I sit in stony silence upon my perch. I watch the people walk through the doors, wandering in the corridors I swore to protect all those years ago. It is an agony to watch ones own death. I have seen it coming, it has washed over the Earth just as surely as a swarm of locusts. First to go were the big ones, the dragons, sphinx, and chimera. And over the years they all seemed to fade away. Giants, wizards, golems, lyancrothroropes, and fairy. The slow painful waning of the magic. There aren’t many of us left an occasional will-o-wisp, the yeti hiding in the mountains away from prying eyes. An occasional practitioner of the most primitive of magics. A lost were cub.
And me.
I am the last of a dying breed of guardians. I sit upon my cathedral and watch over those I have sworn to protect. But it is a vigilance of habit, I lack even the strength move during a full moon falls upon a solstice. I am in effect a guardian to weak to even protect myself, let alone my charges.
The only I am still lucid is the children, the young ones. The ones that still gaze upon my stony visage and are filled with awe. The ones with the memory of there forefathers buried deep in their subconscious. They feed me thier dreams and memories. Their magic. Through them I remain the vigilant guardian.
Through them I live.
I noticed here right off. When she first came to be baptized. She was a baby held in her mother’s arms. Her eyes were barely open, but still I could see her eyes. She had large sorrorowful brown eyes.The priest splashed holy water on her and made the sign of the cross over her. She cried the whole time. The tears deluded her eyes and reflected ancient memories. Memories of the primordial mythic days. Days when my brothers roamed the Earth and sky. Days when wars were decided by ancient old men and horrific beasts, not the lives of children.
Her belief brought me strength. I was veritably crackling with energy. If I felt the need I might have been able to move. But I was content to watch and let the energy flow over me. I felt the passage of millennium lifted from my shoulders and for a moment I almost felt young again. The child remembered it all. A memory that reached even further back my own lay dorment in her. And such power she held in her.
If she had been born in my youth she would have been a powerful sorceress before wrinkle began to form. But in this day and age she would have a difficult time ahead of her, but if she came back, if she visited the church often, I might live for another century or two.