A Gamer's Guide 445 (Patreon)

Garath’s jaw clamped shut. Without any conscious thought to it, by mere reflex, he released his grip on the old former. “Love?”

“Yes,” Fr Moonlight said, “love. The most simple and natural of all goblic emotions. It comes especially easily to us formers. I suppose, having once been dragons, we know what it’s like to be starved of it, and so, now that we have it, we tend to gorge ourselves. Silly, isn’t it?”

“That can’t be it.” The word echoed through his head, love, love, love. That stupid simple word that goblins loved so much. “That can’t be the reason. That’s stupid.”

“Yes, love makes us do stupid things, especially for our brothers.”

“Something as stupid as bearing the weight of the extermination? Pardoning me, posthumously? And to then live with that for over eight hundred years?”

“Eight hundred years well-spent,” Fr Moonlight said easily, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He was a happy goblin. Always had something good to say about everyone, always knew what he wanted to do next. Before he died, he had this plan for a big ball-room, large enough for a hundred dragons. I was young and stupid, then, so I called him an idiot for it. A hundred dragons would never willingly be in the same room. However, for his living wake… Yes, I think we were over five hundred dragons here. You should’ve seen it. Formers from all across the world came to see him off, even his feathership, the Pope of Dragons Junut the fifth was there. It was truly a grand spectacle.”

“But, he…” Garath felt himself begin to tremble again. He gripped his hand. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense anymore. “I… I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to,” Fr Moonlight said. “All you need to know is that he loved you. Even after eight hundred years, he still spoke of you, though only in private—only when there was no one but the two of us. We’d sit, up in the mouth of the atrium, deep at night, and he would tell me little things. Not too much. About how you were always faster than him, and how you’d eat even the leaves and seeds of lunn-fruits. About that time he got caught, but you took the blame for him, even if it meant five more days of purification.”

“...He remembered that?”

The old priest smiled. “Of course he did. That’s what brothers do.”

“But, then…”

Unmoving, Garath allowed Fr Moonlight to place his hand on his shoulder, the warmth of his skin radiating through his whole body, even his stony heart. “I want you to know, no matter how it may seem, he did not choose to die easily. The extermination weighed heavy on him his entire life. No forgiveness, no matter how divine, ever seemed enough. But he hoped… after eight hundred years… that maybe, if you wouldn’t come home, then… it was time for him to come to you.”

An icy cold spear of frozen lead stabbed clean through Garath’s chest, impaling his heart, freezing the blood in his veins. “No,” he whimpered. “No, that isn’t…”

“Had he known,” the priest said, distantly, faintly, “he would have stayed. He would have remained, however many years it would have taken. But he didn’t know. There was no way for him to know.”

“No—no, you cannot… To force such reconciliation upon me, only to snatch him from my arms—”

“There was no way of knowing,” Fr Moonlight said, wrapping his arms around Garath. “You couldn’t have known, either. This is simply how it turned out. No one is at fault.”

“Ghhh, ghhhhhh,” Garath groaned, molten lead spilling from his eyes, burning his face, even though his chest was cold and dead and horrible, aching with a longing for someone he had long since forsaken from his life. “My brother,” he said, the words dropping from his lips, dead, inanimate, gone with the echoes. His knees gave way beneath him, and he fell fully into the old priest’s arms. “Not again,” he whimpered. “I cannot bear to lose him. Not again.”

“He isn’t far away,” came Fr Moonlight’s voice, soft, strong. “As he believed you waited for him, now, he waits for you. Patiently. When you are ready, he will welcome you home. Until then, mourn him, if you must, but do not forget him. Do not forget the sacrifices he made for you.”

“My brother,” Garath repeated, hollowly, the peal of a church bell calling for mass, knowing there was no one to answer. 

“Love him,” the priest said, softly stroking Garath’s hair, “knowing that he loved you.”

“I will,” Garath choked out. “I will never forget him. I will…” A sob tore its way up his throat. “I will honor him. His memory, his life, his…” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Everything.”

“Good. Thank you. I’m glad that there will be someone else to remember him, as he truly was. I am certain that he would be proud to know what you’ve become.”

“Thank you, Father,” Garath said. “I might have never known. Oh, flames, I might have never known.”

“Be glad to be so loved, that across a thousand years, you should still find home where you seek it.”

“I will,” Garath said, and then, he said little else, as the exhaustion of a thousand years of not knowing, of being buried by black sand and soot, of not knowing love persisted through it all, drew the strength from his flesh and the tension from his bones. He sunk down, completely, and Father with him, holding him, kindly, gently, laying out his lap for him to take rest in. It was warm. Warmer than any bed or any fire. Not charring, not rending, not all-consuming. A fire to heat, not to burn. That is what Garath rested his weary head upon. 

