth. She lit it every night, a talisman to ward off those fears both known and yet to be realized. And he would follow her down the long, corridor to greet their expected guest.
They would stand in silence for a moment, listening to the sounds of ritual and routine and nothingness, her right hand clasped around the candle, his hands resting on the metal latch of the door, their faces hidden in troubled darkness, their thoughts illuminated only by the brief flicker of the candlelight. And then they would hear the breathing, the heavy, rasping sound coming from the other side, the expected noise that reminded them of steam struggling to escape a pot of bubbling water, an unfortunate parallel to what they couldn’t see.
It’s here, he would say. And she would nod.
Your turn, she might say. Or, Hold the candle. Let me do it.
And then the latch would lift as though anxious to be rid of the clasps that shackled it, and the door would creak ever so slightly open. The cool night air would creep in, cautious, almost fearful to upset the stagnant aura that encompassed the temple. The guardians would catch a brief glimpse of a star, and the point of light would ignite in them a brief hope, a desire for something more, for past times and memories, for the age before they had been selected, determined, destined for what they now were.
A time neither of them could be sure ever really existed.
And, of course, there stood the creature on the stoop.
Here was the expected guest, the supposed villain. Cowled in black, eyes hidden in shadow, a shaggy mane just visible beneath the darkness. Clawed paws could be glimpsed beneath the cloak, and its hands—those terrible harbingers of temptation—would extend ever so slightly as though offering a gift, a chance, an opportunity. And then issued forth from the fur-ridden muzzle that poked through the darkness,
Tonight I offer you the way in, and the way out.
And then she—or perhaps he—would lift the candle, piercing through the darkness just slightly. Their gaze would fall upon the place they assumed the creature’s to be:
That path is shut. It will remain so.
And then the door would be closed, the latch returned, one darkness traded for another. The guardians would march solemnly back down the corridor, the candle extinguished, and they would return to their lives. Rather, they would return to the temple. And they would bide their time until the next night, until the time came again.
In this way, the ritual was performed, the obligations met, the great hunger satisfied. In this way, something was kept out, and other things kept in. In this way, the two guardians obeyed the task they had been charged with so many years ago, the task that had encompassed them, absorbed them, removed them from time and space. In this way, the guardians kept the hatch shuttered and its secrets preserved. In this way, the guardians perpetuated life as it needed to be.
In this way, the guardians’ resolve was gradually battered and broken.
The table again, the plates, the chairs, the cold dinner—
Stay, he said. I can handle it alone. I know what needs to be done.
She nodded, returned to the same meal, the same drink, but new thoughts. She watched him light the candle, a brief smile then, and he turned to walk down the hallway. Her eyes wandered to the solitary portal looking out on a world she couldn’t be sure she’d ever known. Then, the next night,
I will go, she said. There is no need for both of us.
He agreed, as she had. After all, why not? They were the guardians. They were the ones who lived within the temple, who walked its cold, dark hallways, who allowed its magic to alter and govern and supply for their lives. Why not exert a little control, allow for a small change?
Were they not the keepers of this place—and its secrets?
He watched her go, following her slight figure with his eyes into the shadows, allowing his mind to wander as well, and wonder.
And thus, a new ritual, a new routine. The creature never diverged from its predestined path, was never tardy to its place outside their door, but the two guardians were pleased with their innovation, unspectacular as it was, and puzzled over why they hadn’t tried it before, back when they’d first begun their work.
They had been fresh, then. Now, they were experienced.
And so now, when she walked to greet their guest, he would stand in a different chamber, staring at a sealed hatch, the greatest mystery of their great keep, turning over in his mind ways to unlock its secrets, to find out why it was so important, sacred, why it needed their protection. It was so simple—a mere hole in the center of an otherwise vacant room, hexagonal in shape, concealed by seemingly impenetrable magic. The temple’s greatest secret and sole purpose. Their divinely ordained task. The mystery that threatened to undo them.
But it no longer frightened him; rather, it called to him—and to her.
And when it was his turn to meet the creature, she would stand in the temple’s tower, gazing through the only window that overlooked the canyon below. The temple had been built upon the edge of a great peak, the final resting place before a fatal plummet into the fog-ridden desolation that lie beneath the mountain’s gaze. And she would yearn to invite that uncertainty into her own heart, a welcome challenge to the day’s predictability. What lie beneath their residence, in the shadow of the world’s waking? What secrets and uncertainties could be found amidst the haze? She wondered if she might light her solitary candle and illuminate the unknown below.
He sat at the table that night; she rose with the setting sun—the light hit her face, a new color imbued within, a rose. Her eyes fell on him; he looked to her.
I’ll go, she said, but she lingered. Her gaze begged another question.
He had a simple response:
I trust you, he said. His lips curled into a grin, but his eyes strayed to the window.
She nodded, took the candle, walked down the hallway. She could feel the old air pressing up against her, attempting to envelop her in a shield of protection, to push her back, to extinguish the candle. But the fire burned fiercely; she stood at the door.
The noise began, the raspy breath. Her own caught in her throat. She struggled to free the latch from its confines, the candle still clutched in her hand, the flame glowing with intent.
And then it stood before her, the creature, and it blocked out the stars and the night and the fresh air.
Tonight I offer you the way in, and the way out. The creature’s voice was ragged, haggard, but she welcomed it.
Show me, she said, simply. She did not smile.
The creature’s voice stayed the same, no change to its demeanor, but those hands extended further, opened, revealed a small key.
The way is open to you, it said. If you desire it.
She took the key without reservation. The candle flickered out. In darkness, she turned, shut the door, walked those familiar steps back to the dining hall, to her companion. He was waiting eagerly, still seated, tense.
Yes? His voice shook.
She placed the key in the middle of the table in response and took her usual place.
They stared at the small metal object, its peculiar curves, its jagged teeth. It appeared ancient, and the metal glistened in the faint moonlight. They sat together for a very long time.
Now what? Her question broke the silence, finally, and set them on the course.
In response to her voice, the key began to shake, to vibrate, its glow growing stronger. It seemed to dance about the table, shattering the temple’s silence, the guardians’ composure. It was the sound of chattering teeth and it drowned out the primordial moans of protest that issued forth from the temple’s soundless core.
She lunged at it, grabbed it with her right hand to stop the infernal noise and movement. A moment of silence, and she gasped, dropped it back to the table where it lay still in a pool of blood. Her blood.
He started to his feet, rushed to her side, hesitantly touched her shoulder.
Are you okay? he asked. What happened?
She gingerly traced a single gash running across her hand, blood oozing from the wound.
It cut me, she said, shaken.
And then they looked to where the key lay in silence. The pool of blood—her blood—was moving as though guided by an invisible magnet. It spun and pulsed and gradually took on a new shape. An arrow. Pointing out of the dining hall, away from their usual place. It glistened.
He bent to pick up the key but shrank back, shaking his hand in protest.
It burns, he said.
Carefully she touched it again; slowly, she cradled it in her good hand. It hummed, vibrated ever so slightly.
I’ll carry it, she said.
Carry it where? he said, but they both knew. They stood and followed the arrow’s direction.
The chamber, the hatch: That’s where they were being led. It was no secret; they were not stupid. But still, the key wouldn’t let them forget. As they came to each new passage in the temple, each new doorway, hallway, stairwell, she let out a sharp cry, and a pool of blood appeared at her feet. The key persisted in reminding them of their new task, their new purpose, and the bloody arrows guided their way.
And then they stood in front of the hatch in that desolate room where so few living beings had ever stood. A final cry, and she dropped the key.
It burns, she said, and there were tears in her eyes.
Let me, he said, and he bent down to where the key lay quietly on the floor, silence again, like a viper lingering on a dusty path. At his touch, the key began to glow, hum anew, and the hatch lit up as though it had always harbored a thousand fireflies. In its center a keyhole appeared.
It fit, the key in the hole, and he turned it slowly, painstakingly, surprised at the strength it took. Another light shot forth, throwing them both back against the glowing walls. And then the hatch was gone, and the key lay dead and motionless at their feet.
He picked it up, tucking it within the folds of his clothing. He looked to her; her hands were still bloody. But she’d grown numb to the pain, indifferent, her focus solely on what would come next. Still, he tore off pieces of his shirt, and she wrapped her wounds.
The hatch had concealed a ladder that appeared to descend endlessly into the mountain, its metal rungs clinging to the rocky cavern walls. The way was open, but narrow and dark, the light gone. But they had come this far. Wordlessly, they began the descent.
Down, down, down, they went, in silence and uncertainty and fear. And then suddenly the ground met them, an old friend, and they found themselves in front of another door, another portal. The key hummed; he placed it in the lock and turned. A sudden, glowing light that transported them seemingly through time and space and yet hardly anywhere at all.
They stood, then, at the foot of a mountain—their mountain, they thought—amidst that impenetrable haze. Everything tinted green, full of life and saturated with possibility. And people stood around them, surprise painted upon their faces.
They had appeared suddenly, the two guardians, stumbling into a gathered crowd. He still held the key; her hands still bound and bleeding. And the people stared at them, something just short of awe and relief and hunger. They were an odd-looking people: short, stocky, long hair and dirty clothes. The guardians turned to find the door they had come through, but saw nothing but a rocky wall.
You’ve come, said an old man. He was ancient, his beard dragging on the earth as he lumbered forward, leaning heavily on his cane. You found your way. The time is at hand, he said. You’ve brought the key.
The guardians acted on instinct, never thinking, as though what came next had been coded into their very souls: He held up the key; she revealed her bloody hands. Symbols of they-knew-not-what.
It has started then, the old man said. And the people cheered.
What happened next, few know for certain, though there are many tales. The guardians, many say, were never seen again, though some have claimed to have encountered a woman with bloody hands riding upon a great white horse, and others have described a haggard man wielding a great sword with a glowing key around his neck. The temple still stands, but there’s no need for it now—the captives have broken free, overrun the old ways, made things new, better, worse, both. There are no guardians left, only stories, wistful narratives of a time long past. The creature still roams the world, though; of that, no one disagrees. It’s seen with some frequency. But what sort of creature it is, its origins and purpose—no one attempts to wrestle an answer from that legend.
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best one yet!