And for what felt like hours, they simply remained there, entwined, together. Garath resting deeper than he ever had before, deeper than the dunes. He could have died and he wouldn’t have noticed.

But, as it must be, there was a little noise. A rhythmic tapping against the stone door. The agreed-upon signal, announcing that Kitty had finished his business. 

Garath didn’t move an inch.

“You’d better answer that,” Father said. “Wouldn’t want to anger your god.”

“I refuse. Nothing divine or mortal is capable of moving me. You could sooner twist the winds into a knot.”

“Truly? Not even a kiss of absolution?” The former puckered his lips.

Acting on instincts long thought forgotten, Garath leapt to his feet, wings spread out for balance, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. All that met him was a mischievous grin from the old priest. Garath clicked his tongue, straightening out. “You have made a powerful enemy upon this day, mortal.”

“Oh? What retribution will I face? Are you to smite me personally, or will you tattle to Kitty? Then again, I’m sure Kitty would like to know the context of how it came to be that the good angel of hope found rest in my arms…”

“None must hear of this,” Garath declared. “Not a single soul.”

“No? Really? Well, if you’re so insistent, I believe my silence may be bought—for a price.”

Garath frowned. “I am but a poor angel. As I own little, I have little to give.”

“I am in want of nothing,” the priest said coyly. “Rather, there is something I want you to take.” Garath perked an eyebrow. “A certain hatchling who refuses to leave the nest. He wants to stay for my sake, but it’s obvious he longs to fly free. Bring him with you, take him wherever you please, but bring him far away from here. That is all I ask.”

“Really?” Garath thought it over. They had more than enough provisions. Compared to his previous crimes, kidnapping a former was a minor smudge on the record. A cheap price to pay for the priest’s silence. “Very well then. We shall take him. In return, I expect our conversation to remain between the two of us.”

“We have a deal, then.”

The two nodded to one another, and so it was. Once the winged rat had been rescued from its dusty confines, Garath placed the old priest on his head, and made his way to where the two youths were, finding them in the bowels of a rather destitute church. Not a bad church, of course. His brother had made it. That was enough.

Once there, it was a simple matter of explaining to the young former—Goss, Garath reminded himself—that he wouldn’t spend the night at home.

“What? No, Father, I can’t just—”

“It’s already been decided. The good angel and the pope of hope are more than willing to accommodate your presence.”

“But I can’t leave you all alone in this huge mountain!”

“A bit of silence would be nice for a change.”

“I haven’t even packed my things!”

“You took a vow of poverty, remember? You own nothing but the clothes on your back.”

“But—but I…” Goss flapped his wing pathetically. “You can’t just send me away!”

“Oh, Goss,” the old priest said, wrapping an arm around Goss’ trembling shoulders. “Don’t worry about me. You knew this would come, eventually. The first years of a former’s life are meant for travelling—not to be tied down to some old coot like me. When I first went out, I travelled all the way across the world. There are many people out there who need help. Especially in times like these. There are people out there who need you far more than I ever will.”

“I don’t want to,” Goss said, stifling a sob. “I don’t want to go.”

“Yes, you do. Your heart has been crying out for a year. But you restrained it for my sake. Selfishly, that makes me happy. But it’s not good. Your heart is a pure thing, to be followed purely. Set out, Goss. Take the plunge. Go where your wings guide you. Meet the world. It’s so excited to see you!”

“But you’ll be all alone. All alone without anyone to sing silly songs with or to tell boring old stories to.”

“Yes, I will be lonely. I’ll admit it. But, more than that, I’ll be happy to know that you’re finding yourself. That’s the paradox of a parent. I’ll love you so much I don’t want to let you go, but because I love you, I know I must let you go. So I will.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping away the big tears, but to no use, they just kept coming. For the second time that day, Father held someone falling apart. “I’m sorry that I’m going.”

“Thank you,” Father said. “Thank you for thinking you’d need forgiveness for something like that.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. And I always will, no matter where you go, no matter who you become. I’ll always love you. Please write to me.”

“I will.”

“Thank you.”

Arms and wings wrapped around one another, their robes the same color, it was difficult to tell one former apart from the other, father and son, all as one. Eventually, though, Goss dried his tears, and once he released his hold, Father let him go, reluctant but willing. 

“I promise I’ll come back.”

“Even if you don’t, I’ll still love you.”

And so, smiling and waving, Goss rode off, atop the angel of hope, into the bright new tomorrow